#it meant a lot to me as a tiny new artist in this community :'-) i mean it <3

[inkskinned]

i'm used to it, and how bad it is, and how often it's so bad that it rings like a bell inside of me, drowning out everything around me. and the truth is that i get frustrated with myself about it - again? we're like this still? again? it's not that i feel weak, precisely. it's just this sense almost like - i've already been pushing against this thing for years now, shouldn't i have gained more ground?

i get frustrated because i'm sick of picking up the loose ends every six months. i get frustrated because it's always this same shit, same problem - i lose myself in a matter of months; spiral out of control, lose touch with friends and loved ones. i stop taking care of myself and therapy gets hard and i let everything around me wilt and shrivel and fall off; start somehow both sleeping too much and not-enough. i panic-attack and cry in my car in a target parking lot, pulling my hair out and hurting my ribs from sobbing so hard - and later, when i'm better, i'm embarrassed because how could i let it get that far?

it feels like - i already have done this so many times. isn't there a way out of it? isn't there a point where i've just... won? that it never happens again, that i just get to be done? maybe this is weakness, i guess - that i still (so often!) succumb.

i am used to it, so i forget exactly how hard it gets. do you even know how many times i've laid in bed, exhausted, blank and numb and listless and said - i can't anymore. i just can't. i'm not even really upset. it's okay. i've been here long enough. so much of my life was beautiful.... i'm just... done.

do you know how many times i woke up and i said - i can't and put my feet on the floor and said i can't, i don't want to and took a shower and walked the dog and bought myself fresh bread and put a nice playlist on and said i really can't, there's no end to this and i went to work and i called a friend and i made myself cookies even if food tasted like ashes and decided that i really should wait for the new album from that artist i love and i thought i can't, it's not worth it and then i washed my hands and cut my hair and drank more water and wrote a poem and signed up for an art class at the local community college and said i can't, i can't, i won't do this again, and i paid my rent and let the dishes rot in the sink but still made myself eat anything fresh even if it meant overdrawing my account on a stupid bag of plums just because they looked delicious and do you know how often i closed my eyes and thought this is it i really fucking can't, something has to give and i have nothing left that it can take and then i went to bed and i got up and i fucking survived anyway

yesterday the local ice cream place opened up for the first time this season and they were giving out tiny samples of their new dairy-free options and i tried a mango sorbet. three months ago i was positive that februrary was going to be my last month on the planet. i am teaching my dog a new trick and i just discovered a new band i love. i got a plant from the clearance aisle and repotted her and she's been perking up. i made salmon for alison and we ate it in her new house with her new beautiful baby girl. my manager told me he keeps recommending my work to others just because i always include a stupid number of puns. tomorrow i'm trying a new dance class. tomorrow i'm maybe going to buy more plums.

i forget, you know? it's not some bone-deep strength or some magical power. it's that some part of me knows - i need to stay. in all of this; out of all of this - i just want to choose love.

#writeblr #this is too honest and writing it made me cry #sorry #poetry

[eskawrites]

not to get all up in my feelings about art and creativity but today (at work, not even as a fandom thing lmao) one of my friends went out of her way to tell me how much she liked a piece of my writing. and the thing is, i wasn't even that attached to this piece. it's small and written for a work thing and a lil clunky and a lil too personal and i almost didn't share it, but i decided to anyway because whatever

but after she told me that, the first thing i did was go back and re-read it, because i wanted to see what she saw in it. not in a self-deprecating, 'why do you even like this?' way, but just because it meant enough to her to say something about it, and i wanted to read it again through her eyes and wonder which phrases made her stop and think, or how the themes hit home, or what part made her like it enough to tell me about it

and i do that with my fanfic sometimes, too. when someone points out a certain detail or predicts what will happen next or even just says they read this at 2:30 in the morning with their cat on their lap. i read those comments, and i go back and look at this story i made, and i remember that i'm real and they're real and the things i create have changed the world in some tiny, ultimately insignificant way--but it was enough to affect what someone was doing or thinking in that moment

and something i've thought a lot about since covid happened and the vast majority of my social interactions started taking place online (it's a problem, i'm working on it, but it's true nonetheless) is that art really, truly is a love language. and not just when you gift it to people, or when you use it to show appreciation, or however else it can coincide with the traditional love languages. but because it's a way to share a little piece of yourself. and it might be silly and it might be sad and it might be fun and it might be meaningful but no matter what, it comes from you. a lot of the time, it comes from a part of us that we can't really effectively express otherwise. i mean, i can say 'i love x ship' in a thousand different ways but that's never going to compare to pouring my heart into stories or arts or edits exploring all my favorite things about those characters and their dynamic. that's why 'bad' art from writers or artists who don't really know what they're doing is still good--because if it comes from you, if it has meaning to you, it's special

but the thing about love languages is that there has to be a recipient. sometimes my writing is an act of love for myself, and that's good and lovely. but other times, when i share writing with friends or fandom or just strangers on the internet who have a thing or two in common with me, when you become the recipient, it really does transform the work. all these things that are so meaningful to me that i turned them into art are suddenly meaningful to you, too. it's like confessing a secret and having someone say yeah, me too. it's vulnerability and acceptance and kinship and community. it makes me see the things i create in a whole new light. it makes me see myself in a whole new light.

#writing things #you know what i WILL get all up in my feels about art and creativity thank you very much #i think we all should from time to time #i was telling my roommate the other night that writing raise dead helped me grieve #and i think about the love and meaning i poured into that story without telling a soul #and i think about how it was received with so much love in return #and part of it is that art is an outlet and part of it is that nice comments always cheer you up #but part of it is also that i could share some small piece of myself and watch it be handled with such care and appreciation #by people i don't even know #basically what i'm saying is i love people and i love art and i love you

[96percentdone]

When looking at games with obvious metafiction elements in their stories, you always see this "deny and condemn the meta" response crop up. In Undertale/DeltaRune I think it's a relatively small scale phenomenon; most people over there are obsessed with the meta, if maybe in a way that's divorced from the text of games, but you still see people determined to wish it away? And it just got me thinking about why that is. What is it about metafiction that makes people so angry they want it gone?

I'm saving my analysis of Nirvana Initiative for the essay, but the backlash there has a lot in common with the response to NDRv3. New Dangan Ronpa v3 is a Dangan Ronpa title about Dangan Ronpa. In typical DR fashion, the meta-commentary is in your face, and at least half the fanbase fucking hates it. There is a loud contingent of DR fans who constantly complain about chapter 6, and how it ruined the entire series by making everything that came before it including the HPA saga unimportant and not real, and they try super hard to negate it, and when they can't, they just criticize the game even harder. That used to be me too! I used to be unbearable back then, but you can find old posts on this blog of me poking holes in it as an in universe plot element/mystery solution, or criticizing its inclusion of a mean-spirited audience depiction that reads like a criticism of the actual DR fanbase, or for wasting my time and telling me I shouldn't care.

But that last one is what I think lies at the heart of it. A lot of the criticisms of the meta for all the titles I mentioned boils down to this: people, or at least gamers, really chafe against metafiction because to them being reminded it's fiction is the same as being told 'it's not real so you should not care. I am wasting your time.' They get really attached to the characters, and the story--they get immersed in the world like it is as real as the PC they play it on, and then they are reminded that it's just a video game, and that hurts. It feels like getting trampled on. I know when I first played v3 I felt the same way.

I understand where this response comes from, but I have since grown up a little. I still believe that the execution of v3's meta needed revision, but the way I used to talk about it, and the way many of its detractors still do, is unearned. Kodaka is not a subtle writer about communicating his thesis. "Even if something is a lie, even if it's fiction.... If it has the power to change the world, then it must contain some kind of truth." It was just a story, with characters in a scripted plot constructed by writers and developers, but you cared about the illusion as though it were real life, right? You got attached to characters, invested in the plot, you cried or laughed or screamed--it spoke to you. "Was this lie able to change something? Was this lie able to change someone? If it was able to change even the smallest thing......Then the story isn't over." Fiction will always matter because it did something, however small, for wonderfully real you. All it evoked, every thought and feeling and comment and criticism, everything that story meant to you lives within your visceral beating heart.

All narratives are a humble wish that you leave changed if only in a tiny way. Metafiction is just a tool. It calls to you, makes you think about the work as fiction, so creators can speak directly to you about art. How do you engage with it? What are you getting when you do so? What is it about art that draws us in time and time again? I love metafiction because I love art. I love all the ways it provokes something in people; I think it's magical beyond compare. That's why I write! Art is a gift from the artist/s to their audience. What does that gift mean to you?

#hope.txt

[ziezie13]

Fanfiction has a certain reputation. Erotica, porn, smut, whatever you want to call it — there’s a long tradition of sex in transformative works. But there’s another side to fanfiction, one of self-expression and identity. Unlike traditional media, it’s not hard to get a fanfic published, all it takes is the click of a button. And because there are very few barriers to becoming a fanfiction writer, we end up with a diverse spectrum of voices — marginalized people whose stories rarely get told. To me, that is the beauty of fanfic — the idea that someone out there can recognize a part of themself in a character, even just a tiny bit, that they can then turn that flash of recognition into a fully realized idea and share it with others…

I didn’t start reading fanfiction until college, mostly because of its previously mentioned association with porn, but once I discovered the existence of ‘gen fic’ I couldn’t get enough. Wolfstar was my first slash fic and I remember it vividly. I read a headcanon that interpreted Remus as the biggest troublemaker amongst the Marauders — the one that came up with the best pranks, had the quickest wit, and the mouth of a sailor — but he never got in trouble, because in the eyes of the teachers he could do no wrong. I instantly fell in love with the idea and needed to read more, but all the best Remus fics included wolfstar. Thus began my descent into the world of slash. Years passed, I discovered that I am in fact asexual, and then I stumbled across a new headcanon — this one involving Sirius. When I was first presented with the concept of Sirius as aroace I was skeptical, after all this is a character that is often interpreted as hyper-sexual or at the very least a huge flirt, but the more I thought about it the more things began to click into place. He never shows interest in anyone in canon, either romantically or sexually, his most important relationships are his friends, and the one time we see someone flirt with him he remains completely oblivious. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was more than enough for me to launch onto, especially since this was the first time I had seen any character described as aspec canonically or not. I immediately turned to AO3 and never looked back.

Sex, Love, and Rock ‘n Roll is a collection of some of my favorite aspec wolfstar stories that I’ve read over the years. This anthology isn’t meant to represent the full spectrum of experiences under the ace umbrella, for that would be a truly impossible task, rather it collects the fics that were meaningful to me personally — the fics where I was able to see a piece of myself. That said, there’s still a wide range of identities and experiences featured within. Many of the included authors write from personal experience while others have done research to accurately portray aspec identities. They all demonstrate respect and care for the identities they are portraying (much more than I would expect from the original author of Harry Potter).

I feel this is a topic that must be addressed. In 2020, J. K. Rowling made a series of statements that aligned her with the Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist (TERF) movement. Her words were extremely damaging to the queer community and she has continued to express hurtful and hateful ideas and sentiments regarding transpeople and their rights. Among other things, she has expressed support for transphobic individuals, organizations, and legislature. The works included here do not support J. K. Rowling or her views. In fact, many of the stories feature gender-queer identities whether that be an interpretation of the characters as gender-fluid, non-binary, or just non-conforming to gender norms. It is impossible to separate the work from the artist, but these stories and characters hold significant meaning to people all over the world. I think it’s important that we analyze the original work, recognize its flaws, and strive to do better. Because this fandom has transcended so far past the original work and continues to do so.

It is my hope that this series helps to preserve the history of this fandom and its works. So often queer stories get lost to time, and this is my attempt to push back at that. Despite what they say, the internet is not forever and by giving these stories physical form they may last for generations. These characters and these stories are important and they deserve to be elevated to the same status as any traditionally published work. And I speak directly to the authors now. when I say, thank you. Thank you for telling these stories and for sharing a part of yourself. This collection is my gift back to you.

[sepublic]

            I want to introduce y’all to this wonderful fanart (link only, I don’t want to repost) of a G1 remimagining for Reedman, because jokes aside this is just PERFECT for the Nizziverse! Like it works so well as a way to incorporate Reedman into Soundwave’s original aesthetic, and his whole role as a Decepticon within a cassette within a Decepticon! Because if Ravage is the cassette, then what’s inside a cassette? Magnetic tape, which is thin and flimsy and fits perfectly with Reedman’s whole gimmick of being practically 2-D. It marries old and new concepts together perfectly, like it was a natural fit and always meant to be.

         With permission from the original artist, this is more or less how Reedman will be portrayed in the Nizziverse; Ravage has his Knightverse design and actually transforms into a cassette, or at least the Cybertronian equivalent to one. And within Ravage, he can unravel the magnetic tape, the roll of film every cassette comes with, that is Reedman.

         Reedman does more or less the same thing as he did in the original, except he’s not made of Microcons, nor does he slice through people; He’s not sharp enough for it, and likewise, with how incredibly thin he is, I imagine he’s a lot more fragile in the Nizziverse. Designated mainly for stealth, infiltration, sneaking around and hiding in plain sight, slithering through the tightest spaces like an octopus. Though I imagine Reedman could go for strangulation and binding, if necessary. The former is how he fights humans, the latter Cybertronians.

         In Revenge of the Fallen’s climax, Reedman will be deployed against Bumblebee, and use his ultra-thin body to slip through his inner workings and crevices, tangling up Bumblebee’s mechanisms. It’s karmically similar to how Dropkick died (since the Bumblebee Movie is more or less canon to the Nizziverse), but Bumblebee manages to survive by… Well, I’m not entirely sure how he does, yet.

         Of course, the implication of Reedman being the tape to Ravage’s cassette is that theoretically, shouldn’t other cassettes (such as Frenzy, Rumble, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw) also have Reedmen inside of them? Perhaps. So maybe Reedman will actually debut in the first ‘film’, since Frenzy (and Rumble!) are introduced there in the Nizziverse. Or there’s only one Reedman, and he can slither between different cassettes as his holder.

         This does make me wonder if I should try to pull off a similar idea with Scalpel and have him transform into part of a cassette’s inner workings, since he’s also a tiny Decepticon contained inside of Ravage. But considering he already transforms into a microscope, it could be as simple as Scalpel being his own entity, divorced of Soundwave and his cassettes, who was small enough to ride inside one of them. He wasn’t built to nor was Ravage, it was just an impromptu sort of thing. I’ve seen fun cassette designs for Scalpel and Reedman, but for the former, he already fits within Ravage as well.

         Also, since Reedman is the film for Ravage’s cassette… Maybe it’s a minor detail that Ravage can’t record audio (or even visuals) without Reedman inside. So maybe all of the cassettes have an internal ‘film’, Ravage is the only one for whom Reedman was made out of. Or Reedman is an optional replacement for regular magnetic tape, so Ravage can’t record when Reedman has replaced the usual film, which makes Reedman an option with his own ups and downs, when a cassette is tasked with being more of an actor than an observer.

        In the end, Soundwave isn’t unique; He shares a body type and function with other Cybertronians such as Blaster, just like in G1. It’s a frame designed for communications and recording, so given the idea of many Transformers dying across the Great War, as technologies get smaller due to a loss of resources… It’s possible that there’s only one Reedman involved in the story, because Reedman is one of the last ones left. RIP to the other cassettes, you don’t get a Reedman, a pet of your own. Mayhaps Reedman was a more recent invention when Soundwave and others like him rebelled against the Functionists and turned their abilities towards espionage…

#maccadam #transformers #reedman #nizziverse #soundwave #fanon #au #wormtape

[moonburncreations]

The year is coming to a close, there are a lot of new faces in the community, an #artvsartist2022 seemed like a good idea. My name is Brianna and I'm a ceramic artist. I make mostly low-fire clay creations in my home at a tiny desk. I started my ceramics journey in 2017 as a hobby, but enjoyed it so much I decided to share my work and exploration. In the beginning I thought it might just be a new art medium I would hyperfocus on for a while and get bored. I was so wrong! The possibilities of clay creations are endless, and the fact that many items can also be used instead of just admired is my favorite part! I aspire to create art for everyday use. Art is meant to bring joy, and having something that brings that joy, but is also useful is my purpose. I want my pieces to be that thing someone uses everyday that creates a little warmth to their hearts and a small smile on their face. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy my journey, it's a little messy and chaotic at times, and there's usually a little mental health awareness sprinkled in, but there is a ton of love and gratefulness too! Thank you for being here and supporting me!! I'm excited to see what's in store for the new year, and share it with you! #artvsartist #ceramics #pottery #ceramicart #ceramicsofinstagram #potteryofinstagram #moonburncreations #moonphases #crescentmoon #ceramicshelf #avo-cone #avocadopropagation #avocadolover #plantparent #plantpropagation #leafart #leafdish (at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmjfvmjrASt/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#artvsartist2022 #artvsartist #ceramics #pottery #ceramicart #ceramicsofinstagram #potteryofinstagram #moonburncreations #moonphases #crescentmoon #ceramicshelf #avo #avocadopropagation #avocadolover #plantparent #plantpropagation #leafart #leafdish

[sj-ficrecs]

fic rec 11!

just a random collection of what I’ve read and enjoyed lately. as usual, no specific order.

This is purely a fic rec blog, always reblogging fics I enjoy. usually Bucky x reader, sometimes Steve x reader, Chris Beck x reader, etc. So check out more I’ve reblogged on this page. :) See my past fic recs below:

PREVIOUS FIC RECS HERE! // Q & A

(divider by @bwbatta)

Bucky x reader:

Flashing Lights by @pellucid-constellations​ Paramedic!Bucky x reader

“Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?”

Operation: Freefall by @constantwriter85​ Bucky x reader

“When Bucky fell from the train in 1945, he didn’t just leave behind his family and friends. He left behind the girl he was going to marry, a girl he never stopped loving. Decades later, Bucky continued to search for her, only to find out that she had disappeared without a trace in 1955. But when Steve hands over the shield to Sam Wilson, he also has something for his childhood friend—a redacted S.H.I.E.L.D. file code-named Operation: Freefall, a file with more questions than answers. With Sam’s help and a handful of Pym Particles, the file sends Bucky on a trip to the past, trying to solve the mystery and save the woman he still loves.”

Recovery by @wicked-mind​ Biker!Bucky x reader

“After going through rehab and recovering, you move back to town to live with your mother as you sort out what to do with your life, but your mom has other plans that include hooking you up with a hot biker by the name of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes”

Teacher’s Favorite + Sharing My Sweetheart by @suitk0via​ Single dad!Bucky x teacher!reader

“You are first grade teacher and Bucky is a single dad who wants to be involved with everything his little girl - Elaine - does. He’s the dad all the parent’s and faculty drool over. You quickly become Elaine’s favorite teacher and Bucky’s just gotta meet you.”

Uninvited by @mymoonagedaydream​ modern!Bucky x reader

Reader is a close friend of Sam’s. Sam and Bucky are roommates, so reader spends a lot of time with them. Bucky becomes colder towards reader and they ask Sam about it - finding out Bucky, who is taken, is falling out of love w/ his gf because he has a crush on reader.

You Know Me Too Well by @nexusnyx​ Tattoo Artist!Bucky x reader

“there is a thin line between pain and pleasure. that line is real and palpable, except for the times when you sit in bucky barnes’ table and feel his hands holding your skin. his job demands him to hurt you, but the only problem is that you enjoy it. a lot.”

The Slip Up by @justkending​ dad!Bucky x reader

“After a last hurrah to graduating college with a future to be a family practitioner, a little slip up happens… Seven years down the road, just when things just now seem to be going smoothly, Y/N approaches that slip up from all those years ago. She’s not looking for anything right now. She is just where she wants to be in life. It seems the universe has a different idea though. One called James Barnes.”

Invisible String series by @dirty-holy-things​ Bucky x reader

“You were fairly certain that landing a date through court-ordered therapy was some sort of HIPAA violation, if not just an ethical one, but you couldn’t help but be intrigued by the mysterious storm cloud of a man who you shared the waiting room with every Thursday.”

Sacrifice by @wkemeup​ Bucky x reader

“In the midst of an attack, you’re dosed with an unknown chemical and your healing ability becomes compromised.”

Purgatory by @wkemeup​ Bucky x reader

“While on a mission, Bucky becomes dissociated into the Winter Soldier. But instead of becoming a threat, his instinct is to protect.”

Behind the Storm by @wkemeup​ Bucky x reader

“On a mission, you’re hit with a spell that takes away your ability to see. Bucky does what he can to make you feel safe.”

We Were Screaming in Color by @samwlscns​ Bucky x reader, soulmate au

“james buchanan barnes was your soulmate and you were his. despite everything the world threw your way, bucky always kept his promise to make his way back home to you. even if that meant having to lose him more than once.”

Bulova by @babycap​ Bucky x reader

“In the five years between the two snaps that changed it all, life had moved on, as life is want to do. In the aftermath of that final battle, you discover that time waited for no one (least of all you), and those you loved marched forward into it without you. Sam suggests you volunteer at the local retirement community to keep you busy, keep your mind from lingering on what—and who—you lost. In giving back, you find that time can be just as generous as it is cruel. A non-canon compliant, friends-to-lovers fic.”

And They’re Roommates by @golden-barnes​ Modern bartender/roommate!Bucky x reader, New Girl au

“Your boyfriend cheats on you, and now you have nowhere to go. So when you found an ad for a shared loft, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. Come to the realization that you will be sharing it with four guys. Four guys, one of them who is extremely hot and zero brain cells between any of them. What else could you ask for?”

Keep Me Cool by @chouettedubois​ Bucky x reader

“You and Bucky are on your third undercover mission acting as a couple. Things go awry when you fall ill. Cue caretaker!Bucky to the rescue.”

Love in the Workplace by @cxddlyash​ Gardener!Bucky x Receptionist!reader

Working at the same hotel, a new gardener is recently hired.

“Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of the new gardener. 

“What is it?” Sarah asks you and you clear your throat before tearing your gaze from the man.

“Uh, nothing. I finally see the gardener that the hotel hired,” you mention while walking closer to the place.”

Dad Biker!Bucky being adorable with his kids blurb by @angrythingstarlight​ dad biker!Bucky x reader

dad biker Bucky and his kids making pancakes and breakfast for mom :)

Tap by @houseravenclaws​ Bucky x reader

“bucky never talked much. he fell in love anyway.”

Teach Me How to Love by @thefalconthatcriedwolf​ Godfather/single dad!Bucky x teacher!reader

“Natasha leaves behind her precious daughter, Yelena, and with her dying breath asks Bucky to look after her. You happen to have Yelena in your class this school year.”

To Build a Home by @buckyjamess-archive​ @buckyjamess​​ Mechanic/single dad!Bucky x single mom!reader

“a mechanic and a nurse walk into a schoolyard..both new in the single parent life, chaos arises when the two come together but they wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A Good Kind of Fire by @dolcezzasfantasy​ Modern!Bucky x reader

“Character A runs a flower shop downtown. Character B is terribly allergic to flowers.”

If I Could Fly by @ceeellewrites​ actor!Bucky x actress!reader, social media au

“Bucky Barnes is an actor with a small (just a tiny) celebrity crush on Y/N L/N, one of the industry’s well-known actress. Well, it’s just a celebrity crush, what could go wrong?”

The Rumour by @sidepartskinnyjeans​ Bucky x reader

“after a, mostly, chance meeting with Sergeant Barnes starts a rumour around the compound that soon gets out of hand.”

See the World the Way You Do by @vanderlustwords​ Bucky x reader, soulmate au

“You start to see colour when you meet your soulmate. Bucky thinks that soulmates are a one of a kind thing—you get one and that’s it. His world used to be colourful once and then he lost that. He’s resigned to see black and white for the rest of his life…until flashes of colours would appear from the corner of his eye. And it seemed to happen more and more as Bucky spends time with you.”

Crawl Home to Her by @nexusnyx​ Bucky x reader

“when bucky finaly returns from his mission, he finds you sleeping in his sofa and the apartment much different than when he left. much prettier, with a touch of home. apparently, while he was away you took his advice to “do what you want with the place, doll” seriously - or as a distraction - and now he got to come home to this.bucky’s heart takes a leap and he stands there for a second, frozen in his spot.”

Signed by the Author by @wintersfilm​ Bucky x reader

“on a mission to improve his conversations with sam, bucky wanders brooklyn and into a bookstore where he finds his new favourite book and the most adorable bookseller he has ever laid eyes on.”

Seasons of Love by @constantwriter85​ Army vet!Bucky x reader, modern au

“Bucky gets a service dog, but Winter’s only got eyes for the dog across the park…and her owner.”

One Single Thread of Gold (Tied Me to You) by @pietrotica​ Bucky x reader, soulmate au

“on your sixteenth birthday, the first words your soulmate will speak to you appear on your wrist. in a world where it’s quite common to get a simple ’hi what can i get you’ or common phrases, you’ve managed to get their name. that doesn’t make it easier to find him.”

Sunday is a Family Day by @lazyangeltreemoney​ Bodyguard!Bucky x rockstar!reader

“You’re stubborn, annoying and hot as hell which seems to be an awful combo to mix with Bucky Barnes. However one day he realises he got you all wrong and now there’s a little kid in the mix that needs both of your help.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x Female Reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #modern!bucky #modern!au #modern au #bodyguard!bucky #soulmate!au #soulmate au #army vet!bucky #single dad!bucky #dad!bucky #paramedic!bucky #biker!bucky #tattoo artist!bucky #tattoo!bucky #bartender!bucky #roommate!bucky #roommate!au #gardener!bucky #actor!bucky

[streaming-yn]

(☁️)

HIIII it's 3 am and i'm trying to sleep but brain went brr with ideas n shit and oh well- thing is ; i was wondering if i could make my first request? (smth simple if u want to, no need to be very long or anything + pls don't rush nd take ur time AND don't feel pressured to actually do my request :] ! ) maybe smth ab faceless art streamer! y/n [they/them]?? (if u could add that the reader is like an indie game dev or works for smth like that u'd be sosososososo cool omg) with maybe quackity, tommy, dream, ranboo, niki and/or jack?? idk brain did the storming and its all messy hsdnshhfjsjz (btw! i know it's a lot of CCs so feel free to remove some or do the ones ur only comfy with !!! take care nd stay safe !!! luv ya <3 (/p))

AS SOMEONE WHO LIKES TO GAME DESIGN, CHARACTER, AND PLOT DESIGN YOU BET I CAN MAKE THE READER AND INDIE GAME DEV (and aaaa ty for adding jack!!! I think he's really neat and not enough people acknowledge him :))!!)

Multiple x indie game dev!artist!y/n

pairings: quackity, tommy, dream, ranboo, niki, jack manifold (separate) x indie game dev!artist!y/n

pronouns: they/them

other information on the reader:

. faceless

. knows how to code

. artist

. streams them drawing video game characters

. minor

. makes indie / horror games

form: headcanons

genre: platonic, fluff(??)

warnings: horror games / horror mods, ranboo enderwalk lore in his section

abbreviations: y/n -> your name

quackity

okay let's get the obvious out of the way; definitely going to be the type of person that's like "I'm going to play this game first after you're finished" yk? playfully ofc, n playfully fight with anyone who says the same thing (*cough* Wilbur, tommy, dream *cough*)

he probably wouldn't be on your art streams often – he doesn't really enjoy watching people draw, but he would want to see the finished pics

he would happily be on voice chat with you while you're drawing though!! :D

would be proud to answer any questions you have about character / scene / etc designs!!

"quackity!! so for this character – check your dms for a current picture – would red or purple antenna be better? also, two or four antenna?"

"*gasp* you're asking me?? 🥺" /j

"y'know what, nevermind, chat wh-"

"NO WAIT WAIT"

"so what do you think?"

also, if you do end up sending him the finished pics of the art he will hype you tf up !!!!

would try to get you make joke games – not like actually, it's just an ongoing bit between you two!

if you make a game for him – or give him a sneak peek of a game before anyone else he's going to freak out!! and he won't really know what to say bc putting feelings into words is hard

if y'all ever meet up and you're fine w hugs he's gonna give you a huge hug, hoping that makes up for the lack of words to describe how just,, proud of you he is bc he really really is!!

you're not even in your 20s yet and you can make video games, or help with them?? not to mention how creative you are with the characters and story line??? he's amazed by you

might actually cry /pos if you base a character off of him

like let's say a part of a puzzle is to get a rubber duck and place it into a pond to get the next hint or thing you need – only when he plays it on stream, he doesn't know anything about the game, so you're watching and waiting for him to get there

when he does get there – he finds out the duck has a beanie and has a white ring appear around it that flashes to life before fading out after picking it up, signifying it was the right thing to get

at first he doesn't really notice the ring, "oh! that animation is different than normal" he notes, but mainly focuses on the beanie, comparing it to himself before he glances at chat to see them freaking out over the planet duck reference

then he's just talking about it, shocked of course but flattered, and then you type in chat "you helped me a ton with things I couldn't decide during this game, I couldn't not add you! :)" everyone's just :(((( !!! /pos

overall supportive n proud, maybe a bit loud about games in progress, but just a really nice guy in general :)

tommy

he is ABSOLUTELY loud about your games in progress!! if you don't want something said you have to tell that to him before telling him or else he's going to brag about how cool it is the next time he streams

"chat!! chat, y/n is making this new game and they told me that one of the outfits you can collect for the player is going to be based off me!- right!! that sounds pog!!"

if he ever accidentally let's anything slip on stream that he was supposed to say, everyone who's a fan of you is just like "wow! suddenly! I cannot hear anymore!", sometimes they're like that even if it was okay to say

the just like being surprised :)

as for art streams, he'll try his best to tune in but obviously won't be there all the time! he's usually very active in chat too! likes being on call with you while you do art streams if you let him!

he once convinced you to make a texture pack and a shader (meant for both to be active at the same time), the fans loved it and a lot of them use it more often than the original!!

tommy however, not to much, proud of you bc that must've been a ton of work!! but at some time it slipped his mind that you make indie and horror games; I think we all know he doesn't do well with horror games

so you liking horror and such made the textures look more ominous and just make it look like and area you don't want to be in, and the spook goes up even more with the shader!! it's darker than usual, there's unusual fog, the portals look too dangerous now, so on and so forth yk

so,, tommy didn't use the texture pack for long;;

if you ever raid him after you're done streaming and he has a question, he's literally just gonna ask you on stream

"y/n raid? oh! are they still here?" when you confirm you're in chat, he continues "great! okay I had a question about your new game that's going to be available soon and how to download it-"

fans love how casual you guys are about game information, like you had to teach him how to export a game character he made on the website you usually make yours on (it was for a fun stream) and it was just a simple back and forth but everyone's like omg :((( omg them :((

also if you're the type of person to go insane over tiny details in other games, he will absolutely tease you for it

like you can just be going on and on about how this game had a sentence at the start that had a backhanded meaning by the end and he's just gonna call you a nerd (genuinely thinks is cool how much of the small things you notice in games though)

dream

COMPLAINING ABOUT CODING AND HOW HARD IT IS 🤝🤝

and if you took other coding classes hoping that I'd help with video game coding he'd just listen to you talk about it

"I actually took robotics for a while before because the school didn't have any video game coding classes and I was hoping it'd help either way" "oh?" "it,, it didn't help, it's so hard to code robots and considering how fast I caught onto video game code you think it'd be easier to understand the robot code" "yeah, that sounds reasonable" "NOPE,, WHY R THEY SO DIFFERENT I ALMOST FAILED" "D:"

fanartists like those moments, if one of those talks happen expect a bit of fanart of just dream and you chilling while you talk and he listens, the art always gives off comfy vibes n it's just cute :)

offering him to play a semi-rough draft of the demo so that he could see if it's good or what you needed to do to make it more enticing for the player

power duo fr fr o/

people like comparing y'all to hackers sometimes bc y'all know how to code???

you play into the bit with the fans though and honestly it's so fun !!!

fans: omg,, hackers (affectionate),,,

you next time you stream: hacker voice; I'm in

AND THEY GOT SHOCKED??? LIKE THEY FORGOT YOU CAN SEE THE STUFF THEY POST????

wouldn't be able to watch your art streams for long because he would get side tracked, the streams are just too under stimulating for his brain to focus on, but he'd hang around as long as he could though :)

would be glad to be on call with you while you're doing an art stream – though if he has is game sounds on you may occasionally have to repeat a question that was aimed at him

you're also in his streams when you can :)

also, you like sending donations to communicate rather than chat

one stream dream turned off his donos because you wouldn't stop giving him money 💀

being friends with such a popular creator and being a game creator yourself has it's downs as well

nothing thats too hard to deal with – the most common one is actually kinda funny – some people will slide in your dms acting like they're dream and just got locked out of his account, trying to get you to make them a game

like ??? do they think that dream would mssg you over Twitter or insta?? he has your phone number bro ,😭

also!!! when dream plays through new games you made he complements the small things and complements how hard something must've been to code :)

and I'm ngl, he kinda sucks with every game he plays at first but he's a quick learner so dw :)

would be glad to help if you're having a difficult time choosing between things too! except he'll answer right away without any teasing

"dreammm" "y/nnnn" "for this area should I do like shattered stone walls or mossy stone walls like with vines n stuff?" "depends on the vibe you want, shattered stone would give it a dangerous and uneasy undertone and mossy stone would be more of ominous, if that makes sense?" "oh! okay, thank youuu!!"

ofc if you didn't have a specific vibe or couldn't choose which was better he would just give a straight up answer so you didn't stress out trying to choose one \o/

would absolutely like being a guest in a drawing stream, he isn't the best at art or character design but it's fun to see him try

maybe you both plus some friends do a "drawing Minecraft mobs from memory" stream? ,, with that the thing is; his would mostly be relatively accurate if you could understand wtf he was drawing 😭

dream may or may or have some of your art as his phone homescreen, he loves your style so much :(( /pos

ranboo

first off; he's incredibly impressed!! like!!! you made this game?? this playable game, completely from scratch??? how??

also you may or may not have made a small Minecraft mod for him to tryout on stream,, little gift from you to both chat n ranboo 🤲

its literally all based off his lore,, if you get close to obsidian and crying obsidian fallen down from Undertale starts playing, if you splash water on yourself 1) you get hurt 2) your screen blacks out and when it comes back, your in a different place than before, some things art taken, maybe a few extra things are added

and there's a 50% chance that when you go into your "enderwalk" state (the blackout) you blow something up, so there may or may not be an explosion somewhere nearby, you also have a 20% chance of building something small in you enderwalk state :)

he found it so incredibly cool!!! chat was crying while complementing you while ranboo thanked you and complemented you over n over again

he won't shut up about how cool the mod is for several weeks, maybe even a few months, it's just so cool!!

will absolutely use it as a comeback if you let him; "oh? you got first place? well y/n made me a really really cool mod, so who's the actual winner here?"

will absolutely play every single game you come out with – it doesn't matter if it's his style or not – and he thoroughly enjoys all of the games as well

as for art streams, he will absolutely try to tune in every time he can!! active in chat and donos!!

doesn't really like being in art streams – like in call is fine but actually drawing? not really, he just doesn't love drawing in front of a ton of people

but will join an art stream if you ask

will listen to you rant about whatever, even if he doesn't understand it! like will listen to you go on and on about how well a game set up the atmosphere or maybe talking about how difficult coding is, and he'll converse back with you but won't really understand yk?

"ranboo I just played a really cool game do you wanna hear about it?" "yeah yeah- of course!!" "ok so like, the atmosphere was so well put together- like it was a horror game and I didn't even see the monster but the vibe was so well put together that it was still unnerving!!" "that's awesome! how did the atmosphere get set up the best and when you saw the monster, was it scarier?"

yk what I mean? like engages in convo so you don't feel bad about talking so much, plus shows his interest without the constant "hm?" "cool" etc a lot of people do and even though he does talk more than the acknowledgment sounds many people make he also manages to almost never sidetrack you and when he does it's on accident :)

if your way of learning is teaching then he'll gladly be the person you teach it to if you want! most likely won't use the information therefore his brain won't retain it but that's not on you, and the whole reason is so you can learn, not him, so! ^^

will make sure to take care of yourself, and he has a through way of telling if you have or not bc he's known you for long enough to know that even if you try to hide it a little bit of your tired voice shows so he knows if you've been sleeping like you should

also friends with you on discord, where you have your Spotify attached,, you like listening to music while you work on things that aren't sound related and if it's active later than it should be he's going to confront you

overall wholesome mixed in with a little pain bc both of you are like "ah yes, lore <3" and like to see fans cry /lh

niki

I feel like this is expected but if you need to get extra motivation she would probably be your go-to

she hypes you up but like, in a sweet and quiet kinda way, where as everyone else here would probably be relatively loud ;;

honored to be on an art stream if you invite her :')

and would absolutely watch your art streams when she can :D hypes you up in chat

also compliments, tons of compliments!

might call you a prodigy? bc you're so young but can already make games?? and make income off of them?? and do really good art??? and so much more??? like tell me that's not prodigy energy,

if you make a video game character based off her she might cry,, like in a positive way obviously but like at the same time :(( no don't cry!!

I say might bc it's dependant on how she feels that day yk? like she might just have the almost-cry wobble to her voice or she might actually, if that makes sense?

she genuinely loves your art style!! even if it's pointy and kinda creepy she really likes it!!

yk the "awww (name) :(" /pos she does sometimes? 100% does that with you

there are a few compilations of just "aww y/nnn" on YouTube and all the comments on those videos are just crying over y'all /pos

would be happy to help if you're stuck between some options in a game, but would feel kinda bad bc it's your game, you're supposed to be the one choosing the stuff

assure her that it's okay n stuff n she'll be ok tho !

I can't decide if she would play your games or not

bc on one hand she's a huge supporter of you and your work and would like to experience it first hand

but on the other hand she isn't the best with scry games,,

so maybe she'd do both? maybe she'd react on stream to a playthrough, maybe your playthrough? or maybe she would only play some of your games? I haven't decided so up to you I suppose!

jack manifold

genuinely amazed by your talent and will make it quite clear!!

can and will go on tangents about you on stream if someone brings it up

everyone is so :(( <333 /pos bc of it

will play the games you've made as soon as he can

if there are different games that line up in a story he'll make sure to play them in order :)

people also sometimes compare you two to hackers bc you code a ton and he kinda looks like a hacker

difference here is that both of you play into the bit, it's tons of fun!!

listen, I know he doesn't draw much but I am a firm believer that he will doodle his favorite character(s) from your games after he's done playing them

like after he plays a game of yours then expect a small doodle in your texts :)

you compiled a bunch of these doodles into one picture and made it you phone background and he only found out after y'all met irl and it caught the corner of his eye and he registered "oh hey wait that looks familiar"

he found out while recording the vlog n when editing, the editor was like "hey let's leave this in, it'd be funny if the fans knew right?" ,, the fans were crying for two weeks,, /pos

and speaking of drawings; he would like to be on a drawing stream with you, thinks it's be tons of fun!! :D

and he's usually free to call while your streaming and doesn't mind so if you wanna talk to him while drawing just call :)

and he will watch the streams he can make it to!! he may leave a bit early but he stays for the majority of it

if you make a character based off of him he's going to constantly thank you and brag about how cool you are anywhere he can

"hello manifolders, if you haven't done it already go download (game name)! I'm there!" with a ss of his character from the game and he'll reply to the tweet on his alt to talk more about the game and how much he really liked it :)

another that'll help you were you need it! he'll make it into a joke before anything else, but he'll get to the point

taglist (sorry i forgot to do it on the past two): @cvsmixplant // @l0ver0fj0y // @youngstarfishdinosaur

#asked and answered #request #headcanons #platonic!reader #platonic fanfic #platonic x reader #jack manifold x reader #niki x reader #dream x reader #tommy x reader #quackity x reader #ranboo x reader #streamer!au #mcyt x reader #streamer!reader #streamer!y/n #fanfic #headcanon #☁️ anon #game dev!reader #game dev! reader #artist!reader #artist! reader #platonic ranboo x reader #platonic dream x reader #platonic tommy x reader #platonic quackity x reader #platonic niki x reader #platonic jack manifold x reader #jack x reader

[elliotoille]

Do you have any advice for understanding hands better? I’ve been practicing them for years but feel like compared to other aspects of anatomy it’s the one thing I haven’t seen much improvement in. I draw both from life and images and draw nearly everyday but nothing I’m doing seems to help

I personally get by mostly from remembering poses that I’ve already practiced a ton, like I figure out how to draw it once and am able to file that away in my brain and use it again later, and tweak bits of the pose or the level of simplification to suit what I’m drawing. 

I’ve paid special attention to drawing hands for like.... most of my life so I have a LOT of poses I’m easy comfy with now, but when I need to figure out something complicated or new, I can usually work it out by breaking a hand down into shapes, remembering a few key points/”rules” from what I’ve learned about hands in order to help me break it down in a way that makes sense. And if that’s not enough either, then I take photo refs. 

^^^ here is a pose I use a ton. I have a quick way of drawing it from various angles. the first time I had to draw a pose like this, I had to think and figure it out, but in drawing it a bunch of times and having to use various angles like this, I’ve eventually come up with a quick, reliable way to draw it from a few of the most common angles that fits the style I like to draw in. I’m blessed with a good memory for observations, so when I see a beautifully posed hand, I can usually really quickly analyze what I like about that pose and why, and that helps me absorb it so I can recreate my saved impression later. But I know not everyone thinks the same way. it might benefit you to quickly scribble down a study in a sketchbook when you see a pose you find beautiful and want to learn from for later.

^^^ here are some poses I had to stop and spend time figuring out, calling up the “rules” for how hands are built to kind of logic-out how they should look from angles I’m less familiar with. results can be mixed, but... if I end up with something expressive that fits the style of the rest of the drawing, I’m usually really forgiving of fudged anatomy or slightly wonky proportions. as long as the thumb is on the right side and there aren’t too many fingers, that’s a great start lol.

^^^ and here are ones I had to take reference-selfies for. I try to use this as a last resort because 1) it’s a lot of trouble 2) interrupts my drawing and 3) if I’m not careful I stick too close to the reference, and the drawing ends up with the hand looking referenced and the rest of the pose not, which is jarring to me. not to mention I have tiny manlet wrists that without fail, look horrific and emaciated in photos, and the lens distortion makes my fingers look scary too... ugh, photo reference has definite flaws. I actually don’t like the look of drawings for which I can Really Tell the artist drew from photo reference, because most often that means they’re taking the ref too much at face value and incorporating ugly lens distortions into their drawing. so I have to think extra hard not only about interpreting the ref, but also might have to make multiple passes just to get the hand to look normal, AND match the style of the rest of the drawing.

Anyway, here are some of the ““rules””” I mentioned earlier that I fall back on to help me figure out more complicated poses:

1. probably seen this before, but basic proportions. the palm is usually half the total height of the hand. obviously you can mess with this purposefully. 

2. I think of joints as like, ball joints or hinges. I find that easier than trying to remember bones & muscles. here’s a drawing of the wrist as a hinge. note that when you’re thinking of it this way, it’s a shortcut, but a shortcut is only good if you use it with precision. notice the pin for the wrist hinge is not just halfway, it’s closer to the top of the hand. being precise about that is what allows this shortcut to work. the heel of the palm juts out, while the top of the hand transitions into the wrist quite smoothly.

3. simplified planes. planes are important yo. in super simple terms: top is flat, bottom is round. this works on the fingers too, actually. the tops are bony and tendony, and the bottom is where the fat is, so it’s rounder and soft

thinking of the hand as abstract shapes REALLY helps simplify the task of drawing hands, and is just as helpful even if you are drawing from reference. I can say “the palm is a box” and obviously the palm is not really as simple as a box, but if I think of the palm, wrist, and each finger joint as various shapes of box, then all of a sudden, psychologically, my task is SO much easier. I’m not drawing a Hand, which is hard, I’m drawing boxes, which is easy.

4. that prominent knob some people have on their wrist? that’s on the pinky side.

1. the knuckles aren’t really a flat row on top. the hand is like a cup right, so your palm can hold water and things. so we can think of the hand as a box to make figuring out the pose easier, but when it comes down to it, you’ll want to make it more of a curve. this curve is why you can see multiple fingers in a side view

2. when curled up, the fingers nestle together. the fingernails also turn slightly toward the center. even if I’m simplifying the hands significantly, I usually still draw the fingernails because they are SO useful for communicating the pose of the hand effectively.

3. lots of people suggest to think of the hand as a mitten, grouping the pinky/ring/middle fingers and singling out the index finger. this works great, the index finger is more independent from the other three. on the flip side, those three are really stuck together; if you’re drawing the pinky curled up all the way, then you better not draw the ring finger sticking straight up, cause that would HURT. anyway, singling out the index finger leads to more interesting poses in my experience.

1. this is another illustration of top = flat and bottom = curved. this is a really easy way to organize your line quality. straight lines and sharper angles where there is bone, and soft gentle lines where there is muscle and fat. your drawing as a whole will read very clearly if you find some guidelines like that to stick to, as it means all your lines are intentional and thoughtful.

2. this one’s about overlaps. when forms overlap, it makes a crease, and when you draw that crease you’re communicating which form is in front of the other. in the second drawing I reversed all the creases, and it looks.... messed up. think about how pieces connect.

so when you’re trying to make up a pose without using specific reference, I think it’s good to think about the.... flow of energy through the pose. honestly, I know it’s really abstract, but if I have an ability to make interesting poses that communicate weight and movement, the things that make people say your character feels ALIVE, like they really EXIST in a space... it’s because I started to think of poses this way. imagining streams of energy bouncing through the body, flowing down the limbs and out through the fingers. this is why hands are so important to me, cause they’re where the kinetic energy of the pose ultimately ends up. I talk about it when drawing the torso and arms and legs, but an interesting drawing has a bounce back and forth between opposites: for every curve, an opposing straight line, alternating back and forth down the entire body. if you’re sensitive to the energy of the pose, then even very simple poses will be interesting to look at.

anyway, with regards to hands, I imagine the energy getting sort of cinched in as it passes through the wrist, and then emanating out through the fingertips. I hope my drawing at least SORT of communicates this imagery. it makes sense because that’s BASically how the bones in the hand are anyway. and then the right side of the image above is just demonstrating some highly simplified gestures. see how the fingers fan out and curl in, rarely parallel to eachother. when you’re figuring out the pose, using a line to stand in for the row of knuckles is super valuable.

aaand finally, here’s two hands where I intentionally neglected correct anatomy and proportion because I felt it worked better for the style of the whole drawing. Left side: since this is a really simple and cartoonish style, I was thinking back to kids’ and shoujo manga I have read where the style was very solid and distinctive, but definitely NOT overly concerned with correct anatomy, or even really drawing hands, uh, “well” at all. to me, that sort of approach has a Look that I like to invoke sometimes, since for years I felt like I learned a bunch of anatomy and proportion and drawing from life actually in detriment to the liveliness and appealness of my drawings. this hand is mushy and makes very little sense, but it turned out as intended. Right side: sometimes I like to pretend fingers only have 2 bones in them, cause i am a Queen and i do what i want

and there you go. I hope that helped, like, at all? Look at real hands and photos of hands and hands in motion, but also look at drawn hands as well. find what you like, and work towards expressing that yourself. and remember the hand is part of the whole drawing. not only in the art style like I’d been talking about, but because the angle and placement of the hand is reflected in the angles of the arm, which in turn reflects on the angles of the shoulder, which affects the whole torso, etc etc etc. and the techniques you can use to understand and draw the rest of the body, works on hands too. as you improve everything else, your hands will improve as well.

DISCLAIMER: I whipped up these diagrams quickly, they’re not meant to be good drawings or accurate refs, just diagrams to illustrate my thought process lol

#god im long winded as usual #Anonymous

[ak8star]

Hitting the Bees' Nest Known as Candyman

Alrighty so originally I only had seen the 2021 film of the same name but I got around to seeing the original 1992 film. I plan to hopefully see the silliness known as the 2nd and 3rd films. Cause horror movies have bad habit of getting silly after first installments.

So if you want a long read of my thoughts see the read more otherwise: I just love everything from lore to character even if I end up cracking up at the whole spectral bees thing he's got going.

(YO THERE BE SOME SPOILERS BETWEEN THE FILMS AND STORY IF YOU AREN'T AQUAINTED WITH THOSE DON'T LOOK FURTHER UNLESS YOU DON'T MIND BEING SPOILED STUFFS)

I vaguely was aware of the character and had seen buzz about him this year via the Dead By Daylight tumblr community. This made me look up why people were talking about this guy. I find one of the trailers for a new film. A film that came out this year after it was meant to come out last year but pandemic. It looked friggin' cool. I then looked up a super basic gist type thing so I know the bare basics of the first film.

It was easy to see that likely this new film was going to update some of the elements found in the 1992 film. Horror as a genre tends to reflect the concerns and fears of the time. Which sadly in this case has not really changed between films. If anything it is just as tense. The 1992 film came out in the year of the LA Riots and the 2021 film comes out during the present BLM movement (2021 film is set in 2019 as a note). This is in slight contrast to the original short story which instead of race it is class as it was set in a fictional section of Liverpool, England. Regardless it becomes a theme that is hard not to notice in either medium.

From the 2021 film's view 27 years has passed since the events of the 1992 film as this new film is a sequel that ignores most of the beats of Candyman: Farewell to Flesh (1995) and Candyman: Day of the Dead (1999) save for like one tiny piece of timeline info apparently. I felt the 2021 film did a good job giving the viewer enough info to navigate if they hadn't seen the 1992 film. Though after seeing the 1992 film I think it would have made some parts click faster that were in the newer film that referenced stuff from the earlier film. This includes a rather major plot turn in regards to Anthony the struggling artist who servers as our main character for most of the film. Cause yeah knowing what happens at the end of the 2021 film makes the ending of the 1992 film even more phyrrhic and bitter sweet.

I love the 2021 film. The score raw and deep. Oddly both film scores I would describe as very stripped and minimal. However the newer film edges out as the one I like a bit more due to it has a level of grime to it that just isn't quite there in the 1992 film. The newer one's soundtrack has a quality to it that reminds me of the video game Silent Hill when you slip into the Otherworld. It does throwbacks to the 1992 film's score as I learned later and it makes sense they would do this. Don't get me wrong I warmed up to the original film score after I found a post of the whole soundtrack to give it a fair listen like I did with the newer one. It's just again I lean a bit more to the new one due to previous statements above.

I love a lot of the shot compositions from pretty much start to finish in the newer film. Though I hope you like mirror gimmicks cause compared to the 1992 film the newer one really leaned into doing a lot with it. Taking advantage of CGI that was not at all a thing for the 1992 film. Something that my fiancé found a bit distracting at times versus the practical effects of the original film.

Perhaps the only other drawback of the newer film was at least two plot points that just seemed a waste. One is the part about Anthony's girlfriend's father. Like they make a point to show a flashback of the day he dies but like for what past showing she has a history of being around troubled artists? I wanted the movie to show maybe something with the art of her dad maybe better fill in why we needed this info and that scene. Maybe it was there but I blinked during it? It just felt like it was brought up but never went anywhere moment.

The other was the bits with the white teenage girls. Like I honestly feel the minutes with them were better off for other things. This film is barely at the hour thirty I usually see for horror film lengths. I get this was to show an example of Anthony's ploy to spread the word of Candyman after what seemed like a period of no one talking about it since 1992. It just felt like it was there just to push past the original film's kill count.

Oh and special note for the 2021 film from an artwork point of view:

The use of shadow puppets to convey some scene and ending credit sequence was phenomenal. I read they used a Chicago based group those sequences. From a video I found of the 2021 film's director, Nia DeCosta, she mentions that the use of shadow puppets was a thing from the very get go of this film. The use of artwork in general has a very complex role that I don't know how much was intentional but I found amusing. The incarnation of Candyman played by Tony Todd was an artist. Anthony who eventually becomes an incarnation it seems as well was also an artist. During Anthony's mental/physical breakdown there is a shift to the type of art he makes:

If I did my reading around right the artists used to represent Anthony's body of work were African American artists along with other pieces seen in the film when it came to gallery shots and stuff. Which I found to be super cool the talent they brought in.

How this film wraps up compared to original was a bit of a disappointment to my fiancé but I thought it was fine. It's mainly due to after I saw the 1992 film I saw why they had a character be a bit cult minded. The first film and original story pushed a cult vibe. In the first film the Candyman refer to his believers/Cabrini-Green residents as his congregation. With a score that somewhat hammers that vibe in with it's use of choir and organ.

In the end the new film made me seek out the 1992 film. And gosh it was a trip to see a film that came out when I was like a year old. Anyway:

"They will say that I have shed innocent blood. What's blood for if not for shedding? With my hook for a hand, I'll split you from your groin to your gullet. I came for you."

What a way to start a film after helicopter scenes of the busy streets of Chicago. Like that voice is intense with headphones after I had to go find some clips to refresh myself with a few scenes. This and a few other lines of the Candyman's dialogue come from the original story just rearranged a little. Like it take 44 minutes before we hear Candyman's actor, Tony Todd, again but god when he arrives...

The moment he said Helen's name the first time fucking shook me. I felt the core of my being sink into a pit by pitch alone. I'm not even this chick and it made me feel something. It is a tone that is beyond 'You dare not believe in me and try to make others do the same?' This is a tone that marks that things have gotten deeply personal. Like fucking hot damn. A little later in the same scene is this line that iirc does find its way in the newer film as well in a tweaked form:

"I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the classroom. Without these things, I am nothing. So now, I must shed innocent blood. Come with me."

There is a reason this man is described as a mix of Bloody Merry and Freddy Kruger. He is a being of belief. His strength is in word of mouth and fear. If he has to go out there and stir the pot himself he fucking will do it when given a means to. Which does lead to some lore confusion on what exactly brings him out and about to fuck people up cause goodness this film is not consistent with what seems to trigger him. The 2021 film has its own lore confusion for him but fuck it both do the thing here for some reason does the following: Person A says his name 4 times and it's Person B that says it final time that either only gets one member killed, all parties are killed, or everyone BUT Person A who started it is killed. The only consistency seems to be you need to look in a mirror when you do the summoning chant.

The 1992 film stands out against other 90s horror films that it focus on leading the viewer on a story of mystery more so than a gorefest. It's still a 90s horror film that looks at the tropes to deconstruct while still being a horror film. The newer film also takes this approach to horror. It's what makes both films good in my opinion. Both are films to watch.

#Spoilers #Candyman #Overview review #fangirling #let me gush for a bit #Candyman 2021 #Candyman 1992

[morihaus]

Campfire

The skies are mild and clear over the Ashlands of Vvardenfell, a blanket of brilliant stars splayed above the camp of two travelers, an aspirant priest and a wayward blade. A campfire burns before them as they sit upon mats, having eaten their fill of supper and now content to while away the night in dialogue.

A book lies open in the layman's lap, a thick tome embossed in gold and daedric lettering. He reads from it passively, as he knows the words by his own heart. "HOAGA, the Mouth of Mud, who appeared as a great bearded king, had the powers of Marshaling and breathing the earth." Their voice is low and mellifluous as he recants the sermon, scarlet eyes tracing carefully over every stroke of lettering, savoring the prose which sprung from the mind of a god. "On the battlefields, this demon would often be seen on the sidelines, eating the soil voraciously." They speak this in a deadpan, though a soft smile has not left their face since they began.

His companion, a foreigner to this land, restrains her laughter out of respect, chuckling only slightly. She does not mean to offend, but is calm in this interaction; this Dunmer has been the most accommodating of her presence out of nearly everyone on this ashy scab of an island, and over the weeks of their traveling together, she's come to see them as a friend.

"Were these real people?" She asks.

The priest-to-be, Ranso, smiles coyly. "Of course. Everything in these lessons is to be taken as fact."

Junah laughs softly, her grin is warm to him in the firelight. "Just thought I'd ask- I've never heard of a Nord eating dirt. I mean, not a general, at least."

They continue to read, Junah letting her eyes fall shut as she absorbs his words. Most nights they would spend like this, them reading their holy books, her listening, asking questions, having her questions turned back at her, the two of them discussing usages of imagery and metaphor, subtext hidden between the lines. It's not unlike her time at Anvil's College of the Arts, those poetry meetings that would stretch on for hours as they wound their way through pages and pages of purple prose, except these poems were much grander, they were scripture, holy texts, penned not by a devotee, by a preacher or a prophet, but by a god.

It's been fascinating to consider, and strange to the Redguard, who for all her life had been brought up on worship of the distant Divines of Cyrodiil, who spoke in winding ways to their followers. This god had winding ways of hir own, but hir words were plain to read on the paper. Theologians of Morrowind should be so lucky.

As Ranso utters the last few lines and reaches for his water skin, Junah remarks as such. "It's still so... strange to me," Her voice is hushed and bereft of judgement- this land is new and harsh to her Imperial sensibilities, but she's not so low as to insult its ways. "That your gods can communicate to you like that. Through published poetry no less!" She snickers to herself. "If only Akatosh were so thoughtful."

The Dunmer smiles against his drink before setting it aside and turning back towards her. "Perhaps he is not a good poet?"

Junah laughs at that; such an odd statement, too absurd to be profane, and yet there's an edge to their words that make him almost sound serious in this accusation. "What makes you say that?" She asks, curious and eager to hear him.

Ranso flips a page in the tome held in his lap, still looking at Junah. The dark painted spirals on his face, segmented like a carapace, seem alight as they reflect the fire. "Poetry is a personal art- and yet it taps into something much bigger, something felt by many. The microcosm, the words on pages or hanging in the air, shaded with impermanence, fighting to persist. It is a mortal expression. A god could not comprehend it as we do, nor could one communicate in a way we understand."

"But Vivec is a god, is ze not?" Junah asks.

"Yes, ze is. But ze has lived as a mortal, as all the tribunes have." Ranso explains patiently, their words coming easy for their passion for the temple. "This is why they can understand us, they have tasted mortality, they have felt the fleetingness of it all, and they remember this, even now as they are ascendant. Vivec writes with a twofold mind, one mortal, one immortal. Ze translates the experience of hir divinity in a way no other can, so that we might understand... 'the eyelid of the kingdom shall fill thirty and six folios, but the eye shall read the world. By this the Hortator needs me to understand.'"

Junah nods thoughtfully, carefully going over their words amidst a comfortable silence. With only the two of them, there is not much to do while they compose their thoughts, but they are content merely to lie beside one another.

"...I remember some theology, from my temple days in Cyrodiil." Junah begins, drawing Ranso's attention as she leans back and lays down against her mat. Her heavy armor had been discarded for the night, leaving her in a dark undershirt, buttons undone down to her breast, a few faint marks and bruises bared to the world along her collar. She raises her hands up to lay her head down upon them while she stares up at the stars. "I think- mortals can understand the gods, in little ways. The ways they manifest in our world. If you know hard work, farming, crafts, then you know Zenithar, at least a little bit. He is those things, that's how he makes himself known to us." She gestures one hand up as she speaks, laying it across her body, idly straightening her shirt. "Most of what I learned was Maran and Dibellan, though. They're... a little harder to quantify. Love, devotion, beauty, expression- I mean, people know these things, don't they? And how could these things not know us? If the artist understands their art, does the art understand the artist?"

Ranso listens quietly; they are less than familiar with the Imperial tradition, only knowing so much as the priests would tell the young to avoid their proselytizers. The Aedra, those he knew, cursed in the sermons, spoken of in distant pondering in the Vehkian circles he ran in as a youth. They find her words fascinating, their eyes are focused on her dark painted lips as she speaks these Imperial ideas- something, Ranso thinks, is best met with spiritual dialogue rather than ostracism. "It sounds more as though you know of things, and you liken them to the ideas of gods. A rather one-sided conversation." They tread lightly with their words out of respect for their friend, quickly honing in on another talking point. "Does the art understand the artist?... I like that." They chuckle softly, pleased to see Junah's flattered expression as they speak. "It's rather fitting, isn't it? Here we are, beings of a great work of the gods, marveling and wondering at those who created it, it which created us."

Looking up in the sky, Junah almost feels like she's searching for a face in the heavens now. Distant planets, the moons- waxing and waning- and a million tiny pinholes of light are all that she can see. "I hadn't thought of it like that... I meant the art as the god- as Dibella."

"Right," Ranso nods. "I'm not sure. It is more difficult looking up than down- even then, looking down, how does the artist communicate unto the art?"

"The art is communication." Junah says.

"So, the riddle is hidden away in itself?"

"I guess so... fat lot of good that does us though, huh?"

Ranso smiles at her. "It's not hopeless. There are always means of reflection."

She laughs softly, sitting back up and shifting closer to their side. "Ah, you're right. Let me get a closer look at you, maybe I'll figure it out." She leans in playfully and is met with a slight bump on her forehead as he moves to do the same. The two pull back with bashful grins and laughter.

After a few moments, Ranso finds his place slumped against Junah's chest, sermons still in hand, her heartbeat in his ear. Their eyes are closed as he recites the sermon from memory.

"Vivec says unto the Hortator remember the words of Boet-hi-ah:" Junah smiles, leaning down to rest her chin against the fuzz of Ranso's close-cut hair.

"We pledge ourselves to you, the Frame-maker, the Scarab: a world for us to love you in, a cloak of dirt to cherish." The winds of the ashlands blow softly behind the proud and dark voice he dons for the prince's speech. "Betrayed by your ancestors when you were not even looking. Hoary Magnus and his ventured opinions cannot sway the understated, a trick worthy of the always satisfied." Junah wraps an arm around their chest as they attempt not to let her affections distract them. "A short season of towers, a rundown absolution... and what is this?"

Junah breathes a deep, contented sigh and opens her eyes. The campfire is still burning, bathing the two in its glow.

"What is this but fire under your eyelid?"

#tesfest21 #mori writing #oc: junah #oc: ranso

[preposterousmissbradley]

Hundreds of Pearls Trading Cards Project

So, as you can see from all my recent posts, over the summer I headed a huge project I never thought I would ever take on: Trading Cards!  The @hundredsofpearls-zine was kicking off to a great start, and I had been chosen as a sticker artist!  Hooray!  It was so neat to see all of these fans of Steven Universe come together to create a Zine dedicated solely to Pearls, and Fan Pearls alike.  There was so much information, and so much diversity among people’s OCs.  

So I got to thinking: Wouldn’t it be cool if there was a trading card set dedicated to all of them? It was just a joke! That would be crazy, how could we even pull that off?  

But then my hand slipped, and I made the first draft of a trading card template, and we were off!

Originally meant to be for members and fans to make their own digital trading card for their own Pearls, the idea spiraled out of control, until I was making mock-ups for canon pearls as well!

It was easy to make a mock up, of course.  But translating it into different color pallets was a challenge.  Making everything legible on different backgrounds required a lot of fenagling. The information needed to be rearranged as well.  So what started as a simple “fill in the blank” template soon became my biggest graphic design challenge of 2020! Through a lot of input and help from other creators in the Hundreds of Pearls community, I solidified the new trading card look.

These were not the final product either.  Illustrators from the community made original art for each canon pearl, just like there were original illustrators for each Fan Pearl. 

So the final result was this template:

Each card would feature the Name, Era, Pronouns, Gem Placement and image of their gem, their Specialities, and a small about section.  On the very left middle of the card is a tiny emblem that says “Series 1″, a detail that emulates the Pokemon cards that inspired me to make these; and at the very bottom of each card would name the Illustrator and the number of each pearl (1-92 on the Fan Pearls, and 1-8 on the Canon Pearls).  

A new color pallet was added for the Canon Pearls that didn’t fit into White, Yellow, Blue, or Pink Diamond’s courts (this is my favorite template of them all):

Here is how the 8 Canon Pearl trading cards came out! (note: none of these illustrations are mine. All of my illustrations can be found back on my blog @preposterousmissbradley):

Due to circumstances beyond the moderators’ control, budget issues arose, and instead of printing at full size, 2.48″x3.46″, the Hundreds of Pearls trading card set ended up being printed much smaller (Closer to the size of business cards).  Unfortunately, many details were lost due to the downsize.  While this was a disappointment, this did not ruin the whole project.  Dozens of artists still came together to make a wonderful masterpiece, and we still got physical cards out of the deal!

All in all, I never thought I would make a trading card deck, but it is not an experience I would trade for anything!  10/10, would do again!

#Hundreds of Pearls Zine #Hundreds of Pearls Trading Cards #Steven Universe #SU #Pearl #Pearls #Blue Pearl #Yellow Pearl #White Pearl #Pink Pearl #Volleyball #Lonely Pearl #Aubergine #Aubergine Pearl #Renegade pearl #trading cards #Preposterous Miss Bradley #Brianne Bradley #Long Post #Digital Art #Graphic Design #Typography #Fan Art #Steven Universe Future #SUF

[nct-jungjaehyun]

broken promises and long distance with jung jaehyun

this came out a long longer than i expected but i hopeyou love it nonetheless! please check out my pinned post if you can, it would mean a lot. happy reading with jung jaehyun.

the calendar stared back at you in disappointment. january 19th. it felt like just yesterday when you first brushed your hands on this leather sofa and promised yourself that you would tell him everything.

after boyfriend!jaehyun’s long pleads and whines, you finally stepped away from the states and came back into his arms. you graduated from college last year during late may, but you created a handful of excuses to lengthen your stay there. 

jaehyun did not mind waiting. he had been waiting for 14 years, what was a little more time? most of all, he was determined that time was not his enemy, distance was. friends and family warned him that your heart might stray, but he remained unmoved by his own heart. even when you had posted a picture of yourself being piggybacked by another man while posing on the top of the mountains, he never brought it up in your text messages. he never showed a hint of jealousy. while he never doubted your love for him, he was filled with constant fear that he would chase you away. whether he was on stage or filming a variety show, he made sure to keep his distance from all females and earned himself the title as the idol who cannot flirt for his life. however, his text messages with you tell a different story. his text bubbles would all fall under the category of lovey-dovey. the batches of cringey voice messages he delivered every week still sat unopened on your end.

you, on the other hand, returned his packages of text messages with lesser words as the months slipped by. for a college student as busy as you, a simple ‘okay’ seemed more than sufficient. you always wondered how jaehyun had endless time on his hands to send you paragraphs of text, some felt longer than the english assignments you were given.

before you went to the states, your entire world knew about jaehyun’s feelings for you. jaehyun’s world was much bigger, incomparably bigger. he had his fans to worry about and his members to stress for. you felt like a speck of dust in his life. the constant reminder from your parents that jaehyun will be the ultimate husband lost its meaning somewhere in between. 

moving to the states meant that a whole new planet will be added into your life. it was fascinating, all the people and places. at first, your motivation behind your english major was jaehyun. you wanted to communicate with him on another level, as well as to impress his members and fans if they were to ever find out about your relationship. during your second year in college, you considered giving up on your studies. the hundreds and thousands of dollars that jaehyun had poured from his own wallet to support you in college would have gone to waste. the guilt was enough to keep you up at night, questioning everything that you were doing. what were you going to do with this knowledge? you were staying up night after night to rush papers that lacked passion and energy. like a ghost, you floated through the crowded halls and sat through classes as an invisible. eating and sleeping turned into things that required immense effort. jaehyun sent his support not only financially, but also spiritually: “don’t forget to eat breakfast!” or “sleep tight!” in the end, you failed to meet his expectations. 

the wobbly tower you tried so hard to keep upright collapsed. a classmate took you to the hospital when you fainted at the library one day. he stayed at your bedside until the nurses informed him that you were replenished with all the nutrients and vitamins your frail body desperately craved for. it was not a long process, but the nightmares and loneliness the first few nights were unbearable. that is until he began coming by after class every day to tend to you. he was different from jaehyun. he was younger, but he carried a sense of maturity and sophistication that other men around you failed to demonstrate. unlike the other man across the world performing his heart out for his audience, this man on your bedside was willing to hold your hand and be the first person you see when you open your eyes. 

on the day of your graduation, you gave jaehyun another chance to grasp the tiny bit of hope to spark your relationship again. the first chance was at the hospital. you told yourself that you would clench your teeth and fight through the rest of college if he can show up right then. sure, a figure walked through and, we already know, it was your classmate, not jaehyun.

graduation day. you stared at the mirror and took a deep breath. “jung jaehyun,” you said, at the image of him pulled up on your phone, “be here for me and i promise i will be there for you for the rest of our lives.”

you waited and waited. they called your name and from the podium your eyes squinted into the sea of proud family and relatives of the class of 2020. sitting in your designated seat for valedictorians, you twist your back to search for him. again, nowhere to be found.

you called him the moment that the ceremony was over, hoping that you had simply missed him in the crowd and he was lingering somewhere on the grassy field with your parents.

the call went to voicemail. maybe his phone was on silent. you called again. nothing. the monotone voice that instructed you to call again played back quicker this time.

out of nowhere a hug engulfed you from the back. you broke out into a huge smile, realizing that jaehyun was still the same romantic and cheesy boy you knew best. 

you were wrong. 

turning around, the one who had hugged you was your classmate. in his arm, the object that spiked your back, was a bouquet of flowers. they were crysanthemums, your favorite. “congratulations,” he said, his cheeks blushing a strong pink, “i’m very proud of you.” it surprised you when he leaned down to kiss you on the cheek, but you did not dodge from it. it was sweet and charming of him.

today is january 19th and it was time to tell jaehyun everything. 

right on schedule, you see him coming through the main entrance of the sm building. he patted your head and asked, “hey, why did you want to meet me here?”

“it’s been a month since i came back and you’re already tired of me?” you laughed.

he shook his head, laughing with you, and invited you to the practice room. “the members are out shopping together. we have the practice room to ourselves.”

it always felt stifling to be around him. jaehyun was a delight, but sneaking around like criminals just to talk was not.

walking up to the practice room, where a plaque with the words NCT were engraved on it, felt like a blur. your heart was pounding and your legs somehow found it difficult to walk on flat ground. walking with him was not that bad if you compared it with what came after. the both of you broke out into an all out fight.

“what do you mean you found someone else? i waited so long for you to come back!” he shouted, arms flailing.

you flinched at the volume of his voice. you can not remember the last time that he raised his voice at you. “jaehyun, we were never really a thing. normal things that normal couples do, we never did any of those. you know that. we promised each other that we were going to get married when i finished college, but deep down we both knew that wasn’t gonna happen.”

“i don’t know about you, but i believed it was going to happen. why are you giving up on us so easily?”

“you’re telling me that you will be willing to let our relationship destroy your reputation and threaten your career? do it right now and we’ll get married.”

you left him speechless. it never occurred to him that he would have to choose. he felt that it would just happen, that he will have both. you and his career.

“when i was in the hospital-” you started.

“when were you in the hospital?” he interrupted, rushing forward to hold your arm. his eyes glanced down once, as if making sure he did not miss a broken limb.

“i forgot to eat my meals and i stayed up to finish work. no one was there to take care of me. i don’t blame you for that, but i silently wished, i wished hard, that you would show up. if you did, i was willing to give up everything, just to be by your side.”

“if i showed up...” jaehyun wondered how much this would have all changed if he would have listened to his heart. he missed you so much but when he thought about all the faces in the audience, he knew it wasn’t a decision for him to make. he had a responsibility to be a part of NCT. he assumed the love you two had for each other would be strong enough to withstand all of the obstacles.

“my graduation ceremony, where were you?” you questioned, although you already knew the answer. you surfed the web that night and realized that he had another ceremony to attend, an award ceremony. his group won best artist of the year.

when he didn’t answer, you answered for him, “congratulations on the award. i wasn’t sure if i should have mentioned it before...”

he took a step back, furthering the gap between the two of you. his eyes were growing teary and so were yours. “he was there... both times when i wasn’t?”

you nodded and stared at your feet as tears dripped onto your shoes.

that gap was restored when he leapt forward and gripped you tightly against his chest. he was sobbing now. “i’m sorry. please don’t leave. we can fix this. we can fix- we can still- we still love each other, don’t we?”

you sniffed back your tears, “don’t do this, jaehyun. it’s time to let go. we wasted 14 years bounded by this obligation to love each other. we loved each other too much.”

the knives that stabbed into your heart felt like they were being pulled out. one by one. all the wounds were opening, vulnerable for bacteria to infect it.

he pulled away and turned around to wipe away all of his tears that strayed from the rest which had soaked into your shirt.

your phone rang from the pocket of your jeans. jaehyun tensed at the new ringtone. it used to be the tune of his song, try again. the new ringtone was unfamiliar to him, but it was a song that you heard often. it was a piano recording of your favorite song played by him.

“don’t pick up. we’re not over. you can’t do this to me. tell me, what did i do wrong?” jaehyun was getting desperate. you wanted your relationship to work out as much as he did, but the only person who can heal the wounds in your heart was not him, it was the person who was calling you right then.

you picked up the call and put his voice on speaker. i contrast, his voice was soft and assuring, “hey, i’m outside, are you ready? i can drive around the block if you need some more time.”

you smiled at his attentiveness. it felt as if the world was put on hold and only you and him existed—something you once felt with jaehyun. “i’ll be right there, two more minutes, okay?”

jaehyun’s strong breaths pulled you away from your phone call. you glanced at him for a moment before talking into the phone, “hey, i’m really hungry, can we go to my favorite restaurant for dinner?”

you can see his smile despite not seeing him in person, “i already made a reservation, love. i also got you your favorite flowers, crysanthemums.”

“i’ll see you soon, alright? bye,” you ended.

“bye,” a barely audible kiss sound came from the phone before you tapped end call.

jaehyun did not hesitate to pick at your boyfriend’s words like a lawyer, “your favorite restaurant is not open today. your favorite flowers are roses. he doesn’t even know you.”

you sighed and grinned at him, trying your best not to look apologetic, because there was no need for apologies. “my favorite restaurant changed. it’s a new name that originated from the states. i never liked roses. your favorite are roses. i was never fond of the color red.

“things change, jaehyun, our hobbies, our favorite foods. these are all feelings. don’t ignore these feelings. right now, i only have feelings for him.” you raised your phone towards jaehyun at your last word, reminding him that the person you grew a newfound love for is real.

lifting the necklace from underneath your shirt, you twirled the ring that looped on the rope. “he gave me this promise ring. he has one, too. it’s a commitment. we’re both going to keep this promise.”

with that said, you turned away and headed for the door.

you paused after two steps, without turning around, you added, “be happy, jaehyun. find someone who will keep your promise and make sure to put them on top of all of your other commitments. i’ll pay you back all the money bit by bit. it’ll work out somehow.”

you heard a loud thump on the floor. it must be jaehyun. a part of you wanted to go back and comfort him, but going back would mean never moving forward.

the one outside waiting for you was willing to move forward with you. he inspired you to use your english major for private tutoring and perhaps someday write a book. 

holding your head high, you took a deep breath. you were glad to finally put jaehyun behind you. 

you did not want to dream of the future anymore, but one thing that you knew for sure: don’t lose sight of the one you have right now and love him with your whole heart.

#nct jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #jaehyun #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #nct 127 #nct jaehyun blurbs #nct jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun angst

[boymeetsweevil]

the shape you make

Grouping: Reader x Johnny

Word Count: ~4.1k

Warnings/Themes: Halloweentown AU (again), body insecurity, slight allusions to speciesism, graphic smut, communication issues (as always), a very thirsty work friend

Summary: For both you and Johnny, there is something big holding you back from being intimate. At the yearly Harvest party, that something big becomes something known.

A/N: This fic is part of The Intimacy Anthology, and then Halloween came and ate it :) If you’re interested in the project and/or would like to see the works from the other talented artists, click the link!

“—I mean, we’re doing fine. I would say it’s perfect except for one thing.”

You frown down at the dragonling wriggling in your hands, partially in pity for him. Snickerdoodle is in for his first-ever check up and by the way he tries to burrow into the front pocket of your uniform, you can tell he’s uncomfortable. It’s likely that the coolant pills given to suppress fire during examinations are upsetting his stomach. You pat his rough belly. 

The rest of your frown is dedicated to a predicament you face with your boyfriend. 

You’ve been dating Johnny for three months. After being set up by two mutual friends who thought you’d be a good pair, you hit things off and decided to see where things would go. The issue was, while you’d had many a good conversation and even met his mother, you still hadn’t let Johnny get to know the real you. Which meant things between you felt too good to be true and you were preparing for an inevitable rebuff.

“What’s the problem again? He doesn’t want to go with you to the Harvest party?” 

Your coworker Nautilanita ruffles her wings anxiously as she hunts for the correct syringe for dragon skin and a few treats to distract Snickerdoodle. 

“No, we’re going to the Harvest party. The problem is that I want to go further with Johnny, but I don’t think I actually can.”

“Oh. That’s what I thought you said. But he’s literally perfect, so I figured I misheard you.” 

You roll your eyes. Despite being pair-bonded to another lovely griffin for almost 13 mating cycles, something about Johnny turns your friend into putty.

“I think that’s the problem. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s funny—”

“Ehh. I don’t think I’ve heard a great joke from him yet.”

“He’s funny in that cute, corny way.”

“Fair.” Nautilanita approaches Snickerdoodle with a dried newt and distracts him just long enough to give him the first of his vaccinations. “So, what, you don’t like perfect guys?”

“It’s not like that. It’s more like he treats me like I’m perfect.”

“Okay, did you just come here to brag?”

The flat look on Nautilanita’s face is enough to startle a laugh out of you. You’re glad for the tiny distraction and allow some nervous energy to leave you.

“You know what I mean. There’s things he doesn’t know about me that I’m pretty sure could ruin us. I’m not the perfect person he thinks I am.”

“What does not perfect mean?”

Nautilanita hands you a needle and switches places with you, scooping up Snickerdoodle. You take up a new syringe to draw some blood from between his wings for the examination. With quick work, you watch the gold liquid fill the barrel of the syringe.

“It sounds dumb when I say it out loud,” you whine while taking the blood away to the chemistry machine. Nautilanita smiles softly at you.

“That probably means it is dumb. And that you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’ve seen Johnny, though.”

“Yes. Of course I have,” Nautilanita sighs dreamily. If it were anyone else, you might get jealous.

“He’s athletic and super buff. He’s normal. And I...”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there. This is dumb. Do you think Johnny is a shallow guy?”

“Of course I don’t. I know he isn’t.”

“Then do you really think he’s gonna just drop you because you’re not 'normal’? I still don’t even get what that means.”

“No, but—”

The machine beeps and Nautilanita hands Snickerdoodle back to you to collect the sample.

“But what?”

“But I what if he doesn’t want me? What if he can’t be attracted to me?”

“Have you and Johnny kissed?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“And has he ever initiated a kiss?”

“Sure, lots of times.”

“Then I think he finds you attractive.”

You grimace to yourself. It sounded so easy put that way though you weren’t sure if Nautilanita even understood your worry. Maybe sitting down at that Leprechaun-run cafe after work with Nautilanita would help make your predicament clear, but at the moment you felt too exhausted. In an ideal world, it would be just as easy as Nautilanita said.

“What do you think?”

Mark holds up two button down shirts to his front for Johnny to compare. One is a saturated red and the other is a muted periwinkle blue.

“Blue one, easy.”

“Thanks. I’d ask Yeri, but she’s gonna be working almost up until the Harvest party. You’re lucky.”

“I don’t know who you’re calling lucky. I put sweat and tears into my outfits because I pick them all myself.”

“That’s bull. That one with the turtleneck and chains two weeks ago? There’s no way that was all you.”

“What? Yes it was”

Johnny tries not to eye the Harvest outfit he has laying on the chair at the other end of his room. The one that he’d recruited you into helping him with, over the duration of several days.

“Hmm. Not even when you’re shopping? Like when you’re in the fitting room and kind of flirting a little bit? Not even then?”

“Didn’t know you were such a hoe, Mark.”

"I have layers,” is all he says with flushing cheeks.

He’s glad Mark didn’t notice he avoided the question because the truth is that he’s never had such a moment with you. He’d like to, though. He’d like to be able to take you shopping with him, like normal couples do. Maybe you’d manage to sneak into the fitting rooms and give him a stack of things you’d want to see him in. Maybe half the time he’d come out shirtless just to see your reaction. Maybe at the end he’d pull you into the fitting room with him after one too many appreciative glances from you. But he can’t.

You’ve actually never seen him shirtless. Despite the fact that his thoughts sometimes go that direction when at the gym. Despite the fact that all his friends, Mark included, seem to think he’s already long since seen you bare and bared himself for you.

“You okay?” Mark asks when the minutes have ticked by and the conversation has screeched to a halt.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“What if, just as a scenario, we hadn’t done anything other than kiss.”

Mark’s eyes widen in the middle of folding his shirts and though he tries to hide the reaction, Johnny catches it.

“You mean you and—”

“Yeah.”

“So, just a peck or...”

“No! It’s definitely gotten, uh, intense. But I haven’t ever taken off my clothes in front of her or anything.”

Mark tilts his head, eyes narrowed above Johnny’s head. “Because you don’t want to?”

“That’s the thing. I do. But I’m pretty sure I’m not her usual...type.”

“Have you gone through a catalogue of her past relationships and found her type?”

“No, but—”

“Has she said she doesn’t like certain things about you?”

“...No.”

“Then why do you think that?”

“Well—”

The chimes of an alarm on his phone interrupt his explanation. Johnny turns off the alarm and gets up to the bathroom. He leaves the door open, not worried about privacy in the company of his best friend. Over the sound of running water and the aerosol of shaving cream leaving its canister he continues.

“I don’t want to make things awkward for her.”

“I mean, if you want her to look at you that way, that’s important. Even if she does have a type.”

“Right,” Johnny mumbles while running his razor under the tap. 

Mark comes to lean against the doorframe of the bathroom to hear better. Johnny’s lips purse at Mark’s reflection in the mirror. He feels torn.

“And if you’re wrong, then you can just move forward.”

“Right.” 

Right?

This year, the Harvest party is being hosted at the mayor’s house instead of at a corporate venue. There are probably hundreds of guests on the property all milling about and giving you a calming sense of anonymity. Johnny texted you earlier that evening telling you where you could find him when you finally left the vet clinic and made it to the party.

A few friends stop you to make small talk and instead of telling them you have to go meet Johnny, you let them delay you. A nymph from work brings you to the large kitchen to eat some rare berries she brought. Another friend from work ushers you onto the main floor to spin you a few times while a song that you like plays.

When the song changes, you exchange goodbyes and stumble off from them. Unfortunately, you bump into Nautilanita, who you had also technically been avoiding.

“Look who it is,” Nautilanita‘s talons curve dangerously around the stem of a wine glass.

“Oh, hey.”

“Guess who I ran into half an hour ago.”

“Who?”

“Guess.”

“Johnny?”

“Mhm. Your boyfriend,” Nautilanita snaps. “Why was he asking me where you were? I had to lie and say you got held back at work.”

“You weren’t required to do that,” you point out. Nautilanita narrows slitted eyes at you.

“I’m guessing you haven’t sat down and talked with him yet.”

“I haven’t. I do plan to, though. I’m just...”

“Nervous?”

You nod and suddenly Nautilanita is grabbing your arm and pulling you over to a darker corner of the house. There’s a group of people huddled loosely near the basement door, light smoke wafting up from where their heads are craned down.

“What are we doing?”

“Getting you some extra courage.”

“Nautilanita,” you hiss before darting your heard around your surroundings. “Did you forget we have weekly drug tests at work?”

“I’m not getting you drugs. I’m getting you some courage. It’s legal, I think.”

You stand off from the group, confused, as Nautilanita chats with the lady in the middle of the huddle. A witch, based off the purple ring she wears. The witch reaches into her bag when Nautilanita does actually ask for courage by name. Nautilanita returns with a small bag of bright yellow orbs that flash welcomingly in the low lighting.

“Open.”

You open your mouth obediently and chew the little rubbery yellow ball until it bursts into your mouth. It tastes a bit like dish soap but you swallow it.

“How long does this last?”

“10 minutes.”

“You mean I only have 10 minutes to find him and tell him everything?”

“Well, 9 minutes and 55 seconds now.”

You push past Nautilanita to circle back through the crowd and climb the staircase to where Johnny said he’d be on the second floor. He’s not in the billiard room at the end of the hall, but someone there points you toward one fo the guest rooms. When you find him he’s sitting in an arm chair in a corner guest room, scrolling on his phone when you enter abruptly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he puts his phone down and makes his way over to you. “Why are you out of breath?”

“I, uh, ran up the stairs.”

“You ran up the stairs to see little ol’ me?”

Johnny’s smile is bright and genuine and suddenly you feel a rush of something. It must be the courage. You throw yourself into his waiting arms and press your face to his chest. He should know, you think. He deserves to know.

You’re about to pull away and confess to him, but then he’s lifting your chin with a finger. His smiles bleeds into his eyes and softens into something you think you could swim in. He leans down and catches your mouth in a kiss.

Instead of worrying about the courage running out, you focus on the kiss. With your eyes closed you can properly lose yourself in the feeling of the hard muscle under his soft sweater. The sweater he chose after frantic consultation with you. 

Emboldened by the way you relax into him, Johnny pushes further into your space. His bangs tickle your face when he swivels his head and presses a fuller kiss to your lips. Warm hands creep a slow path up from the flare of your hips to the hem of your work shirt. His breath hitches a little in a puff against your cheek when you push up into him and kiss him harder. His hands come to anchor himself on your lower torso again. This time your movements have pulled your work shirt up to expose your stomach. 

The drag of the skin of his fingers on your lower back has you yanking yourself back with darting eyes and a shaky smile. It pains you to ruin the momentum of the moment, but you know that if you don’t explain yourself before your clothes are supposed to come off, you don’t know how things will end. You’re not expecting to look up and find Johnny’s eyes filled with something that looks akin to fear. 

“Shit—I’m sorry.” He rocks back on his heels and lets his gaze bounce around the corners of your face looking for a cue. “Should we talk about this?” 

You think about the 10 minutes you have, and how much of it could possibly be left.

“Y-yeah.”

You gravitate towards the guest bed and he follows with a flop.

“I hope you know I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he offers.

“I know you weren’t. It was just getting kinda heavy there for a second.”

“And you don’t want that to happen.”

“I want to make sure you still want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because...I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

Johnny can feel the prick of sweat at his hairline and across his shoulders. He kind of wishes you would just tell him you know what he’s hiding so he can begin to adjust. He knows it’s not what Mark would suggest, but he doesn’t want to lose you.

“I know humans say they like magical folk, but being friends with the magicals and being with them is really different.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And even if they really are fine with us, they probably still would prefer to be with other humans.”

He nods, and then replays your words in his head. You said ‘us’.

“Maybe you wondered why it’s taken us so long to be physical”

“I have, honestly. But that doesn’t mean you should rush to do that.”

“Well, it’s not because I really needed more time. It’s because I didn’t have the courage to before. I didn’t want you to see me like a monster from those old books.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you reach for the buttons of your work shirt and undo them as quickly as you can with shaking fingers and courage long since run out. As the shirt loses its structure and falls away, he can see more of your skin than he ever has before.

Scattered in patches across your abdomen, breasts, and even your back are teal scales that reflect his shocked expression back at him in dozens of little frames with the clarity of a polished gem.

“I’m actually not human. I come from a long line of water sprites.”

The tears of shame in your eyes, another first sight for him, are the same iridescent teal and leave subtle crystalline streaks on their way down your cheeks.

He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t find actual words, and the laugh seems to jump from his throat. Low bubbling first it then grows as the seconds pass by. You look up from the bedspread because you can’t believe your ears. This isn’t at all how you imagined he’d react. He holds up a hand. He knows how bad the reaction is but he can’t help it.

When the laughter begins to subside a moment later, he attends to his own shirt. He hikes the material up over his head and reveals smooth skin. You’re not sure what’s going on at first, but then he removes the silver earrings he wears every day and fur begins to sprout from his torso, his forearms, around his face. His canines and nails lengthen before your eyes to sharp points. And suddenly you understand.

“I bought these from a witch who specializes in werewolf magic the day before our first date,” he reaches over and places the small silver hoops into the palm of your hand.

You look down at the jewelry and then back up at your boyfriend’s face. You’re surprised to see that he looks different, though not because of the sudden lycanthropic transformation. There’s a lightness in his eyes and length in his spine that makes you realize just how much his secret was weighing on him.

No words leave your mouth as you crawl into his space. A small smile graces his lips and he lays on his back to make room for you. You kiss him once more and you’re shocked at how different it feels to do so without a secret smothering everything. As you part his lips, Johnny lays his hands on your skin gently. When you don’t withdraw, he lets his hands wander. 

His palms skim over the cold patches of scales like he’s trying to warm them. He likes the juxtaposition of the warmth from your skin and the cool brilliance of your scales. He likes the way they pattern on you, lining your spine and sloping over your roundnesses. He kiss parts he can reach on your shoulder and when you stop to let him move more, his kisses follow the trail below your collarbone and between your breasts. When he tentatively swipes his tongue over them, you sigh and sink more fully into his lap.

You pull at the thick hair hear the nape of his neck and redirect him back to your mouth. It doesn’t escape you that your bare torsos are constantly brushing. Your nipples harden when he hugs you to him and shivers at the cool patches meeting his skin.

“Are we going to?”

“Do you want to,” his breath puffs against the side of your jaw.

“Please.”

The press of your rocking hips against his reminds him of just how much clothing there’s still left to remove and how much skin there still is to marvel at. After switching positions, he has you on your back and makes a start on removing your pants. He makes quick work of them by trailing a claw under the stubborn button. When the slacks are gone, he looks over the splashes of blue on the inside of your right thigh, spilling over the front of both your shins, wrapping around your left ankle.

He starts there, with a simple kiss to the sparkle on your ankle and then continues. Like skipping a stone through cerulean waters, he kisses over your shins and makes his leisurely way over the hill of your knee. His tongue makes an appearance at your right thigh, where you had been praying for it. He lingers there until he’s certain the area is no longer untouched. There’s an urge to mark up the other thigh as well so there’s some symmetry. He follows the urge with your hand fisting in the thick strands of his hair the whole time.

“Johnny,” you groan when he takes too long trying to mirror the pattern of your scales with small nips to your skin. “When I asked if we were going to have sex, I was asking about today.”

“Sure, I’ve got you.”

He pats your thigh in a placating gesture, and then slides your underwear off at an obnoxiously slow pace with a shit-eating grin. You try your hardest to level a glare at him, but you break eye contact to gasp when he slides a gentle finger between your folds with no prior mention. You briefly consider just letting him continue, but you’re chasing a very specific sensation.

You rake your nails up the part of his back that you can reach, parting some of the fur there. The shiver that wracks through his whole back has you biting your lip in an attempt to stifle laughter. But it also has him shifting so he can hover over you, his hips occupying the place his shoulders once did. While he balances his weight on his knees and one hand, he uses the other hand to get just free enough from his pants.

He replaces his hand when the button, zipper, and the waist of his pants and underwear bunch around his lower thighs. You reach down before he can do anything else and see what he’s working with. Johnny releases a shaky breath while you feel him up, trace the trail of hair that run from his stomach to his groin. Your other hand runs up his arm in an idle fashion. It’s unintentional but, still, the feeling of your nails running over his skin feels like a live current, even through the fur.

The concentration he exhibits is clear as his head lolls forward. You stop your exploration and nudge him into action with a squeeze of your thighs. He still leans down to plant a kiss on your lips before hooking one hand under your back and around a thigh and shifting so you’re seated in his lap once more. You lower yourself onto him fully and begin rocking. You had been ready to take him early on but you’re wet enough to surprise him. He fights the instinct to pitch up into the wet heat until he’s sure you won’t mind.

When you start to get a bit frustrated with the angle, you push him back and brace yourself on either side of his chest. He lets out a long moan as you ride him, fangs glinting when he throws his head back. His hands come to pull you down onto him more firmly. He doesn’t realize that the prick of his claws on the swatch of scales that adorn your hip spurs you on as well. Each downward snap of your hips he meets halfway until he can feel the tell-tale signs of his orgasm coming. He’s not expecting you to reach down and brush a fingertip against the tip of one of his fangs. Carefully so you don’t cut yourself while you continue to bounce against him, you brush your finger across his lips. He’s not sure why, but it sets him over the edge and he spills into you.

You watch the way his face contorts with the pleasure and ache to join him. Grabbing one of clawed hands, you bring it to the apex of your thighs and he quickly guesses your need. He does his best to rub at your clit while the edges of orgasm fade away from his peripheral vision. It’s just slick enough to get you there, and you finish soon after his fog lifts.

The first thing you do is collapse onto him as you recover. Johnny tries to take deep breaths that you can match and eventually the two of you are letting out twin exhales. When you’re able to, you lift yourself just enough to kiss him again. This time it’s one soft singularity.

He sighs against your lips, and when he pulls back there’s a bemused smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you thought I was human.”

“Yeah,” you close your eyes. “I don’t know how we managed to fool each other for so long.”

“I was actually shaving five times a day since the first date.”

The thought makes you smile when you think back on all the times he would go to the bathroom and come back with a pink face.

“Now I’m sure you can guess why I never washed dishes at your place.”

“Would you get more scales,” he asks while brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“Close. My fingers would turn blue and web.” You wiggle them for effect.

“You know what? I don’t even think either of us actually said we were human. I guess we just assumed.”

You nod and wonder how things would have been if you came out earlier. The idea of surprising a Johnny that thought you were human on the 2nd date with webbed fingers makes you break your composure. He must follow your train of thought because he begins laughing too, shaking the two of you with the force. When you quiet down again, there’s a heavy calm settled in your ribcage. You suppose this is what courage can bring. Johnny rubs your back as you start to nod off. The last thought you have is that you’ll have to remember thank Nautilanita.

#nct fanfic #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny fanfic #johnny imagines #johnny seo scenarios #johnny seo imagines #johnny seo fanfic

[von-posts-stuff]

Hyacinth

Dedicated to @dead-bones

Synopsis

When Wilbur sends Technoblade his plea for help, he sends it much too late for it to be of any use. Two months later, Technoblade arrives in the Dream SMP after an error with his communicator and comes upon a bloody revolution being fought with no resources and little chance of success. It gets worse from there.

(Takes place in an alternate universe, where Minecraft is its own reality with its own rules - demigods and their vassals, servers with supernatural sponsors that act as small pocket dimension, and a more fantasy take on Minecraft game elements - and there is a lot more going on in the dream smp than just a Hamilton a/b/o fanfiction nock off. This chapter (one) is 11k ish words!)

• Chapter One •

The encroaching heat he felt permeating his skin was a comfort in a way only he would understand. Constantly, he felt this stirring in his chest, a feeling which drew him closer to the sweltering heat of summer and the feeling of molten rock just meters from his grasp. Feelings which spoke of warm, dry nights curled into crevices to hide from the fan ends of the outside world, or sweltering trips to foreign villages where local residents would gaze at him and see either prey meant for the hunt or an abomination meant for the pit. These feelings, memories and instincts all neatly wrapped together, were stronger when he gazed upon the few surface lava pools which littered the fields around the home of his — Father? Brother? — friend, or noticed how the clear, blue skies of above held a source of burning which many overlander’s viewed as a burden. He actually quite liked that light source, so much like the glowing stones of his homeland, and yet so different. It reminded him of home, even if he rarely truly missed the harsh weather and unfriendly company of the Underlands.

Instead, it was a feeling of instinctual longing, perpetuated by the cacophony of voices echoing through his head like an audience yelling from the seats of an amphitheater. A feeling he couldn’t quite explain in either his tongue, or his dear friend's tongue. There was no descriptor for it. It just... was.

A lot of things about Technoblade just were.

His arms swung in a rhythmic motion, striking up and down with trained precision. The open field he occupied was blistering, the sun beating down against his bare skin — he still didn’t quite understand the concept of layered clothing — in a way that was both uncomfortable and deeply satisfying. Rarely was it this sunny in the mountain wilderness of the land his friend occupied; land he now occupied.

That was also a strange concept to him, land in which he belonged. Land which belonged to a person. The lands only belonged to the higher beings, ownership couldn’t be given away without permission and it would never truly belong to a single individual. He had lived in his homeland, a world scattered with fire and brutal tribes, and yet no single race owned any land. It all belonged to their patron.

He wondered idly when this concept of ownership came about, and what granted these overland dwellers such arrogance to think they weren’t subjected to these laws.

The gold blade in his hands made another swing down, stopping just below his waist. He had been out here for hours, practicing with the aid of his voices. Listening to instruction, adjusting his grip, imagining his enemies being cut down by the sword which had been with him for as long as he remembered. This practice was cathartic, something he did to maintain the illusion of routine in this new world. His friend always told him how he should sit down and relax, not understanding that it was something he needed to do.

(Swing your sword properly, don’t get distracted Technoblade, you need to focus, keep your shoulders back, that was awful form, Blood for the Blood god-)

He needed to focus, needed to fix whatever was wrong with him, square his shoulders, and somehow, someway, ignore that comforting heat against his skin and the dark desire to slice and kill-

“Techno!” A voice cut through the symphony of noise screaming at him from all directions, in a way which separated it from the sounds in his head. It made him pause mid-swing, causing his entire body to tense in reaction to the shout. The voice was bright, extremely young, and a couple pitches lower than his own. The name, his name, on the almost-stranger's lips was poorly pronounced as well, sounding like a warped version of his native tongue — like a child mimicking an adult with no real understanding behind that repetition. The pronunciation was irritating; too sharp, with no accent. It made the voices wail with injustice, frustrated and angry at the disrespect which was being given to him, their vessel. Technoblade didn’t care much. After all, he didn’t quite grasp the common words those overworlders spoke yet.

The little Wilbur Soot, his friend's son he learned. He had been there for only a few days, and yet he could only recall three things about the boy. One, he was extremely attached to Technoblades friend and his even younger second son; two, he was irritatingly chipper and endlessly excited about artistic hobbies; Three, he was quick to get attached to Technoblade and now spent his days wishing to pester the underworld native.

It was a weakness, to become and stay this attached to people. Something that Techno was constantly reminded of when the echoing voices called for the blood of the feeble child. It would be so, so easy to snap his neck, or to bring his golden blade down on the small beings neck, rendering him incapable of babbling endlessly at him-

(Kill, kill the disrespectful one, he doesn’t deserve to live after giving you such cheek, no don’t, the blond one will be sad, hes irritating, destroy him, don’t Technoblade-)

Technoblade was a child as well, but it never really felt like that. He felt so much older than his age, aided in his education by hundreds or even thousands of warriors and fighters. Techno could never enjoy the music which was strummed out of a guitar, or how the wild flowers littering the hills made beautiful flower crowns. He would never understand that simplistic beauty that could only truly be seen through the lense of an innocent child. He’d seen too much of this cruel world, and how sentient beings abuse each other.

Wilbur, the bright child with dark coloring and a love for the artistic, ran up with such vigor to Technoblade. He looked excited, willful and joyful. It was clear the small human with mildly pointed ears - maybe his fathers hybrid blood peaking through? - was on a mission, and Techno took a guess that the mission was him. More than a few voices called for him to take the gold sword which was now dropped to his side, clung in his right hand, and drive it through the child’s jugular. Techno had learned it was best to ignore the voices in this new, colder world when they wanted him to kill and maim.

“Techno, Techno! Dad wants you to come back in for dinner!” The child ran up the hill, stopping just before the pink haired warriors formed, panting heavily. He took a minute to catch his breath, before standing up straight and giving Techno a light smile before continuing with what was clearly on his mind. “We are having pork, freshly caught from a pair of wild boars-“

There was a pause, where Wilbur’s face fell. Technoblade felt his ear twitch, passively raising an eyebrow at Wilbur’s sudden hesitation. He idly wondered if Wilbur had stopped. Was having pork of any kind some sort of taboo in the overworld? Technoblade didn’t quite know what pork was, but he did know that wild boar was a species of hog. He was sure it tasted fine.

“That, uh”, Wilbur wring his hands in front of him, a sign of nervousness about a topic (weakness, it’s a weakness, exploit it Techno, use it-), “that isn’t, like, cannibalism or anything for you right?”

The eyebrow which was raised went even higher, the look on Techno’s face transferring into a deadpan which he was sure caused Wilbur’s heckles to rise. He had no way to express himself with his broken common, but he was positive his expression delivered his utter disappointment in the question. How would it be cannibalism? He wasn’t a wild hog, or a boar. He was a piglin, a hybrid. He wasn’t anything like Wilburs pathetic, weak overworld livestock. He was sure that these tusked pigs were more like the violent hoglins than anything like the piglins Technoblade was barely similar to.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that, how would I know? You are part piglin, which is like… a species of boar or pig right? At least that’s what Dad told me.” Wilbur took a moment to pause, staring at Technoblade with dismay and stubbornness. “So it only makes sense right? I’m not crazy.” Wilbur crossed his arms, a defensive stance in his small posture. The hybrid noticed how his lip jutted out and he tried to square his shoulders to appear taller. It wasn’t working as intended. The child was still tiny.

(Small, small, so small, easy prey, easy to kill, so easy to destroy, consume him Techno-)

Technoblade shook his head, unsure whether it was to inaudibly tell the voices off, or in response to Wilbur. It communicated his message effectively either way, as the kid before him brightened at the action, grinning wide at the hybrid-who-didn’t-quite-feel-like-a-child. His easy acceptance of Techno’s nonverbal answer mildly surprised the piglin hybrid. The warrior had thought for sure that the child would become angry or frustrated at being wrong. But he only brightened in response, uncrossing his arms and reaching out towards Technoblade with excitement.

Rushing forward and grabbing Technoblade by his free hand, Techno almost dropping his golden blade in the process, Wilbur yanked on the piglin hybrid with all the vigor of a distracted toddler. It was like Wilbur was a pet, whining and touching for attention, beckoning Technoblade to come with him. It caused Techno to tighten his grip on his sword, irrationally afraid it would be ripped from him, leaving him alone and defenseless in a world that was so much colder, with monsters just as dangerous as his homelands native species, and left afraid and without anything to defend himself, left weak-

(Never defenseless, always here, we are here, Techno is never alone, you will never be defenseless, the blood god is with you, we are with you, you are strong, strong, strong, powerful, you will be-).

His fears were only slightly abated with Wilbur’s large grin and wide innocent eyes. He looked so happy to just hold onto the hybrid warrior, dragging him from his practice with extreme vigor. Wilbur wouldn’t take his sword — he wouldn’t be able to, he just couldn’t. Technoblade was too strong for him, too powerful. He could take him apart with a wave of his hand, there was no need to panic.

Staring at his hand held in Wilbur’s grasp, Technoblade felt himself warm in a different way. The heat which came from inside of his chest instead of from the blazing sun. It was a strange sensation, one which he didn’t quite want to explain. It was as if the moment he came to the realization that Wilbur wasn’t going to harm him in any way, he had relaxed in the child's hold.

(Strange, this shouldn’t happen, destroy the child, it's comforting, let him take you home, don’t go with it, this is nice-)

“Come on!” Wilburs tug became even more insistent, “Dad and Tommy are waiting, and you know how much Tommy hates waiting! He’ll probably bother us, asking about training, or what we did today, or asking questions about-“ Wilbur continued to go on and on, pulling harshly on Technoblades hand as he led him south to the home his friend and Wilbur’s father stayed at. This time, Wilbur succeeded in moving him out of the wide flower fields and into the direction of the homely cottage with little to no effort. The child didn’t need to exert force with Technoblade so willing and compliant.

After all - for some odd reason - the voices quieted while Wilbur rambled on and on, and that desire for the heat of his homeland and the feel of boiling blood against his skin slowly drifted away as it was replaced with a new heat in his chest.

Warmed spread through him, and his grip instinctively tightened on his blade, grasping it for dear life. He wasn’t used to this need, this feeling of being...wanted for small and insignificant things such as commentary. Maybe this is what his friend (Phil, Dad, Father, Brother, Phil is friend) meant when he told Techno about the meaning of a home, and the meaning of family. Maybe this was what it was like to have a place to belong.

The voices let Technoblade have a moment of silence as Wilbur continued to ramble on. The silence in his head brought Technoblade nothing but comfort.

———————————————————————

The blistering heat of the uncovered sun irritated his skin and made him long for winter nights and dark shade. It was sweltering, irritating in a way that he had grown to know. He instead wished for those shaded days and winter nights where he and his closest allies made the world their own. The sun, as it was on this balmy day, high in the sky indicating noon time, caused him immense annoyance.

Once upon a time, he would have found the light beating down against his skin, causing him to sweat extensively, a comforting feeling, reminding him of his homeland and his patron.

Now it only served to frustrate him as he plowed and tilled his vast fields of potatoes, his shirt soaked against the front of his chest and back. He had even had to hide his tail, the sensitive skin becoming blistered in the blazing heat. With barely any plant variations for natural herbal protections on Hypixel’s large sky island fields he had claimed as his own, there wasn’t much he could do to protect himself from his greatest annoyance.

His native lands had long since ceased being home to him, and his patron god was a fickle master whom Technoblade viewed with more negative skepticism than any other. Unlike other demigods, such as the grand Hypixel and the flashy Beast, the Blood God never graced the mortal world with his presence. Instead, much like the God of Destruction and the missing End God, the supreme being sat on his metaphorical throne, watching the runes of his lands suffer under exploitation and limited innovation. Now, unlike when he was younger, Technoblade was more bitter than he liked to admit.

Bitter enough to grow a resentment for the heat, despite how the cold bites at his skin, and to avoid battles and blood sports after the downfall of his own state by hiding away in self-imposed isolation, only pulling himself from his loneliness to briefly placate the ghosts which lived inside him.

Technoblade had been in Hypixel for over a year now, specifically the Hypixel sky islands generated for personal use for much more wealthy and adventurous clients, and he had still not gotten used to the scheduled weather controls which served as part of the territory's famed functions. It wasn’t scheduled to rain, or to even overcast, for another few days if the ruling he had read in town a few weeks back was to be remembered. That didn’t change his current situation though. Technoblade was still blistering in the heat.

(Heat, heat, warmth, we like the warmth. Home, when are we going home, It's boring, why don’t we fight, lets go, battles to be won, wars to fight, kill, kill, maim, destroy-)

Technoblade ran a clawed hand over his sweaty brow, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he tried to determine if there was any relevant or important information being spewed at him. Turns out, like usual, there was nothing. “Chat”, Technoblade called out, talking at the blank space of air in front of him as he swung his farming hoe and let it casually rest on his shoulder, “shut up. You aren’t contributing anything useful”.

Like usual, the reprimand only served to irritate the cacophony of voices in the piglin hybrids head, causing them to screech even louder, rattling his brain with their bombardment of noise. With a groan, he took the same hand he used to wipe his brow and pressed it tiredly against his face. First the damned heat, reminding him so callously of the nether, now Chat was acting up and shouting opinions left and right. He still had another whole field to till before the night hit and he would have to defend his crops from wayward spiders and baby zombies, he didn’t have time to get distracted by the voices in his head.

Technoblade has been in this section of Hypixel for over a year now. He had first come to this land, this new territory of the Hypixel demigods' personal server, as an escape. The demigod’s vassale, Simon, had even hooked him up with all he needed to maintain a boring and nonviolent (for him) livestyle. Sure, there were small skirmishes which broke up the monotony - he still couldn’t understand how he had come about battling Squid Kid of all people in potato farming - but he had mostly kept to himself these past months, cutting contact with the outside world and staying away from tournaments, competitions, events, and anything in-between. He did not want to be involved with any state authority anymore, to be used and then discarded like a blunt weapon when his opinions and beliefs no longer align with the majority. He had no desire to spend time underneath the thumb of an oppressive regime, whether it be someone else's or his own.

He needed to be as far away from the Antarctic Empire and its bloody history as possible, and with all communicators and cameras turned off, he found himself desiring more and more of the peace brought about by the simplistic lifestyle of a farm on a private island. So, he obtained a prime piece of land, used his funds to get himself started, and then grinded dungeons in the territory's inner city to make ends meet - all while hiding himself from the public eye. He had dropped out so suddenly from the campaign event within Earth that it was inevitable that he would have to hide as the whole thing blew over. After all, his popularity had skyrocketed during that campaign, and the empire he and… his friends had built gained a completely absurd amount of notoriety.

Hiding was inevitable, and this quiet life was something Technoblade found himself desiring.

(Lies, utter lies, you miss it, we miss the carnage, we miss the grand battles, we miss Phil, battles and honor, glory, blood spilt in honor of the patron, blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god-)

This amphitheater of voices moved to a crescendo, echoing around him, shouting from all sides. The chant echoed and repeated throughout his mind, invading each and every one of his thoughts as it became louder and louder. Technoblade began to tremble, the hybrid's hands shaking before dropping the farming hoe. It wasn’t because of any fear or nervousness, but rather the voices channeling their feelings and desires through Technoblade, forcing him to feel the need for bloodshed and the need to destroy. He grabbed his shakiest hand, the one which dropped his farming hoe, with his decidingly steadier one. Clutching at it, he took three deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he tried to calm his body's reaction to what was being echoed around him.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened during his long vacation, if he could even call it that. They, Chat, had been getting more and more agitated and angry with him in recent months. He had stopped visiting the dungeons to take out monsters and mobs three months ago, had stopped interacting with other community members four months ago after he had won the potato harvest against Squid Kid. Techno had taken his routine seriously, falling into it easily. Get up at dawn, eat the harvested crops for a meal, go out to till and sow the fields, maintain his crops until noon, eat his harvested vegetables, go back out to remove any dead crops and replant more, head in at sunset, consume more harvested foods, go to sleep. It was a routine he had stuck to for almost three long months. No visits to the outside, only the occasional spiders or zombies invading his expanded floating island, barely any signal for his communicator to give him updates, just the same old steps repeated day in and day out.

So, Chat was upset with him. But they were always upset with him, when he ran from his responsibilities with the determination to hang his sword and axe up for good. They wanted him to go out and provide exhilarating fights, battling for honor and fortune. They wanted him to slay his enemies, or anyone else who got in the way, and consume the world as if it was his to devour. They wanted the world in the palm of his hand, so that they could see how it felt to hold it. Technoblade supposed that was just in their nature, being shades and ghosts of people who had long since passed, who had forgotten what it meant to be people as they were trapped within the vassal of the Blood god.

That would be him, far in the future. A cursed existence set to live out his afterlife trapped within the next poor soul who would be chosen upon birth to represent the patron.

Shaking his head, Techno looked out at his field pulling himself back together. “Chat, I need to work. I don’t have time for this.” His words incited another loud round of chattering, but at least they weren't chanting or channeling their wills through him, undermining his own personal freedom of choice. Reaching down, Technoblade picked up the farming hoe from the ground, swinging it a few times as he rolled his shoulders and looked out to his fields. He had almost finished the west field, its crops - potatoes and melons - almost ready to be completely harvested. Looking to the sky, Technoblade made note of the time as he put a hand up to shade his eyes. The sun was still relentless and glaring,but he noted how it seemed to be just past its highest point. He supposed he could take a break now, after all, he'd been in the field for hours at this point.

With a pointed sigh, Technoblade turned away from his farm lands, ignoring the cheering of his Chat in the background, and headed towards his small house over the hills. He had built it out of wood and stone, acquired through both natural and material means. It wasn’t home, per say, but it was a house he was comfortable with. The piglin hybrid wasn’t sure if he would ever have another home again.

Climbing up over the hills, using his beaten dirt paths and carved markers to tell which way he was going despite the fact he knew this land like the back of his own hand, Techno saw his house in all its glory. Heading in its direction from the west field, the trek was only ten or so minutes before he was standing in front of the structure he had seen at a distance. At closer inspection of his temporary home, he noticed the worn cracks along the cobblestone and the rot that was beginning to set into the wood. He needed to start maintaining renovations for the place, it was turning into a disaster. It might just fall apart on him while he slept.

Entering his home, Technoblade felt the rush of cool shaded air hit his overheated body, instantly chilling him. It was nice to be away from the heat. Not only was the cool shade pleasant on his body, but it also calmed his nerves and his agitation. No longer was his mind being subconsciously brought back to the nether of all places. The cold air and the cool colors of his small farming house dragged his thoughts away from bright reds and burning flame. This wasn’t his homeland, and it never would be. He was in the overworld, only his own personal choice could force him back into the fires of the underworld.

Moving through the house and winding in-between furniture, Technoblade headed for his kitchen, determined to get something to eat. He had long since given up maintaining or taking care of livestock after one too many incidents with kept bovines, but he had an abundant supply of pumpkins, melons, potatoes, and other various fruits and vegetables. It wasn’t as good as a steak or even some golden carrots, but it was nourishment enough for him to keep his physique and continue his work.

Roaming from one side of the kitchen to the other, the hybrid began rummaging through his cabinets, looking for any kind of stock base to use to make himself some sort of soup, when he saw it out of the corner of his eye.

A lit up communicator, sitting square in the middle of his crafted table.

The communicator had been dark for almost a year, the occasional message from Phil checking up on his notwithstanding - he never replied to those, eventually seeing their decline and cancelation. A lit up communicator meant an emergency then, either with the server he was occupying or with his… family.

Was his family in danger?

Moving quickly from his spot, Technoblade dashed forward to the communicator, grabbing it with a clawed hand and ignoring how his tail twitched in nervousness and worry. He hadn’t spoken to his family in years, besides Phil, and even those communications had been cut off and discarded with his lingering resentment towards the crow hybrid. He hadn’t even seen Tommy or Wilbur since the fateful day he and his dear friend (father, Phil, dadza, Phil is dad, Phil is your father, Techno-) had left to enter the campaign. That was nearly three years ago, Tommy would be almost seventeen now.

(Small Tommy, sweet Tommy, very rambunctious, Wilbur too, we miss them, why not go visit, they could be injured, maybe even worse, anyone who hurts our brothers must perish, we shall destroy anyone who harms them, did they get caught up in a scheme, where were they-)

Were they hurt? Did something, anything, happen to them?

Reaching forward, grasping at the old modeled communicator, Technoblade looked at the screen, desperately searching for the name of the sender. His eyes wandered from letter to letter, seeing but not completely understanding or grasping the situation.

Wilbur.

It was from Wilbur.

Why would Wilbur contact him now? They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t been on the best terms even before he had left in pursuit of greater things. There was nothing for them to talk about, no acknowledgement needed between them. Wilbur wouldn’t contact him, not unless he truly and desperately needed him.

Opening his communicator up, he read the message out, noting how it sounded on his lips as he mumbled the letters and scanned the page.

“Techno”, he began to read the words, starting with the address sent by Wilbur, “ We haven’t been close in a while. We haven’t even spoken in… years.” Techno didn't know why that declaration stirred something inside him, igniting his soul with an ache he could only describe as longing. Had his absence in Wilbur’s life these past years affected him so much? Why did he contact him now then?

“Tommy and I found a place for ourselves, on a server created by a minor demigod and his vassal.” Subconsciously, Technoblade ran through the list of demigods and demigoddesses he knew of with territory. Hypixel, The Beast, The Hermit, and of course all the minor demigods and admins working for the Mojang Corporation, partnered with the God of Creation - Notch. There shouldn’t be any unregistered celestials, especially not young and minor ones, going around and creating servers with unregistered vassals. Already, the situation was beginning to worsen in Technoblades mind. Even he was registered as the Blood Gods vassal.

Technoblade continued on, ignoring the voices screaming out names and locations and threats of violence as he did so. “We created our own place, a community for ourselves. Just like you and Phil did, years ago when you left.” That gave him pause, before he continued on. “Our place has been taken from us now.”

What did Wilbur mean by ‘a community’ for themselves? Like what he and Phil did? What they had done, years ago, was enter a campaign organized by the major companies, a competition where communicators would broadcast the creations and the empires built from nothing on a server created to mimic the original Earth. It was a glorified television spectacle, with real world empires and bloody battles and death which could be permanent. His and Phil’s ‘place’ was an empire they had built from nothing and used to take over the entire campaign, securing their victory over a two-year long event. It wasn’t a home, certainly not after how Technoblade was betrayed. Certainly not now. He hoped to the gods that Wilbur and Tommy - little Tommy who was still a child by his calculation - were out there creating countries and starting wars. What kind of brother would he be if it was true, and he had abandoned them for years while they went around recklessly without his protection? Had running from his responsibilities really backfired this much?

He ignored the unanimous “yes” being echoed throughout his head.

Techno paused as he read the next part. “A tyrant has come to rule it, exiling us from our own home. We-” Techno took a steadying breath, before continuing, his chest alighting with injustice.

“We need you, Techno. We need help.” Techno stared at the paper in front of him, reading out the very last note before Wilbur had signed it.

“Please. For your brothers.”

How did it come to this? Where Wilbur would send such a desperate note, pleading for Technoblades help instead of just asking him. Techno did not need his brother to beg for his help. He didn’t need an emotional note filled with explanations and traced with sorrow and repressed anger. The hybrid would have come, even without all of that, if Wilbur really needed his help.

… He would’ve, right?

The piglin hybrid thought back on what he had been doing for the past year, hiding away and participating in harvesting competitions of all things. No, no he probably wouldn’t have left, would he? He was too content, too scared of facing Phil after up and leaving their empire to the dust, too desperate to get away from blood and death and fighting. Now, his brothers were fighting against the corruption of a failed empire - something which hit far too close to home fr comfort - and they needed him.

He needed to leave.

Putting his communicator up to his pointed ears, Technoblade was desperate to hear Wilbur’s voice. He didn’t know when this message was sent, he didn’t know if it had come through late or if it was an alert that came through today. He needed confirmation with Wilbur, needed to tell him he was on his way - he just needed to know where to go.

The communicator rang. And rang. And rang.

No answer.

Technoblade tried again and again, nearing twenty times before Chat started insisting it was useless and to stop wasting his time. Wilbur was not picking up, either indicating he couldn’t get through because of the distance between them, this server Wilbur talked about and it's whitelist settings, or there was damage on either of their ends. That worried the hybrid immensely. He needed to get into contact with someone who knew what was going on, who had an idea on where to start to get information about Wilbur and Tommy and what they were doing. Without getting the facts from the original source, Technoblade could only think of one person who may have the answers the piglin hybrid was seeking.

He needed to see Phil.

A feeling of dread and frustration filled his being as Chat began to scream Phil’s name around him. He didn’t want to speak to the other hybrid, he had been avoiding him for so long that he wasn’t even sure if their relationship would survive. Six months or more since the last message, a year since the last phone call and it had ended in a screaming match where Techno had accused Phil of betraying their friendship. He didn’t want to face that again.

He had no choice though, if he wanted to figure out what was going on with Wilbur and Tommy.

His palms were sweating as he narrowed his eyes at his communicator. The heat had begun to creep its way through the farming house yet again, causing him to grow warm in a way he hated. It was too warm, too balmy. It was overwhelming in a way only he could truly feel, in a way he couldn’t put to words. It just was.

Too many things about Technoblade just were, and he hated it. Pushing his communicator to his ear, he heard it ring twice before a click was audible and Techno knew he had reached who he was looking for.

“Phil, we need to talk”.

———————————————————————

Leaving Hypixel was easier than he thought it would be.

All he had to do was pack up a travel bag, grab all the important things littering the house and place them in an ender chest, and head out immediately to the ruined portal. Fixing the portal itself - which would take him to the hub town for the floating islands territory - took only an hour at most, and then he was in the small town center heading to the bustling city of Hypixel’s main territory. Another portal jump, and he was there, looking out at the vast tournament arenas, the large number of tourists and competitors which littered the expensive shops and restaurants, and the few residential areas usually kept for the more famous warriors and influencers. Technoblade used to have an apartment in that area, having been one of the largest earners all throughout his teenage years before his anarchist beliefs and bad experiences sucked all the joy out of corporate and nation sponsored tournaments.

Occasionally, on his way to the main server hub, he would witness crazed fans cosplaying competitors and fighters whom they enjoyed, and Technoblade even saw a costume depicting his own signature crown and cloak. It gave him a mild start, at first. He hadn’t known he was still relevant, not with his year long break from the public eye and his status as a hybrid. Usually, there was only begrudging respect given to those of mixed races on the sponsored public servers. A prejudice - especially against aggressive mob hybrids - which Technoblade remembered all too well with a shiver.

From the sector which took rich tourists and residents from the sky islands territory, it was easy to hide his more distinct features. Covering his sharp, downturned ears with a cloak hood, and his protruding tusks and piglin-like eyes with a plain bone mask. His tail was tucked into his trousers, and he made a point of keeping his hands - more specifically his sharp claws - out of obvious sight as he moved through the busy roads and occasional back alleys. He reached the Hypixel server hub soon, making sure to stay out of sight and not cause trouble. The only individuals who would know he left the server would be Simon and his admins, since Technoblade needed to enter his residents key to leave and enter Hypixel. He trusted Simon to keep his departure out of the public eye.

(Leaving, leaving, we are leaving, finally, are we going on a road trip, now the interstate is paved- be quiet-)

Shaking his head, Technoblade let out a sigh as he looked for an unassigned portal, where he could enter a personalized whitelist code. He needed a portal without a locked teleportation key to get to Phil’s small residential server. Noticing an unlit, unattended, unlabeled portal near the back of the Hypixel server hub, Technblade entered his residence key and headed to the back, ignoring the wide-eyed look that the admin on duty gave him.

From there, he entered the whitelist code for his- for Phil’s home into a transportation portal, and watched as it was lit, admiring the deep purple shade of energy and particles. Portal technology always baffled him, ever since he had entered his first one as a young child, searching for any way out of his homeland. They functioned off of the energy created by the servers, connecting them in a web of essence and almost-magic. A supernatural device which admins, vassals, and demigods have perfected the creation of, though Technoblade himself didn’t know any inner workings behind portal creation. Then again, he didn’t have his patron god present to guide him like many vassals did. His patron was too elusive and never present. A cruel, toxic master in some ways, leaving his blessing upon his vassals at birth and leaving them to figure out their purpose and allegiances alone, with only the previously dead vassals for help. And they were all decidingly unhelpful shades of their past selves.

Still, the portal was lit.

It was all too easy to enter the bright veil of spatial energy, feeling himself warp and bend and tear apart as he was deconstructed and reconstructed at the designated spawn point. Landing smoothly, Technoblade heard a small ping on his communicator, letting him know his arrival had been sent out in an alert in the small servers public channel.

It was too easy to come here, to enter the portal and arrive at the center of the small world which Phil had claimed his own. There was no grand entrance, no feast or welcome waiting for him. There was nothing to stop his pursuit either, the entire process of portal jumping entirely painless and normal. In the back of his mind he knew it would be like this, knew how easy it would be to get to this point, but the hybrid had expected it to be at least a little harder. It didn’t feel right to Technoblade, with how vehemently he was avoiding this place and its single occupant. He was expecting more.

It made him feel foolish for ever avoiding Phil in the first place.

Taking a look around the center of the server, Technoblade noticed how the once barren field had been cleaned up, decorated with wood and stone. A nice, clean path had been installed, heading in the direction of the home he remembered from his youth. In the distance, Technoblade could see the flower fields he used to train on, back when he had first arrived in Phil’s small world and came under his care, back when he wouldn’t let go of his golden sword and his language skills left much to be desired and he longed for the intense heat of his homeland. Oh, how far he had come since then.

Beginning his trek down to the cottage, Technoblade chose to listen to the ramblings and ravings of Chat as he tried to take note of every difference and change, trying to decide if he was happier with them, or distraught that everything didn’t look exactly like he remembered. He moved from the open clearing of the small plains biome to the spruce forest, following the path set forth by who he assumed would be Phil. Even the forest had grown, in its own way. What did that say about Technoblade, so caught up with the past to move forward?

Technoblkade shook his head at those thoughts, not wishing to get caught up with his own grievances when he was here for someone other than himself. He needed to know what was going on with Wilbur and Tommy, and Phil is the only one whom he could speak to about it.

He trekked along for another ten or so minutes, before the trees began to slowly decline in their frequency, indicating he was close to his… to Phil’s home. He saw it then, coming up to the tree line. A medium sized cabin, beautifully built and maintained, surrounded by gardens and small farms, and looking exactly like Technoblade remembered it. Everything else in this place had experienced some sort of change, from the trees to the land, but not this cottage. It looked exactly like it did when Technblade was first brought here, huddled sick in Phil’s arms, only knowing him as a friend instead of a father. It looked exactly the same as when Technoblade left - the second time - only to not return until all these years after that fateful day. The piglin hybrid didn’t know how to feel about the fact that it remained untouched by time, not carrying on to depict any of the bad memories he had gathered after he had left. With a sigh, Technoblade walked up to the oak door and banged on it twice.

“Phil! It’s me.”

He heard a muffled bang, as if someone had crashed into a piece of furniture, as the sound of footsteps hurried to the door. Anxiety began to push its way into Technoblades chest, bubbling up from the pit of his stomach as he began to worry. Was it a mistake, coming here? Would Phil turn him away, now that he stood at his doorstep? Would Phil even speak to him, would Phil even miss him if he turned around now and went straight for the portal at the center of this server, or would he watch with cold eyes and whisper good riddance while watching his back? Did Phil even want him here? On the communicator, during their call, he had only told Phil he needed to speak to him in person and all Phil had said was a simple and pleasant “okay, mate”. This was a mistake, this was a mistake and before Phil (Dad, Phill, Dadza, Crow Father, where’s dadza, we miss him, we want him, you want to see him too Techno-) answered the door, before he messed up, before his anger took over and he ruined his already damaged and strained relationship with his truest friend, his father-

The door was yanked open with such force, that Technoblade found himself flinching at the action. In the doorway was a heavily breathing Phil, looking up at Technoblade with wide eyes, standing in the doorway looking like he bolted for the door the minute Techno knocked. It made Technoblade gulp nervously, raising a single hand in a half-hearted wave and opening his mouth to greet the crow hybrid with a pathetic greeting. “Hey, Phil-”

Technoblade flet the embrace before it completely registered. Philza reached up, grabbing Technoblades tall form and bringing him down to him with the deceptive strength Phil hid from most of the world. The piglin hybrid didn’t register the action at first, eyes wide as he froze mid sentence, unsure what he was supposed to do. Instead, he waited for Phil to make any sort of additional reaction, holding him close in an embrace which provided so much more comfort than Technoblade would ever be willing to admit.

“Techno”, Phil spoke softly, barely above a whisper as his arms tightened around Technoblade, “welcome home.”

The hybrid tensed, before he instinctually relaxed into Phil’s arms. He was home, wasn’t he? Why had he refused to come back, why had he avoided his problems? His arms cautiously moved up, gently holding Phil back being careful to avoid the large wings protruding from his back. He didn’t want to ruin whatever this was, not yet. He needed it, needed the comfort and feeling of easy acceptance Philza was giving him. The slow burning anger in his chest that he remembered holding onto like it was his lifeline, the feeling of betrayal and angst, the denial and avoidance he dished out to the winged hybrid… it was all entirely pointless, wasn’t it?

His anger wasn’t with Phil, it never really was. Pete was the one who had instigated the decline in the Antarctic Empire, had started consuming their resources to start pointless wars and used their advantages to destroy their competition with extreme prejudice, and who used Technoblade as a weapon to point at the territories they would then take over. Pete was the instigator; Phil just did nothing at all to stand in the way as it happened. Too consumed with his own wanderlust, filled with too much desire to begin moving once again to catch or care about what Technoblade was going through.

Technoblade never told him either, did he? He had never communicated with Philza - about how much his actions hurt Technoblade, how the fact that the piglin hybrid was constantly being sent out to reclaim and take territory, to expand the empire they started together, and how it made him feel less like a person and more like a ticking time bomb. He had never talked to Philza, only taking his anger out on him when it was convenient and running away when it mattered most. It wasn’t Phil’s fault, not really. The Antarctic Empire was doomed to fail from the start, its power set to corrupt anyone at its head from the very beginning.

And as Techno stood there in the doorway, holding Phil and letting the winged hybrid to hold him in turn, he realized he didn’t want to be angry with Phil anymore. He just wanted to be able to come home, to spend time with the person who had taken him in and raised him when he was broken and warped beyond measure. Technoblade just wanted his family back, all together.

The realization snapped him back to reality, letting him pull away from the other hybrid's warmth as he looked down at him. For a few seconds, there was a stretch of silence as Technoblade fought to find the words for this situation. Phil, for his part, was giving Techno a soft smile, looking at him with joy in his features. It made the fuzzy feeling in his chest even worse as the voices cooed and chattered in the background.

“... hey Phil”, Technoblade hesitated, before steeling himself and continuing, “I’m home”.

———————————————————————

“So”, Phil started, handing Technoblade a cup of herbal tea of some variety, “Wilbur contacted you?”

The piglin hybrid took the tea cup, lifting the drink to his nose and taking a smell of the fragrant concoction. It smelled of Lemon and Honey, a flavor he favored. Taking a sip, Technoblade hummed to Phil’s question, nodding as he closed his eyes to savor the taste. “Yeah, and I now can't get a hold of him. No calls are getting through, no messages. It’s weird, I don’t even know how long ago this message was sent.”

Phil let out his own hum, looking off to the side as he set his own tea cup down on the coffee table, not bothering to take a sip as he folded his hands in his lap. His gaze was off, looking at the fireplace with a strange intensity that Technoblade recognized as remembrance. It was never good when Philza drifted off like he was now. It usually meant melancholy reminiscence, or bad memories. Technoblade could never tell when either was happening.

Setting his own cup down, Techno turned more fully in Philza’s direction, clearing his throat to get his attention. The action caused Phil to flinch slightly, as if startled by the noise, to which Technoblade raised an eyebrow. In response, Phil sent a warm smile in his direction, still that sad recollection in his eyes. “I’m alright, Techno. Just a lot on my mind.” Technoblade couldn’t help the tilt of his head as he gave Philza a more discerning look.

“What kind of things are on your mind?”

There was hesitance in Philza’s stance as the piglin hybrid raised an eyebrow at him, silently insisting he continue. Technoblade needed everything that Phil knew, especially with Wilbur being awol and Tommy without a communicator number that he knew or had saved. He needed information, and their touching moment early notwithstanding, Phil had that information and Technoblade would do anything he could to obtain it. The hybrid had let go of his long standing grudge, but that did not mean all was forgiven. Though he figured that was the case on both of their sides. The Angel of Death was notorious for holding a grudge.

“I am only thinking.” Technoblade could tell he wasn't telling the whole truth, instead choosing to continue giving Phil a narrowing look until he caved. The silence stretched between them for a few seconds longer before Phil let out a long sigh as he picked up his ceramic tea cup and took a long gulp, nearly finishing the drink in one go. With a satisfied breath, Phil closed his eyes and took a breath, finally electing to look at Technoblade. “Fine, you win. I may have left out some information-”

“-Great! So, you just tell me and I-”

“But”, Phil continued, putting an emphasis on the but, “It's personal.”

Technoblade let out an irritated sigh, his impatience getting the best of him. Usually, he was the epitome of collecting, taking the principles of Sun Tzu as seriously as he took his potato farming. But, with Phil, his more childish side always seemed to come out, and this was one instance where his irritation was mostly justified. He needed to get to Wilbur and Tommy, and this delay was not helping him, or the loud chorus of voices in his head, achieve their goals. Quite the opposite, actually. He had yet to get any useful information about Wilbur and Tommy’s wearabouts and what server he needed to get whitelisted on to go and find them. For all Technoblade knew, they could be dead. And that was a thought which scared him.

“Phil, just tell me.” Technoblade practically growled the demand. Even Chat was beginning to get frustrated, and when the voices were collective about something there was usually very little Techno could do about it and how it affected him and his emotions.

(Tell us, we need to know, Wilbur and Tommy could be in danger, we need to kill, we need to go, patience is a virtue, enough patience has already been exerted, just tell us Philza-)

Philza gave Technoblade a hard look, his eyes narrowing before he exhaled his breath sharply and stood from his seat on the cushioned couch. Watching him closely, Technoblade noted how he headed straight for the fireplace, picking up a small box which sat on the mantle. He hadn’t even noticed the wooden container, its form blending seamlessly with the burgundy background. What could possibly be in it? Why would Phil get that specific box in response to Technoblades question?

Sitting back down on the couch with a sort of grace only he could achieve, Philza’s wings shuffled as the box was placed in his lap. Looking up from his locked gaze, Philza’s eyes met the piglin hybrids, giving him a serious look. Whatever Phil was about to show Technoblade was of serious importance to the crow hybrid.

“Wilbur”, Philza began, stopping only briefly to steel himself, “he had been sending me letters.” Technoblades own eyes widened at the statement, his eyes immediately darting to the box with a hungry look. That was the key to getting more information about this situation, to get more of an explanation than a brief plea for help. This was the key; he needed to see what was in the box.

Philza continued, pointedly ignoring the glint in Technoblades eyes. “He had said to me, in his first letters, that communicators were known to act up where he went. Cases of people not being able to contact the outside too effectively. So,” Phil gestured to the box, “he began sending me letters.”

Technoblade felt his hand reach out in the direction of the box, only for Phil’s grip on the container to tighten. Giving the bird hybrid a curious look, Technoblade tilted his head. “I need to see those letters, Phil. I have no information on where Wilbur and Tommy are, how to get there and who to talk to. I need this, in order to help them.” Technoblade paused for significance, giving Phil a serious look. “They could be injured, Phil. Or dead. If what you told me is true, then we have no way to ascertain when the message I got was sent.”

With a pained look in his eye, Philza tightened his grip once again, before loosening it with a sigh and the sagging of his shoulders. “I just… mate, I promised Wilbur I wouldn’t share them. And you know how I feel about promises.”

Technoblade did know. Philza Minecraft, in all his years as an adventurer and a survivalist, an entertainer and even a father, had broken many promises. He had promised his late wife he would take care of his sons, and he had broken that promise. He had promised his boys, all of them, that he would be there for them, and yet that promise was abandoned when he abandoned him years ago. He had promised Technoblade he would never betray him, and yet their entire relationship was strained by Philza’s presumed betrayal. Promises, when made by Philza Minecraft, the Angel of Death, were always inevitably broken. And Technoblade knew just how much those broken promises ate at Phil, keeping him away from sleep late at night and causing him to chase after adrenaline and adventure as a means of avoiding that pain. Though, during the late nights when Techno would meet Phil out in the cold, gazing up at the stars above the stronghold base of a young Antarctic Empire, Phil had confided in him how much he regretted the need to travel and the need for the rush of excitement. How he had always wanted to be a better father, how he felt he had failed his wife by choosing personal gain over familial commitment, and while in a way this was for Wilbur and Tommy, it still ate him up inside to leave the two boys. At the time, Technoblade had no answers for Phil, instead just lending him a hand which rested on his shoulder in comfort, sharing his worries in silence. It was an eye opening moment for the younger Technoblade, who had put Philza on a pedestal, not quite realizing how flawed he really was.

Now, Technoblade knows better. Now, he understood the worth of a promise to Philza, after so many times getting it wrong. And so, it pained him even more to ask Philza to share the letters.

But Wilbur and Tommy’s safety was more important. And Phil seemed to think so as well, because when Technoblade began to let out a resigned sigh, Philza closed his eyes and ran a hand over his own face, before loosening his grip completely on the letter container.

“You need this information, for Wilbur and Tommy. Just… let me tell you what I know. Don’t read them yourself. I want to keep at least that much of my promise.”

It was a vow Technoblade was more than happy to agree to. With a vigorous nod, Technoblade felt himself give Phil a smile. “Thanks, Phil.”

Philza for his part nodded seriously at Techno’s thanks, the bird hybrid still all business. “Sure, mate. For Tommy and Wilbur.” Technoblade nodded along, his own face growing serious. The voices had even quieted enough for Technoblade to expertly ignore them, their white noise fading into the background as he focused completely on the conversation in front of him.

“What can you tell me?”

Phil looked to the box, and with a single combination, it was open. Taking out a few of the worn letters - written on parchment of all things - Philza quickly gave them a brief glance over, most likely refreshing his memory of Wilbur’s writings and ramblings. “Wilbur and Tommy had ended up in a server owned by a man called Dream, apparently the server was supposed to be used for a campaign event but it was scrapped and opened as a regular community server.” Shuffling through a few papers, Philza read out more information. “Wilbur, Tommy, and even Fundy - Will’s own son, all grown up now - had gotten into the business of creating nations.” At this time, Philza paused briefly, eyes locking with the worn old letters.

Technoblade took the moment to wait, before speaking. “What does it say, Phil?”

“Oh,” Phil seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him, shuffling the papers before continuing after clearing his throat, “he- uh, Will, I mean, said he created his… L’manburg as a way of proving his worth.” Phil seemed to stare off into space for a second, his next words seemingly breaking through without his consent, “he never needed to prove himself, not to me...”

Technoblades own features softened at Phil’s words, ignoring the screaming Chat telling him to get up and embrace the avian hybrid. “Wilbur wanted to go with us to the campaign event, remember? He even followed us halfway there, Tommy sneaking along right beside him, together like they always are.” Techno felt himself look away for a moment. “I think I called them kids, and told them they’d never make it in the real world. Pretty ironic, at the time, coming from the guy who was a year younger than Will. He may have taken it as a personal challenge.” Turning and locking his gaze with Philza, Technoblade gave him a meaningful look. “You aren't at fault, Phil. Wilbur isn’t the same kid we left behind when we went to Earth. He’s a grown man, with a kid of his own, a grown kid. His decisions are his own, but he's also still… family.”

Phil nodded, eyes still gazing periodically at the letter he had set aside, steeling himself as he picked up another piece of parchment to continue. “Sorry, mate. Got lost in the head there for a moment.” Phil let out a cough, as if clearing his throat. “Well, Will also mentioned an election. He wrote that he won, but he and Tommy moved away and were now creating a new home, almost like a side project… no, that can’t be right. He told you he was in danger, right? Exiled from his own community? There was a serious look of concern in Philza’s eyes, as he locked his gaze with Technoblade.

If Wilbur’s letters were to be trusted, then Wilbur and Tommy wouldn't need Technoblade help. The voices in Technoblades head began screaming at him, calling out for Wilbur, calling him a liar, and yet Technoblade needed to confirm for himself. Taking out his communicator, he scrolled through his messages with Wilbur, rereading it to varify its contents. No, it was right.

The letters message, and Technoblades recieved plea for help, were completely different both in tone and story.

Technoblade looked up from his communicator, and stared into Philza’s eyes. “No, the communicator message is right. Its a cry for help, which means…” Technoblade trailed off as his eyes fell to the letter, along with Phil’s. Wilbur had lied in his letters to Phil, and for a purpose Technoblade had no knowledge of. The piglin hybrid was sure it wasn’t for innocent reasons.

“Maybe there was a mistake, mate. Will wouldn’t lie,” Phil continued to look at the letter like it was completely foreign to him, “not like this.”

Technoblade looked at Phil, and in a steady voice, spoke evenly. “We don’t know what Wilbur was thinking, but that still doesn’t change the fact that the message I received speaks to something a lot more sinister going on than you thought.”

Phil absently nodded, gripping the parchment piece tightly before setting it to the side. With a deeply conflicted look, he picked up another letter and continued on from where he left off, an unsure look crossing his features. “Wilbur talks about the server in this letter. Dream needs to whitelist everyone who enters, there isn’t much Will seems to know about the patron god who sponsors the land, and it seems Dream is a rather elusive figure.” Phil paused then, looking to Technobalde. “Does that name ring any bells, mate? Dream.”

A sigh escaped the piglin hybrid, his thoughts racing through the long lists of fighters and influencers he knew from his Hypixel hay-days. Dream didn’t ring any proper bells, though. Unless…

“Does Wilbur mention a mask at all when he talks about this Dream guy?”

Philza shuffled through the letters, bringing a couple more parchments out and scanning each of them carefully. His brow knit in concentration and Techno saw his lip curl as he read through the words. His eyebrows then lifted, a look of astonishment on his face as he turned back to Technoblade. “Yeah, right here, mate. Dream wears some sort of strange smiley face mask according to what Will says.” Technoblade couldn’t help the curse which escaped his lips at that confirmation. It just had to be that Dream, didn’t it? It couldn’t have been any other Dream someone he didn’t have a previous acquaintance with. “Techno, do you know this guy?”

Sighing, Technoblade let the agitation bleed into his voice, “yeah, I do. He’s an old competitor of mine, we've got a casual rivalry. He’s, uh… a bit much. But I know where to find him and how to get a hold of him.” At that declaration, Phil’s face lit up, a bright smile crossing his features.

“That's fantastic!” There was a moment which passed between them, where Phil’s bright smile dulled into a sardonic grin. “Though, I don’t know how much help that’ll be. From Wilbur’s letters, he seems to be a bit of a problem. You sure you know how to handle him?”

Technoblade nodded, humming softly. He knew exactly how to deal with Dream, especially after their duel almost two years ago. The hybrid had bested that mask wearing weirdo before, he could do it again if need be. No matter how strong he had gotten over the last few years. Technoblade knew how to take care of his type, the type who always schemed and who always seemed to yearn for control. Keeping him in check would be easy. It was finding him which was the hard part.

Looking at the cold tea, still sitting on the coffee table, Technoblade felt his voices yelling excitedly in his head. Last they had seen of Dream, it was just after the battle in The Beasts sponsored arena. It was a grand tournament, where Technoblade and the green clad mask wearing fighter had fought in a ten round competition for fame and fortune. The fight had ended then, in Technoblades favor, but it was a hard battle. Six to four is nothing to brag home about, even if Tommy had been singing his praises after that win. Even then, Technoblade had sensed something about Dream which unsettled and intrigued him. He had the same aura that Technoblade got from Simon and Mister Beast, the aura of a vassal.

And that made Dream incredibly dangerous.

Even if he found him, and somehow convinced the mask-wearing warrior to let him into his territory, Technoblade would still have to worry about how much Dream is a threat to his family. And if he could be turned into an ally, or a business associate.

(Dream, Dream, will we fight Dream again, can Dream be our friend, we should destroy him before he destroys us, hes unsettling Technoblade, don't trust him, that smile is the work of the chaos god for sure-)

Still, that could wait, if only a few more hours. With Phil here, and so much to talk about between them, Technoblade didn’t want to leave even with the urgency of the message he received. The piglin hybrid needed to talk to Philza, needed to explain and to clear the air between them, to reassure him that he still thought of him as his family, that wherever Phil was would be home. Because Techno had missed him, this past year. And it wasn’t until he had seen Philza, who had embraced him for the first time since the Antarctic Empire, that he realized how much he was missing by holding onto his anger.

Dream could wait, just a few more hours. Technoblade needed to take care of his father.

#Von Writes Stuff #Hyacinth #dream smp #dsmp au #dsmp fanfic #found family #sleepy bois inc #alternate universe #canon divergence

[emerald-studies]

Diverse Perspectives | Discussion 3

I sent some questions to @jasperwhitcock​ for her perspective as a POC woman and daughter of an immigrant.

[ It is required to participate and watch/read these discussions, in order to follow me. Participate or get tf out. We aren’t performative in my lil’ area on Tumblr.

This discussion isn’t representative of an entire population or meant to be super professional. It’s to share different perspectives and also is an opportunity for me to practice what I preach: intersectionality. If you’d like to participate in this series please send me a pm or an ask and I’ll get back to you ASAP. We can do a written, audio, or video interview.]

As a mixed person, do you feel isolated from your community?

J: If you mean community as in the community I currently live in, I’m fortunate enough to live in a very diverse place. Surrounding the city of Houston, there’s a lot of prejudice integrated into a lot of the suburban neighborhoods, but in terms of the city itself, I think the POC communities really uplift and support each other. I’m a concert photographer when there’s not a pandemic, and I’ve always appreciated the way latinos and black artists are respected in the indie community. Houston’s a very rap/hip hop/R&B city, so black artists are especially celebrated. There’s also great latinx bands that I know, latinx venue owners/employees, and latinx brands connected to the indie community. We’re very well represented in this area.

If you mean community as in the latinx community, I wouldn’t say isolated, but depending on the day, I might say that I can feel distanced at times. This isn’t particularly due to the latinx community itself, so much as it may be a distance that I create in my head. As a mixed person, I think there are times where you can feel confused on where you belong. I’ve brought up the quote before from the Selena movie, where Selena’s father Abraham is speaking on the potential difficulty of Selena being accepted in Mexico because of the fact she is Mexican American: “We have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time! It's exhausting!” It can be difficult at times to navigate your sense of belonging when you are in between two cultures because you want to recognize that you may have privileges someone of full Mexican descent may not have, but at the same time, your life is still very much defined by being Mexican and having Mexican blood while living in America too. You’re definitely not absolved from having latin experiences. Latina stand up comedian Anjelah Johnson made a joke in her stand up about there being a Latinx hierarchy. She said that Spanish speaking latinos are better than the rest of us who are not fluent in Spanish (such as herself), and it was funny because sometimes you do feel that that can be true. My tías will always ask me why I’m not fluent in Spanish, and my mom will be like “yeah, why don’t you?” and I’m always like… because y’all didn’t teach me! My parents speak Spanish to each other at home. My father is not only fluent in Spanish, but his Spanish is oftentimes superior to a lot of Spanish speakers according to my mom and my tíos. He used to teach English in Mexico, so there is no reason that my sister and I shouldn’t have been perfectly bilingual. The reason they didn’t teach us as children is because they didn’t want us to be speaking Spanglish. (Spoiler: it happened anyways). Around white people, I definitely feel that I am not a white person. I feel very much latina in a group of white people. But then around latin people, I sometimes feel white enough to feel a sense of shyness. I definitely feel more at home with latinx people, but overall in both groups, I definitely feel that I am mixed.

It doesn’t happen often, because I think although the majority of latinx people have pride in their background, the hyperawareness of our identities right now is relatively new, but there have been instances of latinx gatekeeping the latin identity. Growing up, I didn’t think about what I was labelled as or think about how my family structure is different to other families. I didn’t consider how in some areas, it is an abnormality to have an immigrant parent or a parent with an accent. I definitely noticed that my family was different, but I didn’t understand why until much later. My mom, her sisters and brothers, and my primos… They don’t live their lives with the awareness of being defined as Mexican immigrants. Of course, they again have pride in where they came from. They live as Mexicans and engage in Mexican culture, but overall, the way the youth today has really grasped onto the labelling of our identity is kind of a new thing. There are some young latinx people who do try to quantify and measure whether or not your experience is valid. I know it comes from a place of protectiveness of their own experience, but it’s ridiculous to gate keep because something that really characterizes latin culture is our warmth, our sense of family, our willingness to embrace other people as part of that. If you’re of latin american descent, you have a place in the latinx community.

Since your parents don’t have college degrees, do you believe college is important and/or necessary?

J: I think it depends! I think a lot of immigrant parents really push for their children to get a college education because they see that as opportunity, particularly when they did not earn college degrees themselves. I think college can be important depending on what you want to accomplish, but I also think it’s not completely necessary. For my career path as a photographer/videographer, I chose not to do college. I do think I would have enjoyed college because I like learning, but because it was something unnecessary for my job, I couldn’t justify the time invested or putting my parents into a difficult financial situation. Especially because my college education would have overlapped with my sister, and I saw how difficult it was to juggle handling my sister’s student loans. For my sister’s career path (she is studying to be a nutritionist/therapist to help teenagers with eating disorders), college was necessary.

Your Mom has been stuck in the US, unable to return to Mexico for awhile, has your Mom’s experience with immigration changed your views in some way?

J: As context, my father lived in Mexico for a decade and married my mom in Mexicali. They hadn’t planned to move to the United States, but when they came to the US to marry here so that she could have citizenship and be able to visit his family, there were complications that made it to where she couldn’t leave the country. Luckily, the time she was unexpectedly stuck in the United States didn’t last super long! Long enough to become comfortable enough to decide to settle down in California, but we have been able to travel to Mexico often. I think it really highlights how unnecessarily complicated a lot of the processes regarding immigration are. The people in the country who are very malicious about undocumented immigrants love to jump to saying, “well, why can’t they just become an American citizen?” when the reality is that every process in place has a lot of complications. Not everyone has access to the resources to be able to make these transitions happen smoothly. Also, the time it takes to acquire your visa is not an overnight thing. People severely underestimate the difficulty involved.

What do you think about the “hard-working immigrant” stereotype?

J: I hate the idea that immigrants work hard because they’re low-skilled, but I do love that there is a lot of pride in how motivated immigrants are. It’s always been a ridiculous claim that immigrants are taking American jobs. Immigrants work the jobs that the majority of Americans have no interest in doing, especially the people that make this complaint. For a country that prides itself on working to make your dreams come true, Americans neglect to recognize that immigrants have a drive that most Americans don’t have.

Which parent do you feel more connected to? Your Mother who’s an immigrant or your Father who was born in America?

J: I really do feel that I am a coalescence of both my parents, so I think I feel equally connected to each of them. I feel a very strong emotional connection and concern for my dad because his mental health suffers a lot. His mother had bipolar depression at a time where mental health was even more stigmatized, and she endured a lot of ridiculous, merciless treatments that are no longer utilized today. When he was nine years old, his mom committed suicide, and this was an event that really defined his life forever. I think that kind of heaviness passes down through your family. When my dad is not doing well, I feel really imbalanced and emotionally impacted even if I’m not home to witness it. It’s kind of like that idea of an invisible string tethering you to someone, and it’s a weight that I carry always. However, overall, he’s a very positive person. When he is going through his kind of manic highs, he’s a lot more of what I recognize of who my dad is. He’s creative, a musician, and deeply caring for other people. His mother’s death has empowered him to really try to make a difference and “paint a picture of a better tomorrow.” I’m a lot like my dad in personality, but in disposition, I’m so much like my mom. She’s tough and outspoken at home, but in public, it takes awhile for her to open up. My mom’s very selfless, kind, and very much shy and quiet. She definitely exemplifies a lot of the sacrifice that you see many immigrants make. I do like both sides of my family, but I definitely feel more at home with the Mexican side. My dad’s side is loud, vivacious, and very much funny, but I feel extremely shy around them. My sister and I have always felt a tiny bit left out. I think they’d be hurt to know we feel this way, but I definitely don’t think they do anything to intentionally enforce this division. But I think it developed because there is a bit of a cultural disconnect between my aunts and my mom. It’s also very interesting to me that when they first met my mom, my mom didn’t speak any English. It’s fascinating to consider how it might change your perception of someone to go from not being able to communicate with them to watching them learn your language. My mom enjoys the time that we do spend with my dad’s family, but she’s kind of the odd one out in that her humor isn’t the same and her experiences are so different. I think that my dad’s sister and brother’s families were able to connect in a stronger way, so sometimes my mom, my sister, and I feel just a little isolated. In those moments, I feel the most aware of my Mexican background. With my mom’s side of the family, it’s a lot more comfortable. My dad’s able to develop his humor in a way that translates well into Spanish, so he fits in very easily.

You’ve lived in a “Blue/more liberal” state and a “Red/more conservative” state, which state has affected you more?

J: Definitely the red state. Seeing how intensely and ridiculously conservative some southern people are has really radicalized me in a way. I feel overwhelmingly liberal because there’s a defensiveness that develops when you’re in a space like this where you have this intense disbelief that people hold the ideas that they do. Especially because in Texas, black and latinx culture is a major contributor to southern culture. There’s a lot to be said about how black culture shapes the south, but because I’m latina, I’m focusing on latinx culture with this question. White conservatives want our food, they want our work, but they don’t want us. I don’t understand how anyone can be all #TacoTuesday one day, and then the next, be anti-immigrant. If you really want Mexicans out of your country, then maybe you should start living your life without any Mexican influence. Stop eating Mexican food. Clean your own pool and mow your own lawn. It’s ignorant to speak down on immigrants when their life would be so altered to be rid of immigrants. They rely on immigrants. Their lives are shaped by immigrants and built by immigrants.

(I had to chime in here: )

 Are you proud of your parents?

J: Absolutely. As a young teenager, I had a lot of problems with my parents. I think I still have issues I’m working through as a result, but now that I’m older, I really do feel a deep sense of admiration and respect for them. Growing up really makes you view your parents differently and understand them as people rather than just as parents. I held onto a lot of anger and resentment, but I’ve come to truly see how they really did do their best. They’ve worked very hard, and I think not having everything that kids around me did really helped me grow into a more grateful person.

Have you faced discrimination for your race?

J: Of course, but in all honesty, it really rolls off my back. I think hate that is personally directed at me doesn’t bother me, but the discrimination that does affect me is anything directed or related to my mom. I remember my parents had a customer who made a really ugly complaint to my father about my mom’s english. My mom essentially handles most of the written communication with their business, and she still speaks and types in broken english often. The majority of my parents’ clients are latinx, so it’s typically not an issue, but it’s unbelievably offensive and ridiculous the assumptions people will make about your intelligence based on your english. The customer had no idea that the woman she’d been communicating with was my father’s wife rather than just an employee. It’s really sad how someone can see someone as unworthy of respect until they’re tied to a white man, and then they’re suddenly apologetic. This is another extremely mild example, but I’ll get a few laughs when I mispronounce something or don’t know how to say certain words. People always find it funny as though it’s embarrassing –– and it definitely can be –– but people forget I learned english from a woman who speaks two languages.

As the child of an immigrant, how has the anti immigrant talking point affected your mental health?

J: I think the toll the anti-immigrant bias in the United States has on immigrant children is a relevant conversation to have, but I think I’m very lucky in that I feel very tough in the face of that ignorance (which is not to say anyone whose mental health suffers as a result is not tough!) If anything, I feel pity for the people who are so hateful that they see other human beings in such a derogatory and entitled way. Similar to what I said before, my outrage really comes from a place of defensiveness for others. The talking point doesn’t hurt me, but it hurts me that people can speak about my family and my community the way they do. It hurts me that there are other immigrant children who have to work as hard as their parents to make their sacrifices worth it, and people are so insensitive as to not respect that. I’m pretty strong, but it does break my heart when my people are disrespected. If someone were to say something to me, that’s fine, but if i saw someone mistreating a little mexican lady in the store… I may be 5’3 but that don’t mean I won’t come for your ass. Okay, in all honesty, I’m really not a violent person. I’m more of a rise above kind of person because the hate someone has in their heart is not worth our time, but some people do need a chancla thrown at them to learn some respect.

In your opinion, in what ways does the Latinx community need more support?

J: I think because the latinx community is so much so composed of hard workers, people really need to support latin businesses more. That’s a direct way to impact latin lives. There’s an abundance of latin small business owners in every category. So many white kids love going to Cozumel for Spring Break and love wearing sombreros on Cinco De Mayo, but then the rest of the year, they have no care or respect for the authentic culture. For every dollar a white man makes, hispanic women still make statistically less than white women, asian women, black women, and native women. We gotta back up these businesses. Choose local taco shops or restaurants over chains. Choose online shops and Mexican boutiques over fast fashion. And this applies to everybody. We can always support black business or asian businesses over large competitors. It really does make an impact. I also think a lot of latinx children need access to better mental health resources. I’m lucky in that because my father struggles with mental health issues, mental health in my family wasn’t exactly a taboo, but in a lot of latin families, mental health is something that is hard for older parents to validate. Latin children need those resources. A simple google search of “latin mental health resources,” bring up a bunch of organizations that you can support. I think every POC community needs to be boosted right now because although we’ve been under attack, conversations about minority communities are being had by white people right now. We have their attention, and we do need their support to enact change because they have the power as the oppressor. We need to be going to bat protecting black people right now because of the insane damage the community has been enduring at the hands of police, and we need to be protecting immigrant children from what’s happening to them at the border. I know the election is extremely controversial right now, but I would urge anyone who has the ability to vote to really consider the importance of doing so. People love to be cynical about how our votes don’t matter, and I understand that cynicism, but a lot of immigrants don’t have the luxury of voting when the results of the election will directly impact their lives. I hate that there is no option of a president that will perfectly support POC communities, but there are options whose party is far more aligned with supporting and protecting POC communities than Trump is. Trump spews hate and fuels racism and prejudice. He calls Mexicans rapists and black protestors thugs. He encourages the blaming of the coronavirus on the asians in our country. He does not need any help winning the election. We need to get this hateful man out, and I strongly encourage anyone who can vote to do so.

--

Let’s have a discussion! Did you learn anything new from this conversation?

Let me know here.

-

To close out each post, I’d like to write a lil’ paragraph about the person I talk with:

I’m so lucky to have you as a friend darling. You always bring a smile to my face when we chat. You’re funny and so smart. I admire you deeply for being able to share your perspective in a clear way. Thank you for putting up with my 2 am messages lol 🖤🖤🖤🖤Your continued support makes me feel safe and very, very, loved. I hope I encourage the same feeling with you. 

You’re the best babe,

-Faithxx

#intersectionality #immigration #diverse perspectives #poc #twilight #discussions with faith