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#its rare that I do this but it fits the holiday so well it's worth sharing too
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(Long ass ask, for Christmas!!!)
Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays to everyone, but it is time for some gifts! :3
Everyone!!!! *gets a plate of cookies each, and Spewart gets non dairy cookies* Enjoy the cookies :3
Roy *gives him plushes of everyone in his life that he cares and loves* Merry christmas to you and hope the best for you Your a lovely person ane you deserve the world
Ludwig, I hope your day is wonderful.. I decided to jump the ball on your gift but I do hope you can enjoy it or if you don't like it, gice it to someone that probably will. *gives Ludwig the theremin*
Iggy, *gives him a moby huge (basically 5 ft dildo)* Unused but I had no use for it anymore, it was a joke gift i got but if you can use it. Have fun.
Morton, I didn't want to do the same as I did last year so I decided to try something out. *Gives him a bunch of different ingredients for baking like stuff to make like cookies, muffins, mooncakes, etc* I hope you enjoy the holidays :3
Wendy, *gives her a massive make up kit, but is has a lot of different things, eyeshadow, lipgloss, blush, etc* I know how much you love makeup and decided to spoil you as for it. Enjoy yourself.
Larry, I hope that your day is nice... *gives him more hair spray paint, Christmas colors though* Make yourself look like a pretty Christmas tree but I do hope your day is swell...
Lemmy, since you liked my last Christmas gift and also the homemade knives. I made you more! *gives Lemmy three homemade knives, they are better then the last homemade ones but still have their flaws* Sorry if they are not perfect..!
Junior. Well, I was rushing to find something for you for Christmas and unfortunately i ended up getting two things for you. *gives him a six foot tall Geronimo Stilton plush. And then a plate of homemade cookies* Been making cookies like mad. And made extra :3
Nibbles, *give her a medium rare 18 pound prime rib* Dig in sweetheart, you are a good chain chomp and you deserve the world.
Spewart, I am truely unsure to as of what to get you but I did have a idea.. *gives Spewart a box of yarn and some knitting kits* I do hope they come to use one day or make yourself something that makes you happy.
Rango, *gives Rango some packets of different flavors of weed* I thought you would want some. Maybe you can put them in some brownies or smoke them. Either way, enjoy yourself
Hariet, *gives her a pretty light purple veil for like either for wedding or for like Halloween stuff* I was unsure on what to get you but I do hope you enjoy it..
Topper, *gives him some rock music albums and some are limited edition covers and a small bluetooth speaker* I do hope you enjoy these, you are a good brother and I hope the best for you for the following years. :3
Pealsey, I am unsure on what to give you. But I do hope this is alright. *gives Pealsey a pure gold sword cover* More for it you are doing something and don't want your sword to be ruined type things. I hope Christmas is wonderful for you...!
Nabbit, I hope you enjoy this dress... *gives Nabbit a wedding dress, semi looks like the one that she stole but its in a light purple color instead* I had tried to find exact but I could not unfortunately. I hope you like it..!
Motley, I know you do not celebrate but I don't want you to feel left out as of gifts. *Gives her a Lemmy themed colored hat* I know how much you love Lemmy and Hats, so I got you a gift that fit both. I hope you enjoy your day!
Popple, do not tell anyone but have this... *gives him a tracking device for scanning houses to find out if the house is worth robbing or not* I do hope it comes to use and you can use it. Have a good holiday Popple.
Persephone, I know you may be a queen and such or don't expect gifts but I do hope you enjoy this. *gives her a some earrings that are little crown with the colors of orange, green and dark purple-pink* Enjoy your Christmas...
MERRY CHRISTMAS
-D
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ukcps · 2 years
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Delighted to introduce Robert Strange, UKCPS Featured Artist of the Month, April 2022.
Robert has kindly agreed to share his working process with us.
I am a collector, an organised hoarder of all things ordinary, unusual and colourful. This includes a collection of over 12,000 confectionary wrappers that I started as an art student in 1975. Collecting has had a great influence on my work as an artist in that it gives me a subject matter to work with and also a format in which to present my work. I remember visiting museums in Oxford in my youth and seeing all these fascinating objects in glass cabinets that were considered to be valuable and worth looking at. Especially intriguing was the Pitt Rivers museum, an extension of the Natural History museum. Its assemblage of fragments of history from far away cultures triggered my imagination. These included such ordinary things as cooking utensils and clothing to the horrific shrunken heads and enormous totem poles. As a result of seeing these ancient relics I started to amass my own assemblage of ‘things’ that I acquired such as packaging, comics, stamps, toys, souvenirs of holidays, postcards and so on. Of course I had no museum in which to keep or display them, and I was instructed to keep my bedroom tidy, so I used tins and boxes of various sizes to preserve my possessions. To this day I still have a selection that continue to inspire my art work including Christmas cracker toys, plastic toys from cereal packets, matchboxes, etc. all kept in Oxo tins, sweet jars or biscuit tins.
As an art student I discovered the work of Cornell, Arman, the Dada artists, the Surrealists and most importantly for me, the Pop artists from the US and Britain such as Blake and Hamilton, Jasper Johns and Kienholz plus many other artists who used ordinary objects in their work. I had found my contextual inspiration and was justified in drawing and painting the everyday items of life; and so it continues today.
For my series of Squashed drawings I place my found objects into glass-fronted boxes, objects that are discarded, forgotten, unwanted, lost or broken. The initial arrangement is random, just thrown in, but I then go through several adjustments to get a composition that helps lead the viewer through the drawing/painting. This can be achieved by colour, shape, size etc. but as all artists know, we have a licence to change reality as we see fit and if something feels wrong we can add or exclude things to improve the art work. For my ‘catalogue’ drawings, where objects are placed in columns and rows, I again arrange quite randomly at first then take several photos of the layout to see how they would appear in a drawing. Alterations are made to create a balanced final piece but knowing that I may well add or delete items during the actual drawing process.
I start making sketches of individual objects to prepare myself for the final undertaking. Mistakes can be made while working on the final piece but I try to avoid them as much as possible by finding out what challenges will arise before I commit to drawing. Of course there will always be unforeseen challenges but that’s what makes art so exciting and rewarding.
By putting objects behind glass I can then draw a 1cm square grid on the front of that glass which helps me to accurately enlarge the arrangement into a 3cm square or bigger grid which is drawn onto paper. I rarely draw from photos or trace as I do enjoy the process of looking and the challenges it produces. I tell all my students that learning to look is a vital element of being not only a visual artist but in any creative discipline. There is nothing wrong with any other process that produces a satisfying outcome, it’s just down to choice; there are few rights or wrongs in art. Having done all my prep work in a sketch/recording book, which I again cannot stress enough the importance of keeping, I commit myself to colour, usually starting top left for some unknown reason. I like to use soft pencils such as Parismacolour as they blend well, overlay colours well, give a rich texture and can be scratched or worked into without too much trouble. I also use Caren D’ache Luminance which is a bit harder but can be worked to a fine point without breaking, and for that reason I also use Caren D’ache Pablo for those finer details. I work on 350gms hot-pressed watercolour paper but do enjoy trying out other substrates so that I do not become too fixed in my choices.
When I worked on my ‘28 Odd Socks’ drawing I used all the methods as described above. The inspiration came from visiting my daughter who has five teenage children who are unaware what a drawer is used for and as a consequence have a vast collection of mismatched socks. I had just completed a drawing of ‘8 Old Baby Shoes’ that belonged to my siblings and myself which my mother had kept in a box as a memento (like mother like son?) and it was very successful so I was waiting for a similar subject matter to present itself when the socks arrived. I must admit that the ‘catalogue’ composition idea comes not only from looking at catalogues but also from a painting by Lisa Milroy I saw in the Tate ‘Shoes and Feet’ and then discovering that she did many painting using this type of composition with lightbulbs and other everyday things. Seeing other artists work is important for one’s own development and continuing development, and that includes looking at the work of our very own colour pencil artists. However, I lay a selection of socks on the floor knowing that I wanted a square format. “27 fitted’ nicely and so I drew a rough shape on paper of where the sock would go and then put the sock beside me and drew direct from life, noting all the formal elements such as shape, colour, pattern, texture, tones and shadows. However, there was a space too large for comfort in the composition that I kept getting drawn too and so I had to add another sock across two others which actually added to the overall final appearance. Happy accidents and a willingness to be flexible to change.
I am continuing with smaller pieces at the moment while looking for a larger project. My ‘Rusty Pinapple Tin’ and ‘Polo Mint’ are the beginnings of an idea for a series but until then I am busy exhibiting in Guildford’s Watts Gallery with the Society of Graphic Fine Artist, in St. John ’s College, Oxford with the Oxford Art Society and in the Castle Fine Art Gallery, Oxford.
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thisiskindagross · 4 years
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An-Elric-Brother on my Patreon requested a New Years picture for this month, and it’s very fitting for the holiday tonight.
Happy New Year!
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wkemeup · 3 years
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favorite fanfic trope: enemies to lovers but it's the moment when their tension is at its peak 😈
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title: The Mess I Made - submitted by anon summary: you may not be on the best terms with Bucky Barnes, but it doesn't stop you from coming to his defense prompt: “Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are? It’s incredible how low my standards are for you.” / multiple requests for enemies to lovers word count: 1.5k a/n: enemies to lovers is already tough for me and to do it in drabble form is impossible for me because it requires a slow burn, but I did my best!!
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You were on your way to the tower's gym when you heard Bucky’s voice echo from the end of the hall. Towel swung over your shoulder, headphones barely even grazed your ears as you paused, turning down the music. Bucky’s shadow danced over the walls as his run his hands through his hair. A woman’s shadow emerged next to him, her heels clicking against the tiles.
You rolled your eyes. Bucky’s latest string of conquests were an inconvenience at best. His pathetic attempt to rekindle whatever version of himself he idolized from the forties in the form of cheap, meaningless hookups was just another reason you made every effort to steer clear of Barnes. His seemingly indifference towards you made easy to do so.
Steve wouldn’t let it go – his questioning of why the two of you could never get along. It wasn’t that you hated Barnes. You didn’t know him well enough to hate him. You just didn’t care for what you saw. He was guarded and cold. Condescending and arrogant. Half the time, you barely believed Steve’s stories of Bucky’s charming days in the forties. The rare moments you caught his smile, it looked forced. It barely touched his eyes and he wore a mask to bring home women who spent their nights admiring an arm he would not allow them to touch.
The rare moments you thought you saw something genuine in him, he’d lashed out. The cracks in his foundation breaking through the surface in the screams at the night of dead of night, flinching at loud noises, the easy transition to taking orders and losing himself for the briefest of moments.
You’d made the mistake once of trying to comfort him. His eyes had glazed over in the middle of a conversation. There were dozens of agents around for the annual holiday party and Bucky was in another world entirely. His pupils were dilated, his hands shaking as he closed them to fists. You never learned what triggered it, but the moment you laid a gentle hand upon his forearm, Bucky had you in a chokehold.
It took both Sam and Tony’s strength to wield Bucky away from you, all while he was practically foaming at the mouth, screaming at you to never touch him again. He was rabid as Sam and Tony struggled to hold him back. The whole party stopped to watch the scene unfold – as Bucky hurtled countless insults at you.
He was drinking Thor’s liquor. He had to have been. Half of what he said that night barely made any sense. None it worth the audacity to lay a hand upon his arm to draw him back from wherever his mind had taken him. Perhaps, if you weren’t so thoroughly humiliated, you might have considered as much.
But what he said that night stayed with you and you never let it go.
“Why don’t you stay, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice carried down the hall.
You tapped your foot impatiently at the elevators, desperate for an escape before he turned the corner. You noticed the woman’s heels were still clicking on the floors. She hadn’t stopped.
“Let me take you for breakfast, at least,” Bucky asked, a nervousness in his voice you didn’t recognize. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” The clicking ceased and you watched as the woman’s shadow placed a hand on Bucky’s chest, stilling him in an instant. “I thought you knew what this was.”
“I did. I do, but,” Bucky started, running a hand through his hair. You’d never seen him act this way before – so unsure of himself. The elevator doors open and closed as you watched his shadow sway on his heels. “I just... I want to try something different. Something... real and I thought, since we had a nice night together you might...”
“What?” the woman scoffed. “You thought I would want to date you?”
Bucky stiffened. Even his shadow appeared to mask into stone. Dread curdled in your stomach and you found yourself inching down the hall, approaching the shadows.
“Listen,” the woman crooned, “you were great last night and sleeping with the Winter Soldier is a hell of a story, but you’re not exactly... relationship material.”
You froze, stunned.
Bucky awkward cleared his throat. “I-I know, and I’m working on that. I just thought—”
“Oh my God, take the hint!” the woman exclaimed and you flinched in time with Bucky’s shadow against the wall. “Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are? Clearly all I wanted was a good lay. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about this clingy shit with the Winter Soldier for Christ's sake. It’s incredible how low my standards were for you.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
You rounded the corner, tossing your workout gear aside as you came face to face with the woman. She was a beautiful as the rest of them were – tall, stunning, probably one of the models you’ve seen on runways or on magazines. But her eyes were unkind, and dismissive.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she spat, shoving past your shoulder and heading to the elevator. You moved to block her when you felt the cold grasp of vibranium curl around your wrist, yanking you out of her path.
“Hey!” you yelped, watching as the woman made her escape into the elevator. You snatched your hand back, massaging at the tender muscle. “What the hell, Barnes?”
“I don’t need you coming to my rescue,” Bucky bit back. “I had it handled.”
You scoffed, the image of Bucky’s form flinching as she called him ‘pathetic’ still fresh in your mind. You’d never known him to back down from a fight. Hell, he’d gotten into a screaming match with a paparazzi for daring to ask how his morning jog went. Bucky didn’t roll over and play dead. But he let that woman wrap a hand around his throat until he choked.
“Sure looked handled,” you rolled your eyes. “She was walking all over you.”
“My sex life is not your concern,” he growled, his voice low as his eyes hooded.
“I never said a damn thing about your sex life, Barnes.” You shook your head, already regretting stepping in at all. It was pointless – foolish even – to think that he might be appreciative of your intervention, of the fact that despite the tense history between you, you would never stoop as low as that woman did.
You bent down and picked up the gym bag you’d let slip from your hands. “If you want to be treated like shit, then by all means, have fun with your next one night stand. I'll steer clear of the fallout.”
You started to head back towards the gym when you heard Bucky groan rather dramatically behind you. You paused, glancing over your shoulder as Bucky hit a fit against the wall.
“What is your—”
“You are so goddamn infuriating!” Bucky snapped and your jaw dropped.
“Are you serious right now? Me? I’m the infuriating one?” You released your bag, letting the weights hit the floor as you stalked back to him. “You’re the ungrateful jerk who just yelled at the one person who bothered to stand up for you!”
Bucky gritted his teeth. “I never asked you to do that!”
He was only inches away. His breath hot against your cheeks. You could see the dark blue specs in his eyes from this close. The blacks of his eyes nearly consuming him whole.
“Maybe that’s your problem, Barnes,” you sneered. “You think you need to ask for help, that it’s earned or deserved, but it’s not! Sometimes people just want to help you, you asshole! Sometimes, people can be good and can care about you without expecting that you—”
Your back hit the wall as Bucky’s weight pressed to your chest. His lips crashed against yours, his hand slipping into your hair. Everything in him moved with purpose, with adrenaline spiked into his veins and fury in his bones – but not his hands. Even as his lips hungrily devoured yours, his hands were gentle as they caressed the nape of you neck, as they slid down your hips.
What surprised you more – was that you kissed him back. Your hand clutched into the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your lips parting for him as he brushed him tongue over yours. It was the kind of kiss that left you feel dizzy – like you’d been under for too long, your lungs aching, and still you had no desire for air.
When he finally did draw back, it was only when he was breathless. His chest panting in time with yours, his forehead dipping to rest against your collarbone. He paused for a moment, even as his fingers gently pressed into the nape of your neck as if upon keys of a piano.
“I don’t know why I did that,” Bucky confessed.
You chuckled. “I do.”
He lifted his head and you smiled when you saw his lips were pink and swollen. You brushed a hand over his cheek.
“Because even when I hated you, I still cared about you, Barnes. It’s not black and white. It’s messy and it’s grey. But I can handle a little mess, can’t you?”
Bucky swallowed, slow to the smile that crept upon his lips, but still—it came. “Yeah, I can handle messy.”
When he kissed you again, he didn’t hesitate.
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runtedfiction · 3 years
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day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021
ao3
* * *
Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.
* * *
The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.
“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”
Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”
“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”
“Princess!”
“I know, I know.”
* * *
They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.
Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.
“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”
“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”
“Guilty.”
Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.
“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”
Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”
“Yes?”
“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”
Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.
She lies. “No.”
Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.
* * *
In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.
There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.
But all she wants is for Link to look at her.
He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.
“Princess, are you feeling alright?”
“Oh.”
The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.
“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”
“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”
It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.
She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.
(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)
She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.
* * *
Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.
If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.
Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.
A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?
* * *
She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.
There’s no way she could summon him, but…
She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.
Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.
“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.
He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”
Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.
“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”
“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”
“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”
“The band is nice.”
She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.
“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”
He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”
“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”
He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”
“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”
She blinks. “What?”
He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”
“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!
“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”
She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?
They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.
How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.
Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.
Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.
They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”
He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”
She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”
“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”
She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.
“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”
The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.
“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”
“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.
* * *
When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.
“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”
“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”
She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.
This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)
The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.
“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.
“Great, how are you?”
“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”
“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!
He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.
She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”
“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”
She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”
“It’s ok if it was.”
“No, no, you’re too kind.”
Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”
She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”
Link clears his throat.
She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.
* * *
At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.
She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.
She turns around when they reach her doors.
“Tonight was fun,” she says.
He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”
This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.
“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—
“I think I have feelings for you.”
She blinks. What?
“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”
What?!
She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.
Holy fuck. “Really?”
He nods. “Really.”
“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”
“Huh?”
She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.
“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.
He’s surprised. “Really?”
“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”
“Really?”
She laughs. “Really.”
She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.
“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.
(She wants to kiss all of them.)
His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.
“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.
There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.
“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”
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benscursedkid · 3 years
Note
uhhh hi! if your valentines day reqs are still open could you do a jae kim x fem!reader and a former!penny haywood x fem!reader? like in the same fic, if not thats totally fine! thank you!
hello! thank you for requesting! i will try my best, but a lot of the circumstances here have been left unspecified so if this isn’t to your liking, you’re absolutely welcome to send in another one, as always! ((this got much longer than i planned))
happy valentine’s day! 💗✨
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Okay, so in his defense, Jae hasn’t exactly had lots of experience with Valentine’s Day. Or, more accurately, having a valentine for Valentine’s Day.
He didn’t hate the holiday. On the contrary, the lovers’ holiday always brings in lots of customers for his little side business. When you can’t trust the staff to get you what you need, you must be forced to look elsewhere. Jae is elsewhere.
It’s rather easy actually. Enchant a howler to sing ballads instead of scream insults here, candles made out of amortentia, a few orders of multiplying chocolate roses there. Business is booming this time of year and he owes it all to the Day of Love. So, really, how could he possibly hate the holiday?
Let him tell you why.
He has no idea what to get you.
You’d think for someone with a stock like Jae’s, finding an appropriate gift would be easy. A piece of cake, right? Wrong. Every gift that he can possibly think of to give to you, he’s already sold to someone else at one point before. Flowers that change to the favorite color of the holder? Done before. Jewelry enchanted to fit only the wearer? Done. Doves entrusted with disappearing love poems? Done. Done. Done.
And Jae doesn’t want to give you just any gift. He wants it to be special. Many a buyer has claimed him a secret romantic, and while he has vehemently disagreed in the past, if ever a time came to prove them right it would most certainly be now.
But, unfortunately for him, it seems he’s pulled out all the stops for strangers. Not his best moment.
After about the entirety of his January was wasted in struggle, Jae eventually caved and turned to Ben for help. Being his roommate, the blonde’s innate knack for charms did not escape his notice and he figured if anyone were to help him out of his funk, it’d be him. Not to mention, being his best friend has its perks too.
It took only an hour for Jae to come up with his best idea yet. However, that said, it was a little ambitious for the two students and they enlisted the help of charming Professor Flitwick—who, much to Jae’s immense relief, seemed absolutely delighted to help, saying something about “finally putting his creativity to use”—to ensure his vision became a reality.
Finally, at seven pm on Love Day, after a whole morning and afternoon’s worth of quality time spent between giggles and stolen kisses, he is finally able to present you with his gift. Fortune favors the bold and all that, right? Or was it brave....?
Eh, he’s a Gryffindor. He’ll try his luck.
The two of you are slipping through the dark corridors, the only source of light granted by the quaint, alluring candles that dot the extensive hall. The glow casts an illusion of warmth across your face, catching on the color of your eyes so purposefully, so brilliantly that for a moment Jae forgets to breathe.
“Thank you for today,” You tell him, your fingers intertwined as you bring them up to kiss his knuckles affectionately. Jae blushes and doesn’t even attempt to hide it. “For a while there, I couldn’t have seen myself doing this with anyone but Penny. And I hate to bring it up, but...just know that today was all I could have asked for.”
You push up on your toes, smirking just slightly as you brush your lips against his in a whisper of a kiss. “And so much more.”
Usually, Jae detests when your very intimidating and long-lasting history with mutual friend—and your now ex—Penny Haywood is brought up. Jae knows what the two of you had was important to you, and he trusts you entirely, but sometimes when he watches as you both settle back into an easy friendship, his heart flips painfully in his chest. It is not a rare occurrence for him to wonder, If someone as pretty and popular and considerate as Penny couldn’t keep you, what chance does he stand?
Today though, he finds he can’t seem to muster up the energy to feel insecure when you’re looking at him like that and your smile threatens to cut so wide he knows your cheeks will hurt in the morning.
Jae chuckles, the sound a deeper rumble than usual as he pulls his gift out from his pocket. “Well, the day’s not over yet. I have one more surprise for you.”
Your eyebrow arches and your eyes light up in interest, mirth dancing in the small flames he finds reflected there. You grin. “And what might that be?”
Deciding that it’s now or never, he smirks and drops what looks to be nothing more than a common remembrall in your hand. Your reaction is expected.
“A remembrall?”
He shakes his head. “Not just any remembrall. A romantic remembrall.”
You snicker, but don’t disbelieve him. “Just because you add a word in front of it, doesn’t make it any different.”
“This one is different though. I had Ben and Flitty help me with it, so you might want to shoot them a thanks too when you see ‘em, but it took me two weeks to make.”
You tilt your head, a soft but curious smile on your face. “And what does it do?”
Jae points to where it’s currently filled with its usual crimson red smoke with a sly grin. “Well love, you see, unlike a regular old remembrall, this one will only light up if the person who gave it you is presently thinking of you.”
You stop, your eyes flicking down to peer at the smoke already swirling around inside. When you look back up at him, your eyes are filled with such strong emotion, Jae thinks he might melt on the spot.
“Jae...”
“If you carry it around with you, or even just leave it on your desk in your dorm, this way you will always know just how often you’re on my mind.”
For a brief second, you don’t say anything—too tongue-tied to find the right words. So instead, you wrap an arm around his neck and plant a happy kiss against his lips.
Jae smiles into it.
Just wait until next year.
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senorarelojes · 3 years
Text
Pizzaverse artwork and ficlet: 'A Little Piece'
@maiyashu made this really cute and beautiful Instagram post of Pizzaverse Dave being silly and drawing little monsters/creatures on the notes he leaves for Alan and their kids around the house. Of course, Alan shows off his husband's work on Instagram. Under the artwork is an accompanying ficlet set in the future for the Pizzaverse timeline. Thank you dear Shu for your gorgeous (and funny) artwork! Happy Father's Day to the boys!
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Title: A Little Piece Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: General Tags: Pizzaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff
Dave was always amused whenever Alan teased him about being the one in their relationship who was more addicted to social media. It seemed they were both on an even keel; Alan posted more often, while Dave had a variety of accounts across various platforms that he’d lost interest in after the initial posting frenzy. They had their different addictions too: Dave liked the spontaneity of Twitter and TikTok, while Alan for some reason preferred Facebook and Reddit. But Instagram was their common vice, and most of their friend circle were on it as well.
Before fatherhood, Dave had imagined that his use of social media would dwindle because he simply wouldn’t have the time. But instead he’d found the opposite to be true: now he wanted to post about Alan, Paris and Stella all the time, and he didn’t even care if no one outside their family and a few chosen friends would find it cute.
Of course, both Dave and Alan took care to obscure the faces of their daughters. But the adorable things they did were up for grabs: Paris’ first steps, then followed by Stella’s in a few years. Their first stuffed toys. Their first drawings. Dave shamelessly spammed his IG feed with various pictures and videos, and refused to feel bad about it because Martin was doing the same with his kids, and so was Fletch, who seemed convinced that his daughter was a maths prodigy.
Of course, Dave posted pictures of Alan on his feed as well. Naturally his husband was usually included if it was a picture or video with one of the girls, such as Alan helping Paris with her homework or feeding Stella at dinnertime. But sometimes Dave saved a few precious shots he’d snuck on his phone, like Alan frowning at the computer in his tiny makeshift home studio, or stealing a rare moment after the girls had gone to bed to listen to one of the many records he owned. Those didn’t get as many likes and comments as anything Dave posted of the girls, but he didn’t care much.
In truth, Dave would have probably gone on like this if Alan hadn’t taken him aside one night and asked him why he’d stopped posting pictures of his art. “My art?” Dave echoed, genuinely surprised that Alan had been keeping track because Dave certainly hadn’t.
“Yeah, your paintings.” Alan gestured towards Dave’s most recent effort, which was a white cat posing regally by a candle. Even that had been painted more than a year ago, before Stella had come into their lives. “You don’t really post them anymore. Or paint much more, for that matter.”
Dave just kept staring at Alan in astonishment. When they had gotten married and subsequently made the decision to become parents via surrogacy, it had been pretty much an unspoken agreement between them that family and work would have higher priority. This meant their hobbies were naturally the first thing to be sacrificed for time, and Dave had been fine with that. They hadn’t touched the band in years, not since the last time everyone had performed at Martin’s wedding.
But now Dave realised that he missed painting with an ache like a phantom limb, like something that had always been a part of him was now oddly missing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a paintbrush for the hell of it. Everything he’d designed or illustrated over the past year had solely been for work, and that thought pained him like a spike through his solar plexus.
In contrast, Alan - who had always been very driven and disciplined - seemed to have no problem reviving his interests in mixing and composing after Stella had started sleeping at more regular hours. So Dave didn't even have the excuse of fatherhood.
“You should pick it up again,” Alan told him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, before moving on to the topic of Father’s Day, which was coming up. Dave just nodded distractedly when Alan suggested ordering in brunch from a nice restaurant, still preoccupied with thoughts of Alan’s mind-blowing revelation.
After that conversation with Alan, Dave decided to try and carve out time for painting. Although that wasn’t always possible, he did want to show Alan he was trying, so he started with small gestures. If he left reminders and post-its for Alan around the house, he’d be sure to draw a funny cartoon to accompany his loopy handwriting, like a sentient postbox (to remind Alan to go to the post office) or a funny caricature of Martin and Fletch (to ask Alan if he wanted to have dinner and catch up with them).
Alan never really mentioned the little drawings beyond an amused eye-roll, but Dave knew Alan was never particularly verbose about his true sentiments anyway. Dave had learned to look towards Alan’s actions instead. Sure enough, Alan started taking pictures of Dave’s little drawings and posting them on Instagram with an accompanying dry and witty caption, along with the hashtag ‘#artisthusband’. To Dave’s surprise, it really took off among their friends and other family members, and Dave always had to fend off demands from his mum and Sue about more cute artwork everytime he called home.
Since Paris and Stella loved the drawings too, he started drawing little monsters for them on their paper lunch bags, which he would prepare for them before Alan would drop them off at daycare. It wasn’t long before Alan started posting these on Instagram too, and his comment section would get animated at times because Martin, Fletch, Paul, Daryl and the rest would start discussing which creature Dave had meant to draw. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d made them all up on the spot.
Having Alan’s support like this, even for his silly little drawings, was more fulfilling and touching than Dave had expected. So he’d really meant it when he said he was going to get art supplies, but more often than not Dave would get distracted and buy Elsa colouring books for the girls instead. Alan hadn’t said anything at all, but Dave knew how to read him pretty well by now. His husband was definitely planning something.
On the morning of Father’s Day, Dave was the first out of bed so he put in the order at the restaurant before going for a run in Hyde Park. His metabolism wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d gotten into the habit of eating off the girls’ plates whenever they couldn’t finish their food. Alan was a really good cook too, so Dave knew he had to fit in a run today if he was going to be feasting on french toast and eggs benedict for Father’s Day.
When he got home, he thought he spotted Alan in the study with a giggling Paris and Stella. “Hello, my loves,” he yelled out at the door, even more mystified when Alan quickly stepped out of the study with the girls, closing the door hurriedly behind them.
“The food’s just got delivered, I’ll set the table,” Alan told him with a too-bright smile. ‘You go shower first, yeah?”
Dave decided to let his suspicious behaviour go for now. “Alright, sure.” He loped over to where they were, giving Alan a brief kiss and a I’m-on-to-you squint before bending down to stretch his arms out to the girls. “Can I get a hug first?”
“Daddy’s stinky!” Paris protested laughingly, while an uncomprehending Stella just giggled along with her older sister.
Dave’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Stinky, am I? How about I make you stinky too, huh?” He pretended to chase a squealing Paris and Stella for a hug, laughing when they ran to hide behind an amused Alan’s legs.
“Just go shower, the food’s getting cold, you lunatic.” Alan shook his head at Dave with a grin before shepherding the girls to the dining area. Dave left him to it, washing up quickly so he could join his family for breakfast.
However, he wasn’t expecting to find Alan and the girls waiting for him outside the bedroom, all of them grinning innocently at him. “What’s going on?” a suspicious Dave asked.
Paris took his hand and tugged him to the study, Alan picking up Stella and following with her in his arms. When Paris pushed open the door, Dave stared in shock at the brand new easel waiting for him, along with the art supplies neatly piled on top of a blank canvas. He stepped forward, picking up the paints and brushes with trembling hands. Alan had gotten everything right, remembered every detail from when Dave used to paint before they’d gotten married and become fathers.
“I had to take a bit out of the holiday budget for this,” came Alan’s soft voice behind him. “But it’s worth it for me to delay our trip. I’d rather see you painting again.”
“We want more of Daddy’s paper monsters!” Paris declared gleefully, while Stella stared at all of them in bafflement.
“I--” Dave just couldn’t speak. His heart was so full, like it was going to overflow with joy and sentiment and his overwhelming love for his family. There were simply no words that could possibly encapsulate the emotions warring within him now, so instead he grabbed Alan and the girls to him in a tight hug, his breaths ragged and his eyes wet.
“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said quietly, the smile evident in his voice even though Dave couldn’t quite see his face.
“You too, Al.” Dave pulled away to kiss him, then smothered his squealing girls with equal affection.
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sylvie-writes · 4 years
Text
Bad: The Unfortunate Ending
Inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella
(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)
A/n: this is my first attempt at angst so here we go... 
Disclaimer: not part of my fall writing, this is just a lil something bc I needed to write, it makes me happier after days as today. 
Warnings: Cheating, mild profanity, shitty angst & writing. Ransom being an asshole (rip all the soft Ransom stories I’ve written)
Series Masterlist
Never in a thousand years would you have seen yourself sitting in Boston’s most expensive and high end restaurant, a steak simmering at 500 degrees laying out in front of you, and the Ransom Drysdale sweetly smiling at you.
“Wait, before you start eating, I have something to ask you, love.” 
Was he gonna break up with you?
Ransom reached over his plate to reach your hand gently bringing it to his lips while maintaining eye contact with your shocked expression, soon calming.
Oh whew.
The man then set down your hand, and folded up the napkin in his lap before rounding the table, getting down on one knee. Your eyes were already welling up with tears, making it impossible to see all the people staring at you and Ransom.
“(y/n) (l/n)...
… … ...
Will you marry me?” 
After his adoring speech, the four little words came out and the man on his knee was staring up at you like you were a goddess. Overwhelmed, you happily spewed out the words of acknowledgement while Ransom slipped the lavish diamond onto your ring finger, kissing the now ringed finger before scooping you up from your chair, the two of you in a deep kiss amidst the cheers.
A few months later the two of you got married, and everything was a dream. You had a lovely house, and a husband who was practically your closest friend. The two of you spent all your time together, told every joke, talked all the time. Believe or not but Mr. Fancy Pants had preferred that you got married sooner rather than having an extravagant wedding ceremony. 
So that's what you did. One lovely Monday morning, you and Ransom drove to the courthouse, in the beamer, as if it were just any other day. 
You thought then and there, that this was it. Life was finally playing in your favor...
 All the little gifts you gave
I call it over compensating
Feeling just like a princess
Every answer was always yes
You had me living in a dream
 “Oh Ransom!” You played with the little puppy down at your feet, a red ribbon adoring it’s small, yet fluffy neck.The little thing jumped into your arms, causing you to lift off the floor, walking closer to Ransom. 
“Why did you get me a puppy, Hugh?” 
He just cheekily smiled and shrugged, walking by to kiss your cheek. “No reason!” 
You just laughed it off before going outside to play fetch with the energetic fur baby. 
Ransom always treated you for no reason, at times you really hated him for it, but not once would he ever let up.
About four months into your marriage, Harlan had invited you and Ransom to some writer’s charity gala, a black and white party, meaning Ransom was gonna rent a tux and you’d find an overly priced yet attractive dress. 
So, one Saturday afternoon, you and Ransom went to the mall, getting fitted for your clothes. You weren’t about the name brands like Ransom was, but today, Ransom now had full advantage to shower you in expensive clothing having already picked his tux yesterday. His sneaky little plan to go dress shopping with you.
“What about this one?” Your husband held up a black slip dress designed by Prada. Curiously you walked up to him, checking the tag to see its $1,000 price. In all honesty, from the looks of the dress, you had assumed Ransom picked up a simple dress. Sure, it was pretty but you weren’t about to pay that much just for the name. For what it is worth, you could sew and tailor the damn thing yourself. 
“That’s ridiculous, Ransom. I’m not about to pay that much.” 
You went to go walk off before you felt Ransom’s hot breath in your ear.
“Who said you were paying?”
Turning around, you playfully pushed him in the chest to which he laughed and peppered kisses all over your face.
“Ransom! Stop, you’re making a scene!”
He pulled away for a minute, your giggles ceasing.
“Let me treat you and I will stop.”
Quickly, the man resumed his attack, your pleas soon becoming words of compliance.
“Fine!”
His signature smirk danced across his lips, while his free arm snaked around your waist ushering you to the tailor’s stand. 
 What's forever long to you
Did you say that to her too
Making sure that I'd never know
Callin her while the shower goes
 It was a little after midnight and Ransom wasn’t home yet, today he had been out with some friends, not inviting you. Your only company for the day was your precious little puppy, who was curled up against your stomach. The endless worry had kept you up all night as you mindlessly stroked the puppy’s back, trying to calm your own nerves.
Eventually, an hour later, the hallway light shone under the door, Ransom coming in. He was met with your worried look and came to rush over to your side.
“You scared me to death, Ransom. Two hours ago, you were supposed to be back!” 
“I know. I know. I’m so sorry baby. Now, get some sleep, I love you. Forever, my love.”
Ransom gently pulled the blanket over you, kissing you goodnight, then heading off to shower.
Turning on the shower, Ransom pulled the phone out of his pocket, scrolling to the bottom of his contacts and dialing, Blair❤️. 
“Hey baby, today was amazing Ranny!”
A deep chuckle left Ransom’s throat, the woman on the phone giggling.
“I know, angel. You are the best, love ya forever, Sweetheart.” 
Blair continued to gush over the phone, recalling the earlier events of the day at her house where Ransom had spent the whole day. (leaving that sentence to the eye of the beholder.)
Shower, and you, long forgotten, Ransom spent the rest of the night talking to the woman, leaving the bedroom to go downstairs, assuming you were already asleep.
Ironically, that night, you dreamt of all the times you and Ransom would stay up just talking and laughing...
Then crawl back in bed, it's a shame
I probably should've known better
I probably should've known better
 It was 4 am, and Blair had fallen asleep on the phone, leaving Ransom to bid her goodbye and get some shut eye himself. 
It was like sleeping next to a stranger, the warmth of the bed now gone. Coldness, replacing the loving embrace.
About two months ago, your work gave its employees a week off for the holidays. It was once in a blue moon that you got to see your family, so you seized this opportunity. You wished your husband could have come, but Ransom had to stay behind to help Harlan with an upcoming novel. In truth, Ransom never saw himself reverting back to his bad ways, but who knows what entices people to change.
One night, Ransom went out for a drink, a young lady, about twenty-seven years old, came up to the sulking man. He was drowning his sorrows in a couple of beers, wishing he were there with you. Oh how he missed you!
“Hey stranger.”
The sultry voice hit too close to home for Ransom, a voice he knew all too well.
And let’s just say a few drinks later, he came to remember his old fling as Blair.
 I wish that you would've treated me bad
The truth is you couldn't have loved me better
Now I'm left feeling twice as sad
I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad
It felt like you were living a hallmark movie, and never would you have thought any different.
Your feet were propped on the Ransom’s lap as the two of you laid down Uno cards on the coffee table. 
“Ransom?”
“Yes, darling?”
You set the Uno cards in your lap, adjusting on the couch so that you’d be straddling Ransom. The man brightly smiling at you, enveloping you with his muscular arms. In complete bliss, you leaned forward and kissed him, a slow and intimate kiss. Time completely stopped as you were just in your own little world. 
He treated you so well, you’d never be prepared for the heartbreak that’d ensue. 
 I wasn't catching on to you
Blinded by your lips so smooth
Excusing all of your gotta goes
Leaving me to be all alone
 “Do you really have to go, Ransom?” 
Your arms were wrapped around the man’s neck, pleading for him to stay. A small frown made a way onto his lips before he leaned in to kiss you deeply, pulling away from your lips while you were still trying to catch up. 
“I gotta go.”
With that, he rushed out. A business meeting was it? Or was it Harlan? You couldn’t remember. For the past two months, you’ve been accepting all of his excuses, soon all of them blending, yet in the end you were always left standing in the house, alone with your dog.
It's okay, you told yourself. Sure he forgot your birthday last month. It’s fine.
As long as he didn't forget your wedding anniversary next month, everything would be fine…
Right?
 Then you took my heart just the same
I probably should've known better
I probably should've known better
 No it wasn’t fine. He forgot your anniversary. He forgot you. In the mornings, he’d no longer stay with you, instead finding an excuse to rush out, no kisses, not even hugs, Rarely did the two of you talk and soon, it became your new normal.
You should’ve known better.
 Every word you said you was sweet but you was lying
Everything you covered making up just to keep to me from crying
Another late night, Ransom had gone to help his mother at some dinner party for her business, or so he said. He left early this morning, claiming he was gonna help set up and that he’d be home by 8. Yet, here you are, watching the 11 o’clock news, waiting for your husband’s arrival since he had left you with radio silence all day.
Suddenly, the door flew open, a sloppily dressed Ransom, stumbling in, clearly piss-ass drunk.
“Oh you're awake!”
You walked over to help him sit on the couch, just as you were about to turn off the lamp beside the couch, you noticed a tint of red lipstick on Ransom’s lips. You hadn’t worn any lipstick today, right?
Tenderly, you traced your thumb over his lips, as his eyes gazed into yours.
“Ransom, what’s on your lips?”
In a poor attempt, Ransom went to grab your hand, missing and instead grabbing your shoulder, leaning in to kiss you, instead getting your ear. 
“It’s nothing, (y/n).” 
His head was laying on your shoulder, as he was about to fall asleep, his energy suddenly gone.
“Really? It seems like something, you have a woman’s lipstick on your lips for god sake!”
Ransom then perked up and hugged you tightly, whispering reassuring words to you. Drunkenly, his words mashed together, causing you to barely understand his “comforting” speech. 
“I love you so much, sweetheart, I’d never do that to you.”
Sweetheart, a name once reserved for you, now unknowingly shared with another woman.
Believing his lies, because why not? He had never given you a reason not to trust him, not yet anyway.
 I wish that you would've treated me bad
The truth is you couldn't have loved me better
Now I'm left feeling twice as sad
I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad
 That very next week, Ransom had to leave once again, this time a boys’ trip to the club. You thought nothing of it, now used to his absence, keeping to yourself with the dog and some friends.
Later that afternoon, you were enjoying a sandwich and lemonade out on the front porch when a Maseratti pulled into the driveway, a familiar man stepping out.
“(y/n)! Is Ransom home?”
The man pulled you into an embrace, leaving you confused at his presence.
“Why are you here Oliver? Ransom said he was out with you and James.”
Oliver just shrugged his shoulders, he too jumping to the same conclusion. At this point you were just seeing red, storming into the house, Oliver following. You practically were stomping holes into the hallway for your footsteps were as heavy as your heart. Maybe all along you had been suspicious deep inside, maybe you just never wanted to believe it.
Then finding Ransom’s phone in his nightstand, you came back into the doorway to meet Oliver. If your suspicions were true, you’d like to at least embarrass the dumbass in front of his friend. They all knew he was a playboy at heart, but after you, every one had assumed he’d matured somewhat. 
Clearly, they were all wrong.
Your husband was the biggest idiot in the world, making his password your anniversary date, for he was so forgetful. You found this hilarious, because he forgot your first wedding anniversary, god you were so naive. 
Was this wrong? Sleuthing through his phone?
Sure. But it could never equal up to what you were about to find. 
Opening text messages, 50 unread, all from you, your messages definitely ignored as a woman named Blair was at the top of his messages. 
You gagged at the heart by her name, one that used to be by yours. Scrolling through the texts, you found yourself growing angrier by the minute, finally, you just lost it. With great vehemence, you slammed the phone against the floor, making it shatter everywhere, Oliver and your dog, slightly jumping.
It was then that it hit you.
You crashed to the floor, crying hysterically, as the world came crashing down with you. Oliver, crouching down on the floor, trying to calm your sobs.
Tonight you were gonna confront that backstabbing, no good, cheating son of a bitch.
 Tell me the truth
Was it worth it was I worth it for you
'Cause we were perfect we working til you
Forgot to tell me you been seeing someone else for six years
It was 9 pm and you hadn’t expected Ransom’s arrival for another hour or two, so you spent the time packing your bags and drinking some coffee, preparing yourself to tear the man a new one. 
This time, there wasn’t a slammed door signaling Ransom’s presence, rather soft footsteps and his low voice, like the old days.
Ha, the one time he gets home early. Ehh you were ready anyway
“Hey babe! Oooh can I have some?”
Before you could answer, Ransom took your mug and a few swigs of coffee, handing it back to you, placing a kiss on your head. In utter surprise, you looked up at the man who just smiled down at you.
“You look I haven’t kissed you in weeks, my love.”
And with that he pecked your lips quickly, walking to the counter, you still trying to process what had just happened. 
It was true. He hadn’t kissed you in weeks.
No, you weren’t gonna let him win this time.
“It’s because you haven’t.”
Confusion swirled around on Ransom’s face, allowing you to continue.
“You haven’t kissed me in weeks. But you have kissed Blair, I'm sure.” 
The coffee mug in his hand dropped onto his foot, shattering, leaving you smirking at the small victory.
Heartbreak can make one go insane. Afterall, you are losing the one person you loved most, losing yourself along with them. 
“For months I have put up with your bullshit…” 
A good ten minutes passed of you yelling at Ransom, the man unexpectedly letting you finish.
“You’re a cheating, son of a bitch.”
Angrily, you ripped off the wedding ring, now noticing Ransom wasn’t even wearing his, for god knows how long too. Once upon a time, he’d proudly wear it all the time.
“(y/n) wait--”
Ransom grabbed your arm before you slapped him, the man slightly stunned.
“No. I’m tired of your excuses, I’m tired of letting you win. You and Brittany, should have an amazing life together, that is if you can even commit to her like you told me.”
A whisper of defeat left his mouth.
“It’s Blair…”
“The hell with it! You broke my heart Ransom! I knew it was too fucking good to be true. DAMN IT, I LOVED YOU.”
Hysterically laughing, you looked like a mad woman, lowering your voice just a bit.
“You know what makes this hurt 2x worse? I thought you had actually loved me too, because it seemed like it.”
You broke into tears, your heart in a thousand pieces, rushing away to grab your bags, Ransom not even trying to fight, knowing you're too strong this time. He let the best thing that ever happened to him slip away. 
Ages ago you could remember the lovely times with the man you once would die for, yet...
Your love was just an illusion. 
 I wish that you would've treated me bad
The truth is you couldn't have loved me better
Now I'm left feeling twice as sad
I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad
I wish that you would've treated me bad
Truth is you couldn't have loved me better
Now I'm left feeling twice as sad
I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad
a/n: maybe i should stay away from angst bc this sucked.
Updated a/n: this is gonna be a series! If you’d like to be on the taglist lemme know!!
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kettle-on · 3 years
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(Oh woops, this is a lot longer than it was supposed to be, but I got carried away. Still not super happy with it, but I figured I'd post it sooner than later, before I changed my mind completely!)
Monty Python and the Barbados Fic
Eric x Michael x OFC
Chapter 4
attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog
Evenings at Heron Bay were lively, silly, rowdy, and populous. The Pythons had decided they would have guests to dinner every night, and surprisingly this proved not too difficult. Apparently Barbados was hopping with friendly famous faces at this time of year.
Mick Jagger continued his regular visits with Jerry on his arm, and one or two pairs of glamorous mystery Misters and Misses. It was revealed through many rounds of Charades that the Rolling Stone had an extraordinary talent for both miming and deciphering interpretive dance. His rendition of “the eruption of Mt Vesuvius” was met with roaring applause, and his “Sex Pistols” brought the evening to an un-toppable peak.
Things would take a turn, however, when an entirely sober Graham introduced a favourite game of his called “Poor Pussy” in which the chosen “pussy” approaches guests and, through meowing and distinctly feline behaviour, must make the guest laugh whilst they attempt to pet pussy’s head and say with a straight face three times: “poor pussy.” When one does laugh, they become the new “pussy.” This last rule changed quickly when it arose that multiple “pussies” had taken over the room, and hardly a word could be spoken from the guests through their laughter.
Perhaps the most uncommon news, however, came from casual chat. A visiting Keith Moon explained his plans for a new house in Malibu, anxious for acres of privacy and leaving behind his celebrity neighbours. Jagger the Charades king told of all-night New York City parties, to which Graham countered: “At least in London, one has the good sense to wrap up before sitting down to breakfast.”
Y/N was sure that, had she been keeping a list, she’d have been privy to the business of every star in modern comedy and rock and roll.
The next morning came too early once again, but Y/N was this time drawn to the bedroom window. From here she could see the team of gardeners hired to keep Heron Bay looking lush and groomed. She couldn’t help but feel that with each day that passed she was floating further and further away from what she remembered normal life to be like.
Not wanting to disturb a sleeping Eric, she made her way to the morning room that looked out to the curved courtyard. At one end of the room was a large painted screen of columns in some beautiful ancient scene. Each table surface in this room was topped with a floral arrangement, antique candlesticks, and photographs of visitors and houseguests. Decades of beautiful faces and elegant dresses, men in uniform, and posed portraits looked back at her from their frames.
What was this world? she had long wondered. Painted screens, stone pediments, beaches, house staff, tennis courts, and private ponds. Marriages, affairs, and cover-ups. Churchill, the Duke of Edinburgh, Lord and Lady Something of Somewhere Unpronounceable, and movie stars and rock n roll gods. And who was she in all of this?
From the near distance, she heard puffs of exertion and approaching steps. Michael had committed himself to continuing his disciplined daily morning jog and here he was returning.
“Ah,” he panted, “Morning.”
“Good morning. Nice run?”
“Well,” puff, “it’s not Holloway, but it’ll do.”
When he caught his breath, he noticed her uneasiness. With a smiling face and a tone he’d learned from his mother, he suggested:
“Tea?” --
It was much later that night that Y/N found herself again wandering the corridors alone. The afternoon had passed with a visit from Eric’s friend Ricky Fataar with whom he’d made The Rutles the previous year, and his wife, Heron Bay’s proprietress Penelope Tree. The couple had dropped in for what they called a “business luncheon,” and extended an invitation to the Python household out for a “business dinner.” The two Terrys and Eric accepted, (the Terrys hoping they might throw in a bit of “money talk” regarding their upcoming film budget) and by the time the day’s activities had come to a close, the outward dinner guests had yet to return.
In the rare quiet of the late-night, Y/N knocked on the door to the room where Michael was staying, and a friendly hum invited her into the room. A single lamp lit up the walls and floor, and a Michael in repose who was making edits to his well-kept journal.
“Do I recall correctly you said you’d brought a small library with you?” asked Y/N from the door.
“I did, indeed!” he responded, setting his journal on one of the nightstands next to the bed. “What’s the matter – can’t sleep?”
Y/N shook her head with an apologetic smirk.
“I see, and what sort of thing are you after?”
“Something, uh... gentle, I suppose. Something to escape.”
“Escape? From here? A tropical island and you’d like to escape – now that’s puzzling.” He drew back the thin blanket that covered his lower half, and swung his mostly bare legs over the side of the mattress.
“No, no,” she started, “Just something to, y’know, get out of my head for a bit.”
“Mm, is there something troubling you?” Michael eyed the three stacks of books casually adorning a side table, and inspected the choices of titles.
“Just feeling a little…” Y/N searched for a believable excuse, “homesick.”
He was not convinced. Putting his book task on pause he raised his eyebrows, requesting her further explanation. Y/N both appreciated and hated this look. Michael, though the gentlest and kindest of the troupe, would not let anything go unexplained or hidden for long, and his generosity and patience invited her to open up.
“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” she confessed. “I feel like I’m just getting in the way, y’know? You’re all working hard on what I’m certain will be a brilliant film, and what am I here for?”
“You’re on holiday,” he declared with what he hoped was an assuring smile.
“A holiday from what? What do I even do?” She felt the agitation rising in her voice. “It’s like I just exist day in and day out with no purpose or point. No goals and no…”
Michael’s stare was intense and he waited for her to continue.
“…future.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper when she noticed she’d drawn his undivided attention. A quiet Michael was a rare thing, and the silence stilled the air between them.
“So, I thought... maybe a… a book might help,” she attempted, but Michael was already smoothing down the bedspread, offering a space beside him which she gratefully filled.
“Is this what it’s like being famous?” she asked heavily, taking a seat. “Always surrounded by extremely talented, important people, and constantly comparing your own worth and accomplishments?”
“I suppose it is, yes. Sometimes.” Michael was usually very good at telling the truth in a palatable way.
Nevertheless, this acknowledgement only supported her anxiety. Her face fell and she closed her eyes, sensing exhaustion was on its way. She silently prayed for one of Michael’s rambling speeches, and he intuitively delivered.
“But it doesn’t have to be,” he began. “None of this comes with the expectation that you’ve earned your right to enjoy things. You don’t need to have won a Nobel Prize or sold a million records to deserve fine cutlery. But when you’re well-known, everybody wants to know you and bring you lovely things, whether or not you think you deserve them. When that happens, I think what helps is to recognize what’s there for you, and appreciate that there are all these things you can access if you’d like to. What’s important to remember is that you have options, and lots of good ones, too.
“And as far as goals and a future, well… I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that you’re already building a future just by living. And learning, and asking questions, and thinking, and wondering, and loving, and caring.”
Y/N had stayed quiet. The past few weeks of indulgence, creativity, and celebrity drama had left her feeling in a way excluded, and far away from herself. It wasn’t something she found she could explain to Eric without seeming ungrateful.
Michael continued:
“So right now, you’re on holiday somewhere you’ve never been, and learning how the other half lives. And what am I doing? Well at the moment I’m enjoying a few weeks on a beautiful island, with marvelous weather, with my wonderful friends. Together, we’re finishing up a script for a film which, if all goes well, we’ll be making later this year. That’s my job, and it keeps me working, but I’ve got the rest of my hours and days, too, and that’s when I’m living. That’s when life happens, you see, in the in-between time.
Y/N had secured a point of focus on the floor, and found it fitting that Michael’s was one of the few rooms in the building with wooden floorboards instead of the palatial stone. In this room she could be almost anywhere in the world, and at this moment she was happy to be somewhere closer to home.
“There’s no rush,” Michael added, noting her half-daze. “Life is short, but... there’s so much of it. You can stop and start and chop and change as many times as you like. It’s all life,” he slowed his pace, carefully observing her softened expression, “and it’s all yours.”
Y/N leaned back onto her elbows and contemplated her bare knees.
“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” she mused. “Hm. I’ve got a lot of time to fill, haven’t I?”
Michael gave a warm hum of agreement and joined her sideways, propping his head on an elbow, attentive as ever.
“And what are you going to fill it with first?” he asked.
This prospect was suddenly overwhelming, and it showed in her eyes. She took a breath and decided to choose levity for a change.
“I could work on this tan, I guess,” she playfully suggested, kicking a leg up and indicating her knees, “What do you think?”
“Very nice,” he approved. In fact, he had long admired her knees, and was grateful to the January Barbados weather for getting them out of trousers and wool tights. The previous summer at many a pub garden evening, he’d envied Eric’s long fingers resting atop Y/N’s knees, giving an occasional squeeze, and more than once catching sight of a slow glide up a thigh, disappearing under a skirt hem.
“Looks like you’re off to a good start there,” he said, allowing himself an extra-long, fully permissible eyeing up of her legs.
“And you?” she asked, “What’s next in the in-between time?”
“Well, I thought I might see what life by the ocean is like. I don’t see it very often. They’ve got waterskiing down at the bay - I might give that a go. I doubt I’ll be any good, but at least then I can say I’ve done it. Obviously a very valuable skill in London. I can see it: there I am, shooting across the lakes of Hampstead Heath. Or better still, an aquatic commute! I could start off from Blackfriars in the morning, and be in Molesey by tea-time, how’s that?”
Y/N laughed, tired from the day but grateful for Michael’s silliness. She liked this. Why couldn’t Mike be around more often? Or could she have a mini-Mike to keep in her purse and take out for impromptu pep-talks and compliments, please?
“I wonder,” he said carefully when her laughter died down. “Rather than in the way, do you think perhaps you might be feeling a bit overlooked?”
This caught her off guard. Overlooked? She never felt ignored or unappreciated. On the contrary, Eric’s attention and gestures of love came in spades. But what was it for? What really did she have to offer? She hardly expected to stand out next to her accomplished and celebrated partner and his career, nor did she wish to dull his accomplishments or stifle him. Stability would be very nice, but so too would making a name for herself be. So what did she want – life or recognition?
“Maybe,” she finally said in a small voice, too tired now to analyze any further.
How fragile she now seemed to Michael. She had opened her heart to him, and the sense of duty and the care with which he held it felt so natural. He wished he could hold it for a little longer.
Stroking kind fingers down her forearm, he took her hand, willing her out of her trance. With a closed-eyed focus on her hand, he drew her knuckles to his lips.
“So I’ve got options,” Y/N re-stated.
“Mhmm,” sounded Michael, whose lips were still appreciating her fingers.
“And I’m building a life every day,” she continued.
"Every day,” he repeated, his thumb now taking over addressing her knuckles.
“And mine is no less important than anyone else’s?”
She knew the answer, but the question brought their eyes to meet, and he held her gaze with tenderness.
“I think anyone who meets you feels lucky that they did. I know I do.”
Y/N felt whatever was left of her distress dissolve with a heavy breath. She had been heard, and she knew with certainty that her cares were safe with him.
Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, and he enveloped her shoulders with a tight grip. His voice was low in her ear:
“You know, if it was a book you were after, I rather thought you’d have asked Terry.”
Y/N wasn’t going to bother mustering the energy to protest or to come up with a nonsense reason why she’d chosen to see Michael. She was here now, and she was perfectly content with it.
“I’m very glad you didn’t,” he confessed, and having exhausted all words, he began a slow exploration of her neck, starting with nuzzling the delicate space beneath her ear. Sensing no resistance, and hearing her approving sigh, he continued down to her shoulder, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses as he went.
He was kind and patient and open, Y/N remembered as she felt herself giving over to the moment’s tenderness, her curiosity duelling with her fatigue.
With restrained eagerness, he moved along the underside of her jaw before,
“Stop stop,” she hushed.
She was fighting with her enjoyment, but this was not a good time to discover feelings. All she wanted now was comfort and sleep. She looked at her kindred Michael half-apologetically, and he shifted aside, making a space for her to lie down and sleep. He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and gently pulled the sheet up to cover their spooning bodies.
Out on the patio under the moonlight, Eric lay on a lounge chair, gazing into the sky and contemplating several things: Ricky and Penelope’s marriage, Mick and Jerry’s affair, and the concept of unfaithfulness. And the very nature of frivolity, and luxury, and everything he learned from the swinging sixties of liberation and self-indulgence. And, unexpectedly, Michael.
He wriggled in his spot, unable to relax. I need to write this, he thought. He worked most things out through writing, and now he would turn to his typewriter, get his musings out on paper, and try to make some sort of sense of his brain soup.
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coralstudiies · 4 years
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hello everyone! I got an ask from an anon asking for tips on time management so i decided to type this out before school starts heheh…
poor time management and procrastination, unfortunately, plague just about all of us lol. people with a short attention span (like me) and who are pretty much always on their phone (me again) and who hate scheduling are the most susceptible to these.
over the years i struggled with time management(studying the night before the exam 🤙🏼) but! these are some tips that have helped me in scheduling, avoiding procrastination and improving time management.
1. Write it down
as always, we’re starting with BEFORE the actual task. write all tasks, assignments, projects and homework, test dates down somewhere (notebook preferably so that you dont lose it. it doesn’t have to be your bujo and you do not have to start a bujo for this specific reason!!!) and write the deadlines. this is subconscious pressure to do work once you get home. also, since you can see everything, it’s easier to schedule it out later
2. Use travel time
i cannot stress this enough!!!! sorry that it appears in all my tips posts but it truly is very useful. for short commutes, review the content you’ve learnt so that when you start on your homework, you’ve already got the hang of it. ie you dont struggle to understand the chapter and be put off from finishing your work because you hate it. long commutes can be used to complete work itself. i like to place some books and a file under my worksheet while i write (if i have a seat lol) or you can take this time to plan your time in greater detail
3. Actually plan your time
you dont have to fancy it up with like, brush pens and highlighters. just do something on google sheets or excel. divide the day into appropriate blocks of time.
for me, since i use a focus timer (50+10 or 100+20, rare cases i do 120 with a long break after that) i keep my days in 1hr blocks. so i’d block in about 1hour after i reach home to chill, clean up and so on, 2hrs for homework and the remaining time can be divided by hour/2hours to complete my work. you can tweak the timings to work for you but so far this one suits me pretty well.
4. NEVER RUSH YOUR HOMEWORK AND REVISION WHEN PLANNING!!!!
i repeat, never rush. because when you give only, say, one hour to review 3 chapters and you fail to do so within that time limit, you feel demoralised and hence, will not want to work more. this is a very common issue i believe. sometimes i would rush revise and when i couldnt stick to the timelines, i’ll feel so defeated that i’ll probably binge watch youtube to cure my self-pity LOL
give yourself an ample amount of time. Assign one or two hours a day as ‘delay time’ (this was my free time) so that you can catch up on anything that unfortunately, you couldn’t finish. Assign one day of the week to be the ‘delay day’ -- anything that you cant finish the week before, do it now. this means that you can still ‘save’ your plan even if it screwed up somewhere along the way. it works wonders, believe me! i used to have ‘delay hours’ after training where i would (ahem sadly) study from 2330-0030 if i needed to. while i was tired, i always got my work done.
5. Prioritise
this one needs no explanation. i usually choose which task to start on based on a combination of deadline+importance+graded/non-graded. i start early for graded assignments because they count towards my semester’s final grade and i want to hand up the best quality work i can. find a system which works for you! note: start project work and large assignments early.
you can assign simple tasks first to start the ball rolling, and proceed with harder tasks.
alternatively, if you’re at your prime focus, start with the hardest and scale down to the simple.
6. Make good use of holidays + Wake up early
ok i used to game a LOT and go to training a LOT (still happens now lol) during holidays but i wouldnt get any of my holiday work done.
do your holiday homework first. schedule your time well, and maybe stay home and resist the urge to go out for the first 5 days. finish all your work (again, schedule well) with breaks in between.
thereafter, schedule maybe 3-5 hours a day to revise. if you’re going out with friends, i’d suggest you wake up early to study because once you come home you’re usually dead tired HAHA
so how early is early?? during my o levels study break i would wake up at 0330 (yes, for real) but i slept at 2130 every night. so thats 6 hours of sleep wew but AT LEAST i was very productive. think about it this way: waking up early to study at 0330 makes you more productive than studying till 0330. you don’t have to wake up THIS early, but preferably early enough when the sky’s still dark so that you can fit in those extra hours. DO NOT sacrifice sleep. that’s why you can see i’m still sleeping my usual amount, albeit sleeping and waking earlier.
more perks of waking up early: its quiet outside, the air is cool, your mind gets into the ‘get shit done’ mode, and if you absolutely have to use your phone to search something up, your social media probably won’t be pinging. in other words, early mornings are actually a great time to study! remember to eat something though :>
7. Remove all distractions to prevent possible procrastination
YES i know this is the dreaded one. lock your phone somewhere inconvenient and put the key outside your room. or if you don’t lock it make sure your phone is far away from you as possible. please i know how deadly your phone can get so just put it away.
if you find yourself drifting away and looking at something else, remove that.
alternatively, change up your study environment. you don’t have to go to the library or something (you can if you want to). this is as simple as studying in a different part of the house. a new environment helps to ‘prick’ my mind and help me ignore distractions. i dont know if this is scientifically proven but oh well, worth a try.
8. 2-minute rule
this is something i picked up from @studyquill! it’s pretty helpful (although i was skeptical at first). Tell yourself you’re only going to work for 2 minutes, which helps you get into the workflow. chances are you’ll get so into it (ok not in an excited but rather in a determined way) that you don’t feel like stopping.
if you’ve had a long day and after 2 mins you still don’t get any momentum, just stop and take a 15 min break. that means you’re really too tired and there’s no point in forcing yourself to complete your work.
9. Use reminders
set reminders on your phone for the tasks you need to do. for example, if you’ve planned to start work at 1500, set the reminder to ring 5 minutes before so you have time to gather all your stuff and ready yourself to do work. no excuses!!
set reminders for your breaks as well! those are equally important.
10. Reward yourself
if everything you need to do is done, give yourself a pat on the back. have you been extremely productive? great, treat yourself to your favourite drink/snack. honestly i feel like many of our brains function on the ‘reward’ system. if we reward ourselves for a job well done, we’ll be more willing to complete tasks and stay on time in the future (the brain thinks there’s a reward coming)
remember to take care of your mental health as well! this is one good way to ensure you don’t end up mentally exhausted.
Apps to help with time management
1. Tide - focus timer, meditation, beautiful and calming soundtracks (my fav!)
2. Pendo - everything in one tbh, schedule, to-do list, journal etc. (my fav too!)
3. Forest - focus timer $$$ (free alternative: flora)
4. Donut Dog - focus timer
5. Todoist - minimalist to-do list
6. Minimalist - minimalist to-do list
7. Google Calender - your entire schedule
8. Todait - smart study planner
a quick search will bring out many more! note these are all available on iOS but i’m not sure about google play. you don’t need everything to be productive. i rely only on Tide, Pendo and my iPhone calender and reminders. It’s less about having many ‘tools’ and more about how you properly and wisely utilise them to boost your productivity and manage your time.
also i don't think pendo is very well-known?? so this is how its interface looks like for 'Notes':
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it's pretty, simple and clean and there are several themes to choose from! i rly like it omg HAHA (not a promo)
alright that's all! hope it helped :>
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hazelandglasz · 3 years
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Tin-Tanium, A Klaine Advent Calendar
Hi! Yeah, I decided to write all of the Klaine Advent prompts in one story going back the steps of a ten-year anniversary.
Merry Christmas, happy holidays everybody, and I hope you’ll enjoy this compilation!!
Abashed
Over ten years, there are many opportunities for a couple to embarrass themselves.
Kurt has plenty of memories that fit in that category, Blaine too.
Blaine and Kurt together, too.
Whether it’s from their early days (Kurt still can’t believe he used an entire notebook sketching their hyphenated names around hearts) or from the most recent years (Blaine prefers to hide his face in his hands rather than face the recollection of “Glitter Vampire”, no matter how many times Eliott tells him that it’s still a fan favorite), they have managed to feel abashed more often than not.
It’s not like they mind, though. 
Being abashed only lasts a moment--the memory, the joy of it, that lasts forever.
Brake
Slow and steady wins the race, doesn’t it.
So, sometimes, even though neither of them wants to slow down, one of them has to pull the brakes.
Oh, it’s not always when they are tearing each other’s clothes apart, get your mind out of the gutter.
(... they do have to slow down their loving romps sometimes, but it’s rarely because they want to and more because of coitus interruptus.)
They learned how to brake to keep their paths aligned; slowing down in their own rush to get all they want out of life in order to get there together.
And winning the race of life together is the only win Kurt and Blaine are interested in.
Careless
Kurt listened attentively, when his father told him to always be careful about his husband’s needs.
Blaine listened too, when Burt told him that though Kurt doesn’t always say it aloud, he has a way of communicating his emotions that Blaine has to “listen” for.
They do care for each other, throughout the years.
But.
But as careful as they are, or try to be, they can also behave in a careless way. 
Though they always try their best, neither Kurt nor Blaine can avoid letting their worst lashing out.
Eventually, though, they learn the real lesson behind Burt’s words: 
It’s not about never hurting each other--it’s about being able to heal from that hurt together, to talk about it and grow from it, together.
Dispensable
Every Spring, Blaine has the same problem.
Well it’s a problem for Kurt, anyway.
The moment the weather turns for the slightly better, Blaine turns himself into a white tornado, cleaning the apartment from floor to ceiling.
And, without fail, he always tries to hunt for the Dispensables.
“Why, pray tell, is this pile entirely composed of things from *my* side of the closet?”
“Because *you* have almost everything in duplicates.”
“They are collectors! If I ever use them or damage them, I will have a replacement.”
“They are taking too much room!”
“Not as much as your collection of cameras!”
“How dare you.”
“How dare you.”
Blaine pauses, holding a scarf in one hand and an empty cardbox in the other, before bursting into a fit of laughter.
“Maybe I overdid my impression of Marie Kondo.”
“And maybe I do have a hoarding problem.”
“Maybe we could do that sorting together.”
“Maybe we could find something else to do with all that free time.”
Blaine drops the box on the floor and carefully folds the scarf on the back of the couch. 
“I like the way you think.”
“You even put a ring on it.”
Event
One lesson the Hummel-Anderson household always applies: make an event out of every possible situation.
During the first years, it does make sense. They celebrate their successes, their achievements, as one does.
Then, it grows into something almost like a private joke between them: every little source of happiness becomes the reason for a party, a true event, even if it’s just opening a bottle of champagne while they sit on the floor, munching on a bag of chips, just because there is a Golden Girls marathon.
Because when you find things to celebrate with the person you love most, the sad things are just a little bit less sad.
Farm
Blaine wakes up in a jolt, something pulling at his unconscious mind to pull him from his dream.
Maybe it’s the cold spot in the bed next to him, or maybe it’s the grumbling sound coming from the living room.
“Kurt?”
“...”
“Kurt what are you doing?”
“Nothing?”
Blaine comes closer, and Kurt is sitting on the couch with his laptop on his bare knees.
“Are you watching porn? ‘Cause you know you wouldn’t have to hide it from me.”
“Not porn.”
“Okay?”
Kurt closes his eyes before looking away, turning the laptop’s screen toward Blaine. “Don’t laugh.”
“Why would I--oh.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t expect that.”
“I know.”
“Farming Simulator 2010, that’s …”
“I know.
“... vintage, is what I was going to say. Any particular reason you needed to play that game at 2.14 AM?”
Kurt sighs, leaning his head into Blaine’s torso, now that Blaine stands closer. “It relaxes me.”
“Okay.”
“And I have been very tense.”
“Don’t need to tell me.”
“I know; so I wanted to unwind on my own to be a better husband.”
Blaine bends over to press a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. “Farm away, darling.”
Grey
TW: anxiety
Most of the time, with the help of his therapist and different techniques he has developed over the years, Blaine can keep his anxiety at bay.
But some mornings, it’s not as easy.
Some mornings, the anxious little voice telling him he’s not worth the space he occupies is the loudest in his mind the moment he wakes up.
Some mornings, the sighting of grey skies without even a spot of blue can send him into a downward spiral he can’t seem to shake out of.
But with each passing year, Kurt becomes more attuned to the little physical signs Blaine’s anxiety lets out.
The tension in his shoulders, even as he wakes up, to which Kurt responds by closing his arms around Blaine’s upper body, forcing him to breathe with him until the tension melts away.
The way Blaine doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look directly at Kurt, to which Kurt responds by putting a cup of coffee in front of him and by kissing his temple.
Yes, Blaine’s anxiety is always around.
But with Kurt’s help, Blaine can keep it at bay.
History
Though they share a love for musicals, Kurt and Blaine don’t always have their obsessions in sync.
Unfortunately, it sometimes clashes.
Fortunately, the married couple has found a solution to keep from fighting over songs.
Medleys meet the Exquisite Corpse.
“I don't wanna talk
About things we've gone through
Though it's hurting me
Now it's history”, Blaine sings.
“History has its eyes on youuuu,” Kurt responds.
“You can dance
You can jive
Having the time of your life
See that girl
Watch that scene
Dig in the dancing queeeeeeen.”
“Hey not fair, there is no queen in Hamilton!”
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps insisting that Eliza is Queen!”
“True.”
Inconclusive
Around the seventh year mark, they wonder if they should … well, expand their couple’s horizon.
It’s a secret to none of their friends that the Anderson-Hummel have insane chemistry with one Starchild.
One evening, using the pretext of celebrating the comeback of the cronut on the foodie scene with one too many bottle of champagne, the three of them end up in bed together.
Some lubricant, condoms, giggles and panted names later, Kurt looks over the stunned figure of their friend to brush his fingers through Blaine’s sweaty curls.
“So?”
“Inconclusive.” Blaine sighs. “Yet.”
Eliot snorts between them. “Round number …?”
“Who’s counting?”
Join
A good way to keep the spark in its first meet glow is also to surprise each other.
One evening, Blaine comes home to Christmas lights suspended in the whole apartment.
“What the …”
“Welcome, sir,” Kurt says, wearing the Ringmaster’s outfit from his run as Barnum in Broadway’s Greatest Showman. “Would you join me for a very special evening?”
“I would,” Blaine says, smiling as he puts his hand in Kurt’s, and feeling his cheeks burning when Kurt brushes his lips against Blaine’s knuckles.
The evening is very special, Blaine tied to the armchair while Kurt takes off his whole outfit and feeds him bits of cheese and fruits and toasted bread.
Knit
“I’m bored.”
“I know. Why don’t you learn a craft?”
“Remember the last time I tried to learn a craft, like you put it?”
They both turn to the potter’s wheel they recycled into a coffee table. “Right. Maybe something less …”
“Space consuming?”
“Complicated.”
“What about knitting?”
“There’s an idea.”
--
Two days later
“Wha--”
“What?”
“Mon chéri, when we said knitting, I thought it would involve a couple of yarn balls and some needles.”
“This is yarn.”
“No, it’s not.”
Yes it is.
Learn
In a couple, some things come naturally, as easy as breathing.
Loving each other, for example.
For Kurt and Blaine, it’s knowing that whatever the storm, the tide will always bring them back together.
And some things are learned, through time and Life lessons.
What to cook as comfort food, for example.
For Kurt and Blaine, it’s finding out that they needed to be apart to be better for each other.
Some lessons are hard-learned, but eventually, they feel like they have always been known.
Meet
Dan is ready to slip under the table to take his ritual Christmas nap when Cecilia asks the question.
“How did you two meet?”
Now, all Dan can do is groan. “Nooo,” he moans, “why did you ask that?”
“Excuse you,” Kurt says, ruffling his son’s hair. “Don’t you like the way we met?”
“I heard that story at least 221 times,” he says, dropping his head to the table. “Besides, it’s just weird, when you think about it.”
Cecilia cocks one eyebrow at him. “Now you have to tell me.”
“Let me--”
Dan holds up his hand to stop his father in his tracks. “Nah, nah, nah, let me, because they will tell you that it’s so romantic, but in reality, Dad went to spy on Papa and Papa lied to Dad about a shortcut …”
Nip
“What is that thing sitting in that... thing?”
“That is a cat and she is sitting in a basket I knitted, thank you very much.”
“Since when do we have a cat?”
“Since Mrs Gimm’s had a litter and this one picked me.”
“Ah.”
“She went for me like she always knew me.”
“Aww.”
“And then she nipped my fingers.”
“That explains the band-aids.”
“Maybe.”
“So you decided to bring a feral cat into our house with a newborn because the only thing you knitted is that basket?”
“Feral, come on, maybe that’s an overkill, look how sweet she--Ouch!”
“Here, another kitten band-aid. Let me try.”
“Oh right, you’re a big beast tamer, right?”
“...”
“Is that her purring?”
“Either she’s purring or the neighbor just started a plane engine.”
“Oh yes, you’re purring, you little princess you …”
“Ahem.”
Opinion
Any couple counsellor will tell you this:
If you want a relationship to last, the most important thing to do is compromise, to make sure that both parties are happy.
Any couple will tell you this:
Some opinions are better than others. The only thing you can do, before choosing a hill to die on, is take a step back, breathe in and out a couple of times and--
“That’s so stupid it’s a wonder you can still breathe and talk at the same time!”
“I can’t believe you actually think that! What’s between your ears, lukewarm water?”
--start World War Three over the importance of the Beatles versus the Rolling Stones, I guess.
Possible
More seriously though, finding a middle ground is important, in any relationship. And the way to that middle ground can sometimes be summarized in one word.
“Possibility.”
Do you think you could agree to let me cook tonight, even though you say I burn everything?
Maybe.
May I buy regular milk instead of almond, because it gives me stomach aches?
You may.
Isn’t it your turn to change Kitty’s litter?
...Possible.
In just a few words, you can save your relationship from self-destructing, isn’t that something?
Remarkable
Over the years, through thick and thin, through storms and easy flows, the relationship formed by Kurt and Blaine only strengthens.
A fact that seems remarkable for a lot of their friends.
Their New York friends, I should say, since their Ohioan friends are not surprised to see them growing only stronger and more in love as time passes by, leaving them more united than they ever were when they were younger.
Is their relationship remarkable? Of course.
But not because they still look at each other with sparkles in their eyes, especially when they think nobody is watching.
No, it’s spectacular because it reminds everyone lucky enough to be with them that Love does exist.
Sisters
Over the years, Kurt and Blaine consider that they are the ones lucky enough to have been graced by the many women who entered their lives and remained there as chosen sisters.
Mercedes, Tina, Santana, even Rachel, of course, soul sisters who were meant to support them and challenge them to become better men.
Marley, Unique, Kitty, Jane--younger sisters who help both men to grow into mentors and future parents for Cecilia.
Lissa, Annie, Agnes--sisters of all ages who learn from them and teach them in return what they learned during their own lives until they met the couple.
Glee Club had taught them that family didn’t have to be born from blood, but life brought them a constellation of sisterhood that surrounds them and protects them, in a way, from themselves, from ever thinking they cannot get better.
Tub
“Blaine, I know that you’re really going Method for that role, but could you stop with the 1980, 1990 lingo?”
“As if!”
Kurt sighs before deciding to move on. “Do you like that ice cream? It’s from the new shop down the block.”
“It’s da bomb, hubby.”
“‘Da bomb’, really?”
Blaine has the decency to look slightly bashful. “Overdoing it?”
“Just a tad.”
“I’ll keep it to the theater, then.”
“Tubular.”
Ugly
When one uses his body as its professional tool, one is very peculiar about the way they see themselves.
And sometimes, as strong-minded the individual may be, societal expectations can become too heavy.
“Now I get it. I don’t get parts because I’m ugly.”
“Who said that?”
Kurt slams the bathroom cupboard closed, shaking his head at his own reflection. “I don’t need anyone to say it,” he seethes, “it’s obviously why none of the directors I auditioned for ever called back!”
Blaine comes to lean against the bathroom’s door frame. “Kurt …”
Kurt bends his head. “Blaine, don’t start. I know, deep down, that it’s not the reason, and that I’m not ugly. But right now,” he adds, turning his head toward Blaine without meeting his gaze, “that knowledge is buried deep, deep down.”
“Okay.” Blaine stretches close to Kurt, pecking his cheek. “Take all the time you want. But if you need my help digging for proof that you are quite the opposite of ugly, I’m right here. If you want to mull over it in silence, I can let you do it, and just stay here by your side, or walk around the block.”
“No. Stay.” Kurt finally looks up, leaning his forehead against Blaine’s. “I don’t feel so bad when you’re around.”
Vanish
Sometimes, when you are a couple of married actors, you have to accept that your husband is going to get a job when you don’t.
“I got the job!”
“See, I knew you were going to get a break! Which job?”
“The ad one!”
Blaine cocks his head to the side. “Which one? The one for the hotels?”
“No, the one for the detergent. You know, the pink one?”
“Vanish?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Kurt chuckles. “I should try and remember it before the shoot!”
“I’m very proud of you,” Blaine says, pulling Kurt against him for a kiss. “Want to rehearse your text?”
“I would, if you weren’t unbuckling my be-hey!”
“Look, I can make your pants just … vanish.”
“You’re terrib--oh, wow.”
Worthless
Along the years, along the moves, along the different steps in Life, people gather things.
Not necessarily the most expensive things in the world, just mementos.
Little things, really, that most people would discard as just worthless junk. 
But for Blaine, for Kurt, those little things are more precious than any of the things they bought once they started to get financially comfortable.
Like ticket stubs and Playbills from the shows they saw together.
Or like a ring made out of gum wrappers.
Yard
Speaking of financial comfort.
Once they became a household name, and once their student loans were reimbursed, both Blaine and Kurt agree.
If they are to be a family, if they are to raise a kid (or many), they need to buy a house. 
It takes them a while, but they manage to save enough money to put the down payment on a cute little house in Jericho, a house with a luxurious yard where Kitty Cat can pretend to be the tiger she once was, and where their babies will be free to climb the trees and run around and drive their little bicycles or whatever.
“Quite the white picket fence, Hummel.”
“Anderson Hummel, and yes, so what.”
Santana rubs her very round belly. “Not complaining, nor criticizing. Just observing. I didn’t picture you as Wisteria Lane-adjacent.”
Kurt shrugs. “Nothing Desperate about wanting a good environment to raise a family.”
Zealous
As they reach their tenth year anniversary, Kurt and Blaine feel like they have reached a point in their relationship where their ship is sailing on its own, so to speak.
They have found their groove, they can still surprise each other while knowing each other’s habits and needs, and they have their baby.
Who cries every night.
Blaine is at his wits end looking for a solution to soothe his son’s teething pain, but nothing works.
Or so it seems.
“This here's a tale for all the fellas
Tryin' to do what those ladies tell us
Get shot down 'cause you're over zealous
Play hard to get, females get jealous …”
The sound of the song is the only sound around the house.
No cries, no whimpers.
Just Kurt, apparently “bursting a move”.
“Kurt?”
The song stops, along with one of Dan’s hiccups that announce a storm.
“Keep going, keep going!”
Kurt hesitantly returns to the song, coming into view as he bounces Dan in his arms. 
“Young MC, really?”
In the same melody, Kurt replies between his teeth. “I don’t know what came over me, but I just started singing while he was crying and he sto-opped.”
“Magic.”
“Quite.”
“We need to give our thanks to Shuester, uh?”
“Over my dead body.”
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katiebruce · 3 years
Text
adios, amigo.
Well, 2020. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said, tweeted or Instagram-ed a thousand and two times about you? I’ll save us all the generic stuff—“unprecedented,” “nightmarish,” “absurd”—yes, 2020 was all of those things, but on a deeper, more personal level, there is so much more I have to say that doesn’t fit quite into those clichés.
So, this will be my attempt to document and reflect upon one of the strangest years I’ve encountered in my thirty-one years on this planet. Buckle up, buttercup.
Like many others before me have frequently observed, the way I spend my New Year’s Eve has always set the tone for the year to come, and boy, was this year a picture-perfect example of exactly that. Because I had to work on January first, I spent my New Year’s Eve at home watching a depressing movie with T, quietly kissing on the cold back patio as fireworks went off in the distance. I remember feeling both happy and sad about this evening (a duality that was a major theme for me for the fifty-two weeks to come, if only I had known). I was sad not to be celebrating my favorite holiday and even remember telling T that I didn’t want the year to come to be one I spent not going out, staying home, and becoming reclusive as I finished up the stressful process of finishing my MFA thesis in the course of ten (or, what I thought would be ten) short months.
But on the other hand, being held in T’s arms, I remembered feeling so happy that I could have this little quiet holiday—something that felt so private and personal—so entirely our own. It really set the tone for our relationship for the year, and for the obstacles we not only overcame together but dominated, one right after the next.
January was cold, snowy, and full of flight cancellations, which I remember to be something worth celebration at the time. I stayed home and snuggled my way into Aquarius season, the time for me and my brethren to shine, feeling positive that I had lived my thirtieth year to one of great satisfaction and maximum travels taken. (If only I had known then that that late-January El Paso layover where my crew and I walked across the border into Juarez to eat street tacos and laugh over Mezcal would be one of the only times I would leave the country for the year, well, I might have taken a few shots of tequila and really enjoyed my stay abroad just a bit longer).
February came, and with it, the promise of friends. My darling Kristopher, as always, flew to Chicago on the day of (also the day I completed and passed my eighth recurrent [!]) and, thanks to my other darling baby, Nicole, scored tickets to one of the highly coveted format reunion tour shows happening in March* for me, her, and my momma.
(*It did not, in fact, take place in March).
I turned thirty-one in the way I’ve come accustomed too—surrounded by my favorite people (this year at Dorians—a jazz club to end all jazz clubs) too drunk and too smiley to even coherently remember the evening properly. As much fun as I remember having, I told T that I thought it was my last year to host some sort of birthday gathering, and to hold me to it come next year. (He did very well—a few weeks later, after spotting an ad in a discarded newspaper for the Chicago tour of Moulin Rouge happening on my birthday weekend, we bought tickets and I sat peacefully with the fact that one of my new year (or, new age) resolutions was so quickly and poignantly adapted).
By this time, I was already deep in the throes of my first thesis writing course, meaning that I was pretty stressed out all of the time and surely a misery to be around (sorry to those of you who were). Basically, in three semesters’ time, I was expected to draft, edit, and rewrite a fully formed novel (70,000+ words) and the idea of accomplishing such a feat felt like a ton of bricks being carried on my shoulders. I had at least four mental breakdowns in the beginning of the year (again, we all know what lays ahead for the year, I know—but at the time, this seemed like an unbearable amount of stress for one person to have to carry. The joke is not lost on me).
In the coming weeks, things began to get even weirder. Covid scares began sprouting up in cities all around us, and as the government asked people to stay at home, airline ticket prices became massively reduced, so more people began traveling. I mean, this shit was like spring break on acid—it was hugely stressful, and though the threat of the pandemic had yet to reach Chicago, I felt more and more at risk with each passing day as careless amounts of people cashed in on what they thought was the deal of a lifetime.
By the time March reached its midpoint, I, like so many others, was terrified. We had no PPE at work—literally nothing. No gloves, masks, or even hand wipes. Cleaning the aircraft still wasn’t considered a “no-go” item, as far as regulatory practices go. I remember watching the news on my layovers only to keep myself up at night wondering if the virus was going to take hold of me or anyone around me, and if so, how long until they would recover, or perhaps wouldn’t.
St. Patrick’s Day came, and after fighting about whether or not to go out with friends (we didn’t—and for the record, T and I rarely fight—but this was, after all, his first St. Patrick’s Day as a Chicagoan—so his resentment was more than justified) we saw a matinee movie (Onward) and while in the theater, read about how Chicago restaurants, as a precaution, were shutting down the next day due to rising concerns about the spread of the virus. We reacted by grabbing drinks & lunch at one of our favorite neighborhood eateries and tipping the waitstaff more heavily than I think I’ve ever tipped anyone in my life (not mentioning this to brag, or whatever—just remembering what it was like to feel utterly helpless and unsure of what to do or what was to come—we had to find our positivity in some way, and on that day, this was how we saw fit, and it helped).
Then it all sort of happened at once—Lauren’s store was closed with no impending reopening date. The grocery stores (and I swear to god, I will never forget this) became a madhouse—people taking things out of other people’s carts when they weren’t looking. I remember going into Mariano’s with T and insisiting we tie bandanas around our faces for safety, feeling like a goddamn bank robber about to make a heist. But there was nothing left to even take. Frantically, we got what we could and got out of there, and I went home to have a full-fledged panic attack about the state of the world we were currently living in and what we were going to do if things didn’t turn around quickly.
As if overnight, everyone cancelled their airline tickets. It was for the better, and though it put my job in serious jeopardy, I was in massive support of it but still felt an eerie sadness looming around the countless empty airports, airplanes, hotels and city streets. There were times when my crew and I were the only guests in a place—times when I had zero passengers on a revenue flight. And then came the mass flight cancellations—and I mean mass. Everyday became a battle of anxiety as to what was going to happen to my job in the next twenty-four hours, and then cooing my stressed-out thoughts to sleep, only to relive the anxiety with every phone buzz waiting to find out if I had lost my job overnight. By mid-spring, I was hugely considering dropping out for a period of time, just due to the stress of it all, but thanks to support from my friends, family and T, I chose to stick it out and roll with as many punches as I could until I was finally knocked-out.
Quarantines were happening all around me, and without the ability to travel or the (former) grueling expectations of maintaining a social life, I started to reconnect with myself in ways that felt both organic and new, yet much like returning home after a long time away. Lauren taught me to knit, and we celebrated her birthday on the floor of our apartment in an Indian-food induced daze renting Emma and making thousands of tiny knots onto needles that would eventually become blankets. We took walks, did puzzles, and Lauren drove me to and from the airport on the rare occasion that I actually had a flight to work, as the CTA had, unfortunately, become a cesspool of targeted attacks on flight crew members (seriously) because they were often the only person in any given train car.
A rare glimpse of optimism then presented itself via two different opportunities: a chance to take a ninety-day leave from work, and a job offer in the form of editing a book for publication. I said yes to both and hoped that I would be able to take a step back and deal with the crumbling world around me easier with both of these opportunities now on my horizon.
This period of the year (May-July) started off swimmingly. Knitting, reading, and even smoking weed for the first time in nearly a decade (I took two hits and spent the rest of the evening sinking into the couch painfully aware of how bad I am at breathing and worrying that I might stop at any given moment). I fell in love with yoga and felt myself loosening up parts of my body and my mind that had been twisted into a series of knots for god only knows how long. I spent days reading in the sun, baking bread like everyone else in the world, and learning to make my own pies. Things were going really well, and I was even ahead in school, now on track to graduate in August—when things started getting heated.
I’m not going to go on a rant about race, although I very much could, but I will say this—the fact that we are still in a race war in this country in the year 2020 (and even now, a few days into 2021) makes me so sick to my stomach I don’t know what to do. Every injustice that passes by us, overshadowed by the next untimely death or wrongdoing makes me angry in ways that I cannot even fathom putting into words. It burns the color red that is so hot and so vibrant that I can see it soaking through my eyelids even when I squeeze them shut. This country lost a lot of love from me this year, and even more respect. There are not only things we can do better—there are things we must change. And honestly, most days, I don’t think most of the country is ready to not only admit that but to also work for. And that not only sickens me, but depresses the living hell out of me. I feel so stunted all of the time when I picture a world so at peace with its own injustice. It’s just so unfair.
I watched as the world was (rightfully, although woefully) destroyed around me. My neighborhood turned into a desolate, looted shadow of itself—one where Lauren and I could sit on our back patio safely until dusk, when the crime and gunfire became so rabid that on occasions, we sat in the living room in total darkness, listening only to the radio, afraid to let anybody at street level see that we were, indeed, at home. The opportunists that took advantage of the message of this movement made me numb to such a large demographic of the population, and I found myself crying myself to sleep enough times that I thought it might be time to leave the warzone that had become Chicago for a little while as escape down to Florida. So, we packed our bags and left. It is not lost on me that so many did not have this option, and for so many minorities, just simply existing during this time was enough to cause assault. I know I am fortunate—I carry it like lead in my pockets every day.
While in Florida, the first retailers began to reopen and I found myself waiting in an hour-long line to buy soaps and hand sanitizers, and to get a glimpse of what this “new normal” might look like when things started picking back up again. Like many, it was jarring to see empty tables, capacity limits on items, cashiers behind plexiglass sheets shouting to be heard over both the physical barrier and the cloth one strung across their faces.
By the time T & I arrived home, Lauren was already making plans to reopen her store “safely” and I felt sorry for her. How could anything be safe when nothing had changed? Why were companies acting as if business could go on like before—even though nothing had gotten better?
My final months of my MFA were just ahead of me, and I had one month remaining free from work to finish my first full-length novel, and I all I really remember is stress stress stress.
And then Andrew, being Andrew, offered a glimmer of hope, in the form of a drive-in concert celebrating fifteen years of Everything in Transit in southern California, a mere matter of hours from where Nicole had been working. It took a matter of two or maybe three text messages to confirm that we would be attending, and once the ticket was purchased I practically packed my bags and headed off to visit her and try and make light of my heart.
As suspected, the trip was magical. Being around Nicole, per usual, was magical. My heart felt so fully aligned seeing a little piece of her story and getting to experience her way of life once more—drunken hot springs and all their glory. There truly are few things in my life I love more than sitting in the passenger’s seat as Nicole drives us all over the country, and experiencing it again felt so right and so perfect that I honestly thought it was one of the happiest experiences of my life. Because I had requested so, she drove me all the way to Venice Beach the day of the concert so we could see where the infamous album cover was taken. We ate cbd gummies and listened to jack’s and ate in-n-out burger like our lives depended on it. When the concert began, it was eerie, yet hopeful to see all the new protocols of something that had become so familiar to me in my former life. Drinks were ordered through an app and delivered, as was merch, and clapping was replaced by the exuberant honking of car horns. We streamed the sound through the radio and laid the in the back of Nicole’s converted SUV as we cried and sang along to the songs that made everything, even just for one night, feel like it was all going to be okay again. We ended the evening marking ourselves with our first stick and poke tattoos—hers a sun to my moon, positioned to kiss one another when we stand next to each other on our preferred selfie side (lol). I left worried about how long it might be before I could feel her warm embrace again, the embrace of one of the truest friends I’ll ever know, but also recognizing that we were lucky to have had such an experience at all during such an insane year and feeling eternally grateful for its memory.
The last weeks of what I referred to as my Rumspringa were ahead of me, and one sunny afternoon I wrote the final pages of my novel. In a mad rush to edit, revise and complete my portfolio for official review, I never really sat with myself and what I had accomplished or congratulated myself; I wrote a book in seven months’ time, and even though I am unhappy with it (more on that later) there’s no denying that I actually did it. I did it, and nobody can ever take that away from me; it’s an accomplishment I will forever have, and it’s all my own. And I need to remind myself of that. I need to let myself feel proud.
I was back to work in September and taking a huge pay cut, though working the same hours. It was stressful, but once I found out my portfolio had been accepted and I, indeed, would be receiving my MFA I felt a bit at peace for a while. I had let my hair grow long all summer, and all but stopped wearing make-up (mascara makes me feel entirely dolled up now). I felt in an odd way free—almost bare.
The fall came and went fairly quickly—the weekends alone at home and grocery-store-only outings feeling more and more like normalcy. It had been such a tough, trying year, that it suddenly felt nice to just stand still for a bit. So, I did.
In a brief amount of time, I watched (safely) as friends got married, got sick, got older and fell in love. I watched, with great anxiety, as our country voted in the most important election of our lives so far and took the deepest breath I’d ever taken as I watched that man face defeat—although he’s yet to swallow it. I watched as ex-lovers had babies, got engaged and never really stopped to think twice about any of it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the safety (and not in a lame, “safety-net” sort of way) of having T in my life has turned me into someone who not only craves quiet time at home, but really also sort of fell right damn into it very easily, though unexpectedly. I’ve heard the saying so many times before, but you really don’t realize everything is different once you find the right fit because that place feels like it’s always been home. I am grateful to not only have that now and moving forward, but most certainly throughout the trying, unstable times of 2020. In fact, I don’t know how I would have survived without it.
The holidays always creep up on me, and after being dealt a shitty hand from work (don’t even get me started, I’m still fuming) they came that much quicker. T & I were lucky enough to spend the holidays back home in the swamp, visiting my parents and his Dad. The time went by fast but was relaxing, fun, and reenergizing. We spent New Year’s Eve playing giant Jenga and yard Yahtzee with my parents in the cool, tropical winter of Florida. It was nice. We got tired right around 11, so we laid in bed until midnight talking, staying awake just long enough to share our new year’s kiss. It felt right—a proper send off to such a strange and unusual year. I was exctly where I needed to be—wrapped up in a blanket of T’s embrace, comfy in a bed in my childhood bedroom.
So now, here it is: 2021—the supposed upgrade to 2020, or so everybody secretly hopes. So now, as I sit here, drinking a warm, soy-chai latte (homemade!) I find myself having great difficulty setting an intention for the days ahead of me. I feel so beaten and bruised and physically fatigued for no reason but the experiences of 2020 and the courses they ran all over my life. I’m feeling reflective of having finished yet another year of my life (and my Saturn return! Halleluj!) and finding it hard to be anything but fatigued. I guess it’s from the year that’s just finished—more so than any other year it physically pained me at times to be alive at times. I’m missing so many of my friends who I haven’t been able to see for extended months at a time now. I am craving a sense of normalcy, of safety, so that I can feel better about making plans, but as for right now I just don’t have it. I am quietly trying to make subtle changes within myself and how I react to the world around me, but just like the start of this new year, that process is a slow one.
One of my resolutions (though I’m growing to hate that word more and more with each passing year) is to get back to writing. I had a good, albeit stressful, thing going while still in school, and after finishing my novel and receiving feedback, I couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute failure. It’s still there—it’s really hard to try and celebrate an accomplishment when you don’t feel like your work was good enough to warrant anything at all—especially not a fine arts degree. I never said I was a fiction writer—I just wanted to get better at writing fiction—so I need to remember that and allow myself to veer away from that for a while, to work on something new. Something I’ve been saying I’m not ready to write for many years now, something that when I now say that is just a plain old lie: My memoir. I’m ready to close the chapter in my life where I am a flight attendant, so the timing feels more than perfect.
I learned so much about what I want to do within my career and what sort of boundaries I don’t want to place on myself—and I’m trying, I really am. T gifted me with my own pottery wheel for Christmas and we are going to set it up this weekend and I am so excited to get my hands muddy and start creating. Until this year, I didn’t realize how much I needed a creative outlet other than writing—I had been depending on it for too long, my little cup felt bone dry. So, I’m excited to see where this new hobby takes me and how it influences my ability to return to the blank page—quite literally.
I know this year will not be the quick fix that so many are hopeful for—I think quite the opposite, actually. But here are some things I know for sure will happen: I will move out of my apartment and in with T. We will then, immediately get a dog and a new apartment. This, alone, feels like enough to fill the pages of the blank year ahead of us. I will go long periods of time without seeing my loved ones, and without traveling (bleak as this lifestyle may be). I will write, even when it’s hard to. I will publish something—I’m at work submitting pieces as we speak, and though the process is slow, I can tell this is my opportunity—I am ready t fight for it. I will turn 32, and the numerology of my life will seem more aligned. I will spend my birthday at home, alone, because of course Moulin Rouge has now been cancelled (I’m fine with it). I will learn more about myself the more I use my hands to create, to plant, to sculpt, to mold. I will love with fervor. I will smile more, because it’s actually healthier for you, even though my black heart hates to admit it. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to attend a live concert, though I realize this might be wishful thinking at this point. I will do mushrooms and giggle with the colors. I will cry. I will hurt and I will cause harm. But through it all, I will persevere. Because if 2020 taught me anything, it’s that I am capable of regenerating into new versions of myself that I didn’t even have the time to dream up. I can adapt to whatever is thrown at me, though it will often times feel impossible. I can, and will, create. I can be reborn (as many times as I’d like to, too).
So, thanks, 2020, for teaching me more about myself than any other period of five years has ever taught me. I definitely feel like I’ve been through the ringer a couple of times, yet I find myself still standing day after day. It must be the way a domino feels, standing up, time after time, knowing that something right in front of you is about to knock you down. But instead of thinking about what I’m bringing down with me, I’m thinking of the entire collective as a whole—we are all experiencing this together. And maybe, just maybe, on the other side, there’s a kid with a smile waiting to do it all over again. And that’s perhaps where the beauty lays: we have to tear everything down in order to do better, be better, make change. Nobody likes to catch fire, but everyone loves rising from the ashes. We’ll all get to where we’re headed, one way or another. And eventually, I hope, we’ll see that the other side is better than we could have ever dreamt of.
I hope that 2021 is a bridge that brings us from destruction to creation. I hope the journey is long, so we all appreciate the outcome.
I love you all and wish you warmth and wellness into this year and beyond.
Happy new year—honor the circumstances you have around you and let them help you grow.
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sunriseverse · 4 years
Note
rec listtttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
fair warning there’s a lot of different fandoms here—i have, uh. twenty-two pages of bookmarks. lots of newmann though, i promise. in no particular order, i give you a fic rec list
the future’s owned by you and me by kaiyen (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Not Rated)
Years after they stopped writing each other, Newt and Hermann run into each other on the steps of Cambridge University Library. Quite literally.
 Newt stares at him, expecting more. He doesn’t get any. “Come on, man, who are you? Maybe I’ve read something.”
 I doubt it, Hermann barely catches himself from saying. “Gottlieb. Hermann Gottlieb.”
 And Newt looks like he’s struck oil. “Oh my god,” he says, and something flickers behind his eyes, like there’s more than just recognition there, and before he can wonder any more about what it is, Newt blurts, “Oh my god!” and Hermann flinches and makes a face like a disgruntled frog.
What you can expect: emotions, opprotunities missed, and opprotunities taken. I absolutely adore this fic, though I might be biased by the fact that it has Newt as bipolar, and that’s something I always crave (more bipolar Newt fic when???).
Survival is for Nerds by Annabeelee (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 46k, Teen and Up)
It's three hundred and two years after humanity lost to the Kaiju and two hundred and twenty one since the Kaiju left. Not that it matters to Hermann. In relation to following a neurotic genetic experiment across whats left of the Northern American continent while dodging alien predators and hostile subgroups of humans, its possibly the least helpful thing to keep in mind.
What you can expect: scifi, tension, and a very intersting world. Post-apocalyptic, technically, but the way it’s written makes it almost hopeful. I love how the setting and writing makes it feel like a blend between victorian steampunk and futuristic in tone.
people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron (James Bond, James Bond/Q, 10k, Teen and Up)
“I’m not you, Bond. I don’t exactly have a technique for getting rich strangers to like me.”
“Just do your naive cute puppy thing, and they’ll be doting on you in no time,” Bond replies as he pulls up to the grand estate.
“My what?” Q asks incredulously. Bond doesn’t answer, simply giving him an indulgent smile. The fucker.
(or: 00q meets Gosford Park. Except not really.)
What you can expect: humour, murder, and some light espionage. Also, fake dating.
Infinite Distance by lachatblanche (X-Men, Erik Lensherr/Charles Xavier, 7k, Teen and Up)
When they encounter an unfamiliar and seemingly-abandoned ship in the middle of nowhere in space, Captain Charles Xavier of the spaceship Graymalkin heads out to investigate.
What you can expect: drama! Intruige! It’s set in space! I read this a while ago but I have memories of it being rather riveting despite the relatively short length.
Gertrude’s Goulash by lollzie (Gotham, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot, 7k, General Audiences)
Ed needs a new roommate. Oswald needs a room. Oswald may just be the most amazing person Ed has ever met. Shame he's not single. Cue wooing via the medium of cooking.
What you can expect: pining, misunderstandings, obliviousness, and a lot of goulash as a method of romancing.
Death Of The Author by happygolovely (Gotham, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot, 9k, Mature)
Edward Nygma was never intended to be anything more than a secondary character.
The Riddler demands otherwise.
What you can expect: a story within a story within a story. You think you have it figured out, and the next moment the carpet is yanked out from beneath you. Fairly dark, possibly disturbing, but my goodness if it’s not engaging.
we make our friends, we make our enemies by ORiley42 (Mission: Impossible, Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt, 52k, Teen and Up)
Benji finds out he has a new neighbor. This new neighbor happens to be off-the-charts hot. Hijinks, friendship, more-than-friendship, and secret agent drama ensue.
What you can expect: pining. There’s spy stuff going on too, and it eventually gets brought up, but my gods, the pining. Also, it’s fucking hilarious, and, at just over fifty thousand words, the perfect read when you’ve got an hour or two and you want something that’ll make you both laugh and cry.
Self-Sabotage by EmilyweepsforPilfrey (James Bond, James Bond/Q, 2k, Teen and Up)
For some reason, whenever he's alone with Bond, the most ridiculous things come out of Q's mouth.
Or 'the one where Q accidentally invents a girlfriend'.
What you can expect: Q being an utter idiot. It’s hilarious. Nice quick bite of humour if you fancy it.
The Long Con by harleygirl2648 (Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, 19k, Teen and Up)
There are two kinds of cons: long and short. Short cons mean short-term gain, with smaller rewards, mostly just everything you have in your pocket at that moment. Long cons mean lots of time, effort, costumes, masks, props, sets, and other characters all looking to set up the downfall of the mark and take them for all that they've got.
Con Artist/Thieves AU: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are both interested in acquiring a Botticelli, but both of them are quite fond of each other's short games. For both of them, it's the deception and thrill of the game that's worth more than the payout.
And well, after all, aren't the easiest people to scam are those who think they are smart enough to not get scammed?
What you can expect: no cannibalism, a lot of banter, and, of course, con artistry. Quite delightful if I do say so myself.
deus ex machina by coloredink (Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, 26k, Teen and Up)
"What the hell?" said Katz.  "Is that--"
"Yeah, I know, it's kinda flashy."  Will shut the car door behind him and patted his pockets for the little fob to lock the car.
"Isn't that Hannibal Lecter's car?"
The car beeped to indicate it was locked.  "Yeah, I guess so."  Will walked away, toward the field, Katz on his heels.  "I needed a new car."
"So you bought the cannibal car?"
-----
You asked for it: the one where Hannibal is a murderous self-driving car.
What you can expect: what it says on the tin. Quite funny, especially with the element of magical realism meaning Hanni-car is sentient. The Hannigram is more vaguely implied than an actual thing, owing, probably, to the fact that Hannibal is, well, a car.
adapt, evolve, become. by peupeugunn (Alex Rider, Gen, 3k, Not Rated)
“This is how you get out. You're slowly moving towards a desk job.” A pause, then, “you know, most people do it the other way around.” Alex chuckles softly and and shuffles towards him to lean against his shoulder, burrowing into the crook of his neck. Ben’s arm winds around him, shields him from the world, a solid weight on his back. “You're going to miss the adrenaline rushes, kid.” There's something almost sad in his voice. Alex doesn't want to understand why. Down that road lies madness. 
What you can expect: a character study, in a bit of a roundabout way.
A Sharp Dressed Man by Avelera (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 12k, Teen and Up)
Hermann's latest book needs an author photo. However, when he's given a makeover and a suit that actually fits for the photo shoot, his appearance is so transformed that Newt mistakes him for his (much hotter) older brother, Dietrich.
Hermann decides to play along.
What you can expect: gods this fic is so good. It’s the first Newmann fic I ever read, and I’ve reread it a good six times since 2018. I would say more, but I think the fic speaks for itself.
Gestures by Actually_Crowley (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Teen and Up)
Newton finds out what Hermann does with his rare free time, but the discovery leads him to believe that Hermann honestly and unequivocally hates him. 
What you can expect: the rituals are fucking intricate. I love this fic so so so much. And the eventual reveal/confession...scream.
Fate’s Horrifying Ways (also known as: CHRISTMAS GODZILLA) by linearoundmythoughts (Pacific Rim, Newton Geislzer/Hermann Gottlieb, 4k, Teen and Up)
Your name is Newton Geiszler and you’re going to have to break things off with your sort-of online boyfriend because you’re cheating on him. Sort of. [AKA the most dramatic summary of a humorous crackfic ever ok]
Originally written for the Pacrim Secret Santa back in 2014.
What you can expect: first off, it’s not second person, I promise. It is, though, really fucking funny, owing to the misunderstandings that ensue. There’s much pining, some angsting, and, of course, humour.
Letters From Berlin by spenshi (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 12k, Teen and Up)
Newton keeps in touch with his family when he's shipped off to the Shatterdome. Jacob and Illia send care packages to the K-Science Lab. 
What you can expect: Geiszler-family feels. A lot of them. Also, Newt and Hermann slowly growing closer to until they can finally admit they’re into each other.
Wishbone by cypress_tree (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 8k, Teen and Up)
Hermann doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so Newt invites him over for food, family, and a little bit of flirting.  Just a warm, fuzzy college AU to get you through the holidays. 
What you can expect: fluff, softness, general feel-good fic. It’s really good, and it has Geiszler-family feels. Reading this fic is a bit like drinking hot cocoa on a cold day.
next days by catbeans (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 5k, Teen and Up)
Hermann had never felt an ache quite like this one, and he had felt plenty. He had been running on adrenaline first, and then on the necessity to keep running, pain and bone-deep exhaustion falling to such a low priority that he couldn't even consider it one anymore, and then it had stopped.
(the 18 hour nap date these guys deserve)
What you can expect: Newt and Hermann cuddling. A lot. That’s really it, that’s the fic. It’s 100% indulgent and I love it for that.
Tebori by SkysongMA (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Not Rated)
Newt squints. "It's really not a sex thing? 'Cause I'm not opposed to it being a sex thing, mind you. I just don't want to come in the lab tomorrow and not get to throw things at your stupid face."
Hermann lets out an endless, long-suffering sigh. "It's really not a sex thing, Newton, honestly. We hate each other. That's worked out very well for us so far, and it will continue to work out for us in the future." He doesn't mention that they haven't always hated each other and that, at one point in their long relationship, showing up unannounced at Newton's door for the purpose of sexual favors would not have been so far out of the realm of possibility. Had been, in fact, one of those things Hermann had considered late at night long ago, when he couldn't go a week without a fat envelope in the mail full of Newt's ramblings.
But that was quite some time ago, and he means it. They each get more work done than they would ever have separately, even if only because they like to rub their progress in the other's face.
Anyway, admitting anything different would just give Newt ammunition
What you can expect: Newt gives Hermann a tattoo. There’s a lot of feels.
Newt Inherits a Bar by orphan (Pacific Rim and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 11k, Not Rated)
The scary part is the bar looks exactly like Newt remembers.
What you can expect: you’ll probably tear up a bit. This one hits pretty hard, honestly, but it’s so, so, so good.
First a Darling, Then a Marvel by isozyme (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 20k, Mature)
Newt runs a simulation given three constraints:
1: Newt wants to clone a kaiju 2: Hermann does not want Newt to clone a kaiju 3: Newt is going to clone a kaiju anyway
What you can expect: a lot of sciencing, a lot of feels, and two repressed idiots. There’s like, a paragraph or two of smut but it’s pretty clear when it’s going to happen so it’s easy to skip, which is great. The tl;dr of this fic is Newt clones some kaiju, Hermann reminds him how fucking horrible of an idea that is, and everything more or less works out in the end.
Tea and Sympathy by osprey_archer (Torchwood, Owen Harper/Ianto Jones, 13k, Teen and Up)
Soon after Jack's disappearance, Owen takes sick. Ianto goes to check on him.
What you can expect: crabby doctors, put-upon Welshmen, and a fuckton of emotions that everyone is trying to ignore. Not particularly happy, but then, when is Torchwood ever? It’s good while it lasts, though.
Pareidolia by hal_incandenza (Pacific Rim and The Black Tapes Podcast, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 102k, Mature)
It starts as a profile of paranormal investigator and professional skeptic Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. But it seems the further journalist Newt Geiszler delves into his cases, the more mysterious Dr. Gottlieb becomes. What is he hiding? What is he looking for? What is the truth? What is the difference between a journalist's idea of truth, and a scientist's?
Seeing is not believing. Believing is believing.
What you can expect: suspense, mystery, horror, pining, and apocalypse cults, with a dash of an ambiguous ending. I love this fic so much. I literally would stop what I was doing to read it when I got an alert that there was an update when it was still a work in progress.
Meet Me There Across The Water, And We’ll Start An Endless Storm by Skepticamoeba (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 35k, Teen and Up)
Hermann, an honorably discharged veteran has retired to continue working as a Keeper at a Lighthouse. It is perfectly solitary, and with little in the way for incidents. Newton is the sailor that washes up on the seashore after a summer storm.
[Late 19th century Lighthouse Keeper AU--or the one where Hermann was an aspiring artist whose dreams got a bit derailed, and Newt is the sailor that needs to learn to take his time with things.]
What you can expect: the pining........the intricate rituals............the denial.........*chef’s kiss*
and I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted by Lvslie (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 24k, Teen and Up)
He still smells like Newt; bears traces of his recent nearness. Clothes sleep-wrinkled from the proximity, from the way Newt’s ankle has during the night hooked around the calf of Hermann’s good leg and dragged his whole body seamlessly closer. Cheek half-flushed from the face unconsciously nuzzled his into the side of Hermann’s neck—evidence of his presence, fast asleep, as Hermann lay still and fretful for hours an end, staring at the ceiling and feeling sick with wanting.
[An early 20th century AU inspired loosely by Maurice and Age of Innocence.]
What you can expect: wistfulness, pining, repression, denial, lots of feelings. You’ll probably tear up. There’s an achingly happy ending for both of them. This is one of the fics I want a hard copy of so I can mark it up because, fuck, I love it so much.
leave the car running by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 1k, Teen and Up)
It is clear that, after everything, Newt doesn't like to be touched. 
What you can expect: touch starvation, mutual pining, Newt finally getting the human contact he deserves. I wrote my own version of this since it was initially a prompt, but quite frankly, I like Newton’s version better because it hits.
The Man Who Invented Sherlock Holmes by Calais_Reno (Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, 15k, Teen and Up)
John Watson, struggling young doctor, doomed to live an ordinary life, dreams of writing detective fiction. If he can just figure out his hero's name, the story will practically write itself.
What you can expect: Watson sort of, kind of, maybe invents a man into being. Oops. I haven’t read this one in a while but I remember it being quite a lot of fun. There’s elements of what I would say is probably magical realism, but it’s never quite clear.
Newton Isn’t Dead by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb and Vanessa Gottlieb/Karla Gottlieb, 32k, Mature)
Newton Geiszler is currently being possessed by a genocidal alien race known as the Precursors. They’ve taken over his body, leaving him a prisoner in his own mind. However, Newt has a totally awesome plan. He’s going to make a deal with them: let him prove that Earth is worth saving, and if he can’t do that, they can have his body. But convincing a hivemind full of mega-colonizers that one blue planet can be wonderful isn’t going to be easy. He’s going to need the help of his kind-of-ex Hermann, his best friend Vanessa, and one awesome Footloose remake to pull this off.
So, naturally, they go on a road trip.
What you can expect: pining, world-saving, eventual confessions and happy endings. I had the great honour of reading the chapters before they were published, and this fic is one of my top five favourite fics. There were multiple points where I yelled, both literally (quietly) and through text (slightly less quietly).
it takes time, but time moves slow by prettydizzeed (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 2k, Teen and Up)
Hermann conducts a cost-benefit analysis every class period of sitting in the back of the lecture hall versus walking down the stairs to the front. He wishes he had hard data for this, to get some actual statistics, and perhaps after a while, if he records his pain level and his ability to read the board and pay attention after each class, he will be able to predict the outcomes given either choice on a particular day.
Two curves, traveling in opposite directions, inversely proportional: pain goes up, concentration goes down. It’s comforting, somewhat, to make it a numbers game. Impersonal. Absolute. Not a tragedy, and not his doing, only his to interpret, a smudged scrawl across his left knee in an unfamiliar handwriting, his to analyze, to decrypt.
What you can expect: the fic may only be 2k, but it will leave you feeling like you were punched. It’s fantastic.
I Could Be Jew-ish For You by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 10k, Teen and Up)
When Hermann agrees to spend Chanukah with his family in an attempt to wheedle some desperately-needed funding out of his father, Newt insists that he shouldn’t face Lars alone and tags along as his “emotional support family rage distraction”. What they fail to realize are two things: 1. When Hermann brings Newt with him to the festivities, assumptions will be made, and 2. Newt may be half-Jewish, but he sure wasn’t raised as one. 
What to expect: fake dating fake dating fake dating— (can you tell I have a favourite trope?) In which Newt is Jew-ish, Hermann is both exasperated and pining, Lars is disliked, and we all get the Jewish romcom we deserve.
It Was Love At Second Sight by rednights (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 35k, Teen and Up)
Hermann receives the first letter when he is eighteen years old.
or: Kaiju don't attack the Earth, but Hermann and Newt still write letters, botch their first meeting, and fall in love, not necessarily in that order.
What you can expect: feels. So many fucking feels. There’s no kaiju but that doesn’t mean you won’t be on the edge of your seat.
hello my old heart by firebirdsuite (The Magnus Archives, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, 15k, Teen and Up)
Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.
Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.
What you can expect: tenderness, domesticity, and love. The perfect trifecta.
the truth about me (and the truth about me) by danimagus (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 11k, Teen and Up)
Newton suffers from a bout of memory loss and is told Hermann is his fiancé.
Hermann plays along, to his endless shame.
What you can expect: two words: fake dating. Gods, I love this fic, as Mary can attest from how I unceremoniously started screaming at her about it in her tumblr messages the day of/after it was published. This fic is great because it subverts the trope a bit, and thus avoids issues of consent that may otherwise have occured.
speak right to my heart without saying a word by thekaidonovskys (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 13k, General Audiences)
“Your eyes. Your expression. Your smile. I’ve worked with you for ten years, Hermann, and words have never been our primary method of communication.” 
What you can expect: to be knocked the fuck out emotionally. This one hits pretty hard, and that’s what makes it so good.
Transducer by hal_incandenza (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 85k, Teen and Up)
“I need you to hide something for me.”
“Oh, excellent. Of course, Newton, please allow me to jeopardize my career. And yours as well. My pleasure. Do go on.”
“Yeesh, relax,” said Newton. “It’s a personal thing, not a work thing.”
“As if there is any division between the two,” Hermann snapped.
If only you knew, Newt thought.
What you can expect: intruigue, alien tech, light espionage. This fic will have your little nerd heart beating double-time. It’s very very good.
A Really Private Person by astolat (Person of Interest, Harold Finch/John Reese, 18k, Mature)
The end of the world started on a Wednesday in March. 
What you can expect: badassery on Finch’s part. One of the few fics I have bookmarked for this fandom, and it’s bookmarked for good reason.
Party For Two by ProblemWithTrouble (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 18k, General Audiences)
 “My mother’s parents have a home in the Black Forest that has a guest house. They’ve often allowed me to stay there when I could spare the time.” Hermann looked distant as if he were remembering something; the warmth of a fire and a nice book and the smell of freshly made tea. “It will be quiet, and possibly too boring for you-”
 “It won’t be. I could use some quiet after the decade we’ve had. I could actually compile my research. And sleep. It sounds amazing.”
After the world doesn't end Newt and Hermann take a vacation together to live in a cabin and finally relax, as friends. Cue the pining, the longing, and the living together as best friends.
What you can expect: a fic that will wrap you up like a warm blanket. Mutual pining, vacationing together in a cabin, lots of feels—what more can you want?
Dream Drifting by MooseLane (Pacific Rim and Inception, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 5k, General Audiences)
"You're running an extraction on that spastic PPDC biologist, is what I hear." Chau fixes him with a side-eye. "I know I wouldn't want to go poking around in that little bastard's head."
(There are not enough Inception x Pacific Rim crossover fics, so I decided to change that.)
What you can expect: Inception meets Pacific Rim. There’s no other way to say it, really.
I’ve Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy In New York) by gyzym (Inception, Arthur/Eames, 19k, Teen and Up)
Arthur's a corporate lawyer, Eames owns the coffee shop across the street, and all good love stories start with a quadruple shot latte. 
What to expect: Arthur is stressed, Eames runs a coffee shop, and, through the power of friendship and a lot of stress-baking, everything works out happily for our intrepid protagonist.
Kalimat/كلمات  by rainbowagnes (The Old Guard, Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicolò di Genova, 3k, Teen and Up)
Yusuf translates medical texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling. --- It takes Niccolò lifetimes to learn Arabic. 
What you can expect: if you, like me, are, especially natively, multilingual, this might hit the sweet spot of Language Feels. It did for me. Also, Joe calling Nicky hayati? Yeah.
i never liked that ending either by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 15k, Mature)
You want a better story. Who wouldn’t?    - Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out
Once upon a time Dr. Flick Tucker, K-Sci head of Biology, fought a bunch of highly scientific dragons to save the world. Then, they took over her life. It didn’t end well.
Once upon our time Dr. Newt Geiszler, marine biologist, sci-fi aficionado, and accidental discoverer of dimensional travel, got a chance to take her place. He has a couple of ideas.
In which Uprising is still a bad movie, musings on the nature of choice and personal autonomy are made, and somewhere, probably, a coin is showing heads every time.
What you can expect: everything’s fine this is a perfectly normal fic come here i want to cause you as much emotional damage as I can
Not Allowed by acedott (BBC Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, 1k, General Audiences)
Gwen has been dealing with self-imposed touch starvation since she was a child. Morgana sets out to challenge this. 
What you can expect: gays. Pining. Touch starvation. Need I say more?
Rocky Horror Pancake Show by ChuckleVoodoos (Daredevil, Matt Murdock/Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, 19k, Teen and Up)
Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish. He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours before he fell asleep.
"Let's do the time warp again!"
What you can expect: Ground-hog Day style time-loop, lots of fluff, and a happy ending.
Ain’t No Nancy Kerrigan by cleverqueen (DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, Leonard Snart/Mick Rory, 13k, Teen and Up)
It's 1994, and young Lisa Snart's jumps aren't strong enough for an Olympic singles skater. Thankfully, her older brother has an athletic friend who can match her in pairs.
Mick Rory is hopelessly in love with Leonard Snart, though he'd never say anything about it, so he jumps at a chance to do Len's little sister a favor. If he's patient and works hard, maybe he'll even get to skate with her older brother.
What you can expect: pining, ice-skating, and general goodness. It’s fun, it’s funny, and it has a happy ending.
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ka-za-ri · 4 years
Text
Demon Brothers and Mid-Autumn Festival
Happy early 中秋節 !This spawned from me crying over pretty mooncake packaging. And then I fell into a hole of matching the boys to boxes and this Mildy AU stuff happened. Uh... so I know this isn’t the only way to celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival, but it’s mostly based on my experiences and nostalgia. So excuse the super self-indulgence and have fun~ I tried to include links to things that might need some more explaining.
It’s my first time writing headcanons so pls be gentle on me .・゚゚・(/ω\)・゚゚・.
Lucifer
“Mid-autumn festival? I may have heard of this before in passing.” 
“What is this? A Jewelry box?” 
Don’t tell him how long you went looking for the perfect packaging and flavor. 
Doesn’t celebrate the whole week, but will at least sit down with you for a night to share mooncakes
Prefers them without the yolk, but he’s not going to complain if they’re there.
Neatly cuts the mooncake into quarters and has to have it with tea 
Likes the wintermelon filled kind the best. The chewy texture goes better with tea. 
He’ll make an exception for black sesame lotus paste though
Unfortunately too busy to do any sort of moon viewing with you since he’s swamped with paperwork. 
At least he’ll share mooncake and tea with you while he does it 
Keeps the box and actually uses it as a lamp from time to time
You find out he’s using the tins to store wax seals and stamps too
He doesn’t have time for it, but appreciates the small bottle of osmanthus wine you leave at his door at the end of the festival. 
Finds you a month later on the next full moon to sit down and drink it with you. Offer him a Laopo Bing or leftover mooncake to go with it as a snack. (Of course there’s leftover mooncake) 
You share tea and cakes while sitting on a pavilion overlooking a lake. The moon’s reflected on the surface. Lotus flowers are blooming and the sounds of cicadas are in the distance. Wispy clouds float past the full moon but don’t really hinder its brightness. 
He brushes a stray strand of hair out of the way before maybe sneaking in a kiss or two. He’s much more entranced by how you look lit by the moon and not the moon itself.
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Mammon
Got gifted a box of them from a designer as a gift after a photoshoot
You may or may not ogle at how pretty the packaging is. He teases you and taunts you with it. Of course they would only gift something so majestic to The Great Mammon. 
Doesn’t bother cutting into them, just eats them like a cookie 
Until he gets to the yolk 
“The heck is this? Who puts salted egg yolks into a sweet thing?” 
Looks up how much the mooncake box from a designer might sell for. 
So many gifted mooncakes
But he doesn’t eat any, unless you show interest in them. 
You find chocolate flavored ones among all the boxes 
Still doesn’t cut the mooncake up, but at least there’s enough to share. He’s less traumatized now that he’s had one that doesn’t have yolks in it. 
Spends the rest of the night sampling all of the weird ‘haute couture’ flavors of the year. 
The strangest one is the truffle and ham flavored one. 
He nearly spits that one in your face
Both of you are rushing to the kitchen to find something to wash away that taste. 
Thankfully there’s the bottle of Osmanthus wine you’ve saved for this occasion
He takes a giant gulp and nearly gags at how strong it is. 
Now you have a partially tipsy Mammon on your hands. 
Take him out on a long moonlit walk to get him sober. 
The air is crisp, the moon is bright, the leaves are just starting to turn color. There’s just a hint of dampness in the air but it’s refreshing. He takes your hand as you’re walking to make sure you don’t wander off. 
Ends the night kissing your forehead and thanking you for sharing so many memories with him this year. 
Doesn’t try to keep any of the boxes and tries to sell them all off if he can unless you find one that catches your fancy, then he’ll just give that one to you.
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Leviathan
“Oh my gosh, it’s the Super Rare Limited Edition Ruri-Chan as Chang’e mooncake box?!?!?!?!?!?!” 
He doesn’t care what the flavor is. It’s Ruri-chan
Takes more care of the box than he does the actual mooncake. 
Prefers the small custard filled/lava ones 
They’re easier for snacking while he’s prepping for a raid. 
Raids don’t stop for holidays. Gaming must continue
Invites you to join him one night and gifts you the limited equipment from the current Mid-Autumn festival event in game. 
“It’ll look cuter on your character than mine.” Don’t question him on how long it took him to farm that gear. 
You end up playing games with him all night long and forget to watch the moon. 
Instead, the two of you decide to just watch the sun rise while snacking on the last of the cakes. 
Tea is in order, those things got really sweet really fast. 
The two of you are so loopy from staying up all night, you giggle at the dumbest things as you’re trying to sneak into the kitchen to get something to drink. 
“How long did you wait in line for that box?” 
Don’t tell him you just pre-ordered it like a normal person would. “Oh, maybe a few hours.” 
“Well, I guess I owe you a few hours of time as a thank you.” 
You nearly forget that tea’s done and almost wake up the house from the whistling kettle. Worth it for all the kisses you got in between that time though. 
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Satan
“Oh yes, of course I’m familiar with the festival. I’ve read all about it.” 
He’s rather fascinated with how ornate the packaging can get for some sweets. “What’s so special about them?” 
Red bean paste with the yolk 
Cuts the mooncake into six 
Lets you eat on the bed as long as you make sure you don’t get crumbs anywhere. 
His room literally has the best view of the moon. It’s mandatory that you watch it from there.
Lets you gaze at the moon from his bed while he reads. 
Until you interrupt him and start reciting  Li Bai’s Quiet Night Thought. Mostly it’s to yourself out of homesickness
Moonlight before my bed/ Perhaps frost on the ground/ Lift my head and see the moon/ Lower my head and I miss my home. 
And then you start reciting “Drinking Alone Under The Moon” 
You really start drinking and living the drunken poet life. 
“You know, you’re not alone though.” 
He finally puts the book aside and joins you to watch the moon and listen to you recite poetry for hours on end. 
Asks you about Chang’e and listens as you drunkenly ramble off her story all the while nibbling on pieces of mooncake. He offers you the occasional piece so you’re not drinking so much on an empty stomach. 
Keeps the box and the tins but has no idea what to put in them so they end up gathering dust in the room until one day he needs something to put spell components in and he remembers it exists. 
Spends the week watching the moon and listening to you recite poetry or tell fairy stories. 
Often falls asleep in your lap, a half eaten piece of mooncake in hand.
Invites you over for moonviewings even after the festival.
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Asmodeus
He can't tell if he should be more impressed by the packaging or by the cake designs. 
Snowskin mooncakes become his favorite
Rose and lychee flavors are preferred
He adores how pretty crystal mooncakes are as well
Absolutely no yolks please 
Refuses to watch the moon with you. Staying up late will ruin his skin care routine 
He will day drink the osmanthus wine you’ve save to go with the mooncakes while you watch operas
It sounds weird to him at first, but the makeup and the costumes draw him in. 
Cries at the end of Farewell My Concubine 
You end up spending hours telling him about the Four Beauties and China’s Four Most Handsome Men 
He’s upset that all of the stories end in tragedy
You try to cheer him up by going to a local festival and watch the lanterns and other festivities 
Gets super invested in lantern making and spends hours learning how to make one to hang up in his room.
While he’s gone, go buy him some Tanghulu Not only can he appreciate the bright red hawthorns, but they’re a delicious snack on the go while you let him explore the whole festival.
The two of you spend hours looking at cute packaging for mooncakes and buying them back for the others. He’s happiest with the one you gifted him though. 
Okay, maybe he can stay up late to look at the moon just this once. 
Take a small picnic to a grassy hill somewhere so you can admire the moon in its full glory. Most of the snacks are rice cakes and fruit and of course more moonakes. (Seriously, there’s so much mooncake)
He knows he’s supposed to be watching the moon, but he finds it easier and better to watch you instead. You’re just as ethereal as Chang’e in the silvery light of the night. 
Definitely keeps the mooncake box and uses it to hold parts of his makeup collection. It fits right into his room decor.
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Beelzebub
You get him the biggest box with the most variety that you can find so he can try as many flavors as possible. 
He ends up liking the kind that tastes like Gai Zhai Beng (Sorry, I don’t know what this is in English?) with all the nuts the most since they’re the heartiest. 
Actually, he likes all of the more savory ones
If it’s sweet, it should have yolks. Four of them if they have those, if not, he’ll settle with the Cantonese style with two yolks.  
You take him to the festivals so he can try even more flavors
The best part is that you get to try them as well. He offers you at least a bite before downing the rest of the mooncake. 
Do the two of you go around eating everything until you feel like you’re about to burst? Absolutely. 
If you can’t see anything that’s going on during the performances at the festival, he’ll lift you onto his shoulder to get a better view. 
With how much time you spend at the festival and how much you’ve eaten, you don’t know if you can stay up late to watch the moon like you want to. 
He lets you piggyback on the walk home 
The sound of a pipa song from the festival echoes in your brain and you hum the song while half asleep on the way home. He gets it stuck in his head for the next month and a half. 
Worth it though, it means he’s reminded of the great time he had with you and all the food he got to try. 
Now he’s constantly asking you if you can make him mooncakes. 
Literally forgets the box and tins exist until he’s cleaning out his room for hidden snacks months later. 
Almost forgot about the osmanthus wine you gifted him as well. He hits you up on the next full moon to drink it while eating snacks and you get to tell him about all the legends behind the foods he’s eaten. 
“Next time, I’ll make you Crossing the Bridge Noodles.” 
“What’s the story behind that?” 
“I’ll tell you when I make them.” 
“Is that a promise?” 
“Of course.” 
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Belphegor
Thinks a fairy must have visited him in his dreams when he rolls over and finds the box of mooncakes next to his pillow
Sleeps all day so he can watch the moon all night with you. 
Expect tons of cuddles while doing that
Find out when he’s halfway through eating the box that he prefers tang yuan over mooncakes
He covets the box you gave him regardless
Maybe you make the tang yuan with a little extra ginger to spite him
Too bad for you, he prefers it that way. 
Convinces you that the gardens is the best place for moon viewing 
He’s right since there’s an osmanthus tree there and it smells absolutely amazing this time of the year. 
His favorite dessert is pretty much impossible to transport, so he’ll have to deal with what you brought. 
Ends up quite liking sachima but not jin dui 
Beel drank the last of your celebratory osmanthus wine, it’s time to break out the baijiu
It takes only a few sip of this to have you both tipsy and slurring superlatives at the moon. 
“She’s just so beautiful. Look at her. So radiant and glowing and just the most magnificent isn’t she?” 
“I can’t tell if you’re describing the moon or if you’re describing yourself.” 
“The moon. Of course. She’s so beautiful that poems are written about her for thousands of years.” 
“I could do that for you too you know…” 
The two of you end up falling asleep in the garden under the tree. By the time you two wake up, you’re both covered in the tiny fragrant blossoms 
Take some back with you to make cakes and maybe some more wine to remind you of the lovely night you had. 
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tisfan · 4 years
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For Want of a Nail
Title: For Want of a Nail Written by: @tisfan  3023 and @27dragons 3033 Tony Stark Bingo Square: (tisfan) May Adopted: Centaur AU Fantasy Bingo (both): Magic is Mundane Rating: teen and up Pairing: Winteriron Triggers/warnings: human/demi-human relationships Tags: centaur au, meet cute, culture discussions, references to abuse Created for: @tonystarkbingo, fantasy bingo
Word count: 3909
Summary: The centaur, Bucky, is traveling to the witch coven to get the herbs needed to alleviate his herd-mate’s cough. On the way, he throws a shoe. Centaurs don’t usually associate much with humans, but what choice has he got?
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928297/chapters/60328990
If it had been any other day of the year, Bucky might have been enjoying the weather. It was warm, but breezy, so sweat dried on his flanks, cooling him as soon as it formed. The sun was out, there were some light clouds, and it had rained the night before, so everything smelled sweet and clean.
But it wasn’t any other day of the year. It was two days before the Summer Solstice, he still had more than fifty miles to go, and he’d just thrown a shoe.
He picked the shoe up from the side of the road where it had landed when that last dubious nail had gone wobbly.
The shoe itself was not in terrible shape, but even if he had a hammer and nails -- which he didn’t -- there was no way he was flexible enough to shoe his own rear hoof. He was bendy, but not that bendy. He didn’t even think Natasha was that bendy.
He’d passed a small town about a league ago, and he was pretty sure he’d seen smoke when he passed it, which usually indicated a smithy.
Centaurs didn’t spend a lot of time in human towns, unless they had to. So Bucky had never stopped at the myriad villages and townships along the path from where he and his herd lived in Brooklyn, all the way out to the coven of healers and witches, even though he made the trip four times a year. The herbs Steve needed to calm his cough were rare, and preparing them was even harder. It required a witch. And a sacred holiday.
But there was no way he could run another fifty miles while missing a shoe. He was just going to have to hope that the town did have a blacksmith, that the blacksmith knew how to make shoe nails, and that he knew how to put a shoe on a centaur.
“Haybales,” Bucky swore. He tucked the shoe into his satchel, turned around, and limped back the other way, trying not to put too much weight on his left hind leg, and taking care to not stumble on his right front leg. It was like trying to canter and eat apples at the same time. Possible, but not recommended.
Almost an hour later, he managed to stagger into the village.
People stared at him, and no wonder, as he was moving like a horse with tetany, limping hard to one side, and then to the other. 
“Blacksmith?” he demanded of the nearest human who got close enough to him. 
“Down that street,” she said, pointing. “Toward the end, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” he said, offering one of the small metal things that humans used. Coins, Bucky’s herd stallion called them. Centaurs didn’t trade in things so useless, so he really didn’t remember the value of them. 
Her eyes widened as she took it. “Thank you, sir.”
Right. Bucky shrugged. Apparently the yellow ones were the higher value coins. Stupid, human things. Bucky took a deep breath, trying to ignore the aching in his hocks, and thudded down the human road. It would have been easier to walk in the grass, but humans didn’t put much value in grass. Follow the smoke. And as he got closer, the ringing sound of metal on metal.
Finally, he made it, and all but started to cry of sheer exhaustion, but he wasn’t a colt to cry and wail, so he settled himself as well as he could. “Ho, the blacksmith!”
“Two shakes!” The hammer kept ringing, a slow, steady beat, for another minute or two, and then Bucky heard the loud hiss of hot metal that had been quenched. Another thud and some clattering, and the smith emerged, wiping the sweat from his face. “Aye, what’s the-- Oh!” He stared up at Bucky with suddenly-wide eyes. “Hello, stranger.”
Bucky huffed. He wasn’t so very strange. If anything, the tiny little human who emerged from the smithy was strange, with his goggly eyes stuck in his hair, and the smears all over his clothes and skin, and… well, there was no denying that clothes were pretty strange, in and of themselves. But humans were always wearing clothes, so maybe, to them, centaurs were the odd ones. 
“I require the services of a blacksmith,” Bucky said. “And perhaps a farrier.” In centaur herds, the job was the same; work metal into shoes and nails, attach them for their herdmates. But Bucky had heard that some humans worked metal for other things. The centaurs often had to trade for more specialized metal parts and pieces.
“I can fit shoes,” the smith said. He looked Bucky over, sharp-eyed, zeroing in on the unshod hoof. “How long have you been walking on it like that?”
Bucky scowled. “It was loose when I left the herd, but our blacksmith was away. It only kicked free maybe three or four miles ago?”
The smith grunted. “Not too bad, then. Do you need a new shoe? That might take me a little while; centaur hooves are wider than most of the dumb stock our farmers keep.”
“I found it,” Bucky said. He couldn’t have left it behind. Among the herd, he and Steve were the lowest ranking, had the least amount of grazing space. If he’d lost the shoe, he would probably have had to hire the smith to remove the other three and gone shoeless for a season or two while they scavenged for cast off human made items to melt and trade. Steve had nailed the right front shoe on for him a few times when it came loose. He pulled it out of the satchel he wore across his chest. “I have human coin.”
The smith shook his head. “Don’t worry about it; cost of a few nails won’t set me back too far, and you’re pretty enough to be worth it.” He flashed a grin up at Bucky as he took the shoe, running his hands over its worn edges with practiced ease. “What depth?”
Bucky held out one hand, showing off a broad thumb. “The length between this knuckle, and that one.” He kicked out with his left hind leg, groaning a little. “I think the frog’s bruised.” Stupid human roads and their stupid human rocks. He’d known a few of their herd who were able to afford fancy shoes, with a cover that kept rocks and dirt out. But then, some of them ended up lame anyway. Normal shoes did all right for him, and for Steve.
The smith frowned at that. “I’ve got some cream I can put on it that’ll help with the pain. And a pad, too. Come on into the shop, let’s get you fitted. Name’s Tony, by the way.” He glanced at the human-sized door he’d come through, then jerked his head and led the way around the side of the building, to where the smith’s forge was set under a roof with no wall. A hitching post stood to one side of the yard and the dirt had obviously been well-trampled by numerous hooves.
Tony. Huh. Bucky wondered if he was named for how tiny he was. But then, most humans were tiny, comparatively. “Bucky is what I am called.”
Tony twisted past the forge and reached into a barrel to draw out a handful of horseshoe nails. He held them up against Bucky’s shoe to check the fit, one by one. One nail got tossed back into the barrel and another selected. When he was satisfied, he held them out for Bucky’s inspection. “All good?”
Bucky swallowed. “You have a whole barrel full of nails?” Tony must be rich. He’d never selected nails before. They’d usually been made on the spot, the day he needed them, and sometimes driven red-hot into the hoof. Which didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable.
Bucky took up one nail and looked at it. It looked like a centaur shoe nail. “I-- I can’t tell,” he admitted. “I don’t usually look at my own nails.”
Tony shrugged. “Okay. Speak up if it doesn’t feel right, and we’ll figure it out.” He grinned again. “At least I can trust you not to try to kick me.” He reached up on a shelf and grabbed a jar. “This’ll help that bruise.” He tucked the nails and the shoe into the pocket of the leather apron he wore and made his way toward Bucky’s rear, one hand running lightly along Bucky’s side.
That was twitchy, and Bucky found himself flicking his tail at the light touch, as if Tony were a fly he could shoo off. Except, he didn’t really want the light, ticklish touch to stop. Not really.
“I’m not used to humans being so close,” Bucky complained. “But no, I won’t kick you.”
Probably. Assuming Tony didn’t do anything horrible, like pull his tail.
“Oh, sorry!” Tony jerked his hand away. “Habit, that. You have to let horses know where you are if they can’t see you. I’ve only met a handful of centaurs before. Sorry. I, uh-- Okay, can you lift the foot for me?”
Bucky twisted around, trying to see. Tony was right in that blind spot of his, where his own rump got in the way of seeing what was behind him. “Is there a stump?” He usually rested his leg against a leather padded tree stump so the smith could work on it. He picked up his leg, sighing with relief as the pain eased, and was shocked when Tony grabbed his hock and rested it against-- Bucky twisted further, trying to see-- it looked like the human had Bucky’s hoof held between his own thighs. 
“Is that how-- you usually do this?”
“Sure,” Tony said easily. “Horses do not like having their legs held up; have to brace them somehow so they stay put while I put the shoe on. Which, now that I think of it, doesn’t make sense for centaurs for like four different reasons. What are you used to?” Bucky couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but he touched the bottom of Bucky’s hoof, little points of soreness where he was testing the bruise, and then there was something cool on it, like he’d stepped into dewy grass.
So Bucky found himself talking about the smith in his herd -- Rumlow, a big, brawny centaur with a liver chestnut coat. “It’s considered bad manners to kick another herd member,” Bucky told him, matter of fact. “And cowardly to move your hoof while the smith works.” He didn’t mention that he sometimes thought Rumlow took advantage of both of those things to be cruel. Getting shod didn’t have to be painful, even if it was never exactly pleasant.
Case in point: Tony, who rubbed the cream into Bucky’s bruised frog, then carefully fitted the shoe. “First nail’s the hardest,” he said. “I need three hands, I swear-- Okay, going in now; speak up if it doesn’t feel right.” The shuddery jolt through Bucky’s leg as the hammer struck home, the pressure in his hoof from the nail driving into it. But it wasn’t painful; the nail stopped well short of the sensitive places covered by the hoof. “Okay?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Bucky said. Tony might have needed three hands, but Bucky needed eyes on his tail, he could swear.
“Great!” Tony wiggled the shoe a little, testing its position, then placed another nail. “Off we go, then.”
It didn’t take nearly as long, Bucky thought. Although he wasn’t sure about that; he couldn’t see the sun, so it was nearly impossible to judge the time, but no more than a finger’s worth of shadow had grown before Tony was letting his hoof down with a cheerful, “how’s that feel?”
Bucky took a couple of tentative steps. It was always those few steps that had made him want to kick Rumlow. Hard. In the chest. But everything felt… pretty good, actually. No limping home and getting Steve to bring him a bucket of ale.
He could still use a drink, really. The whole thing was nerve-wracking and made him feel twitchy and shuddery like he’d gotten bitten by flies and needed a spare tail, or some mud to roll in.
“Very well, I thank you again,” Bucky said. He reached for his satchel and pulled out the handful of assorted coins. Sometimes humans would give them to the herd for pieces of their tail. Powerful charms could be made from them, Bucky understood. One winter, when things had been very, very bad, Bucky had plucked almost his entire tail bare to get enough herbs for Steve’s salve. He still had a few coins left from that. “Here, I-- I don’t know what these mean, but humans like them.” He offered the handful to Tony.
Tony shook his head. “It’s fine, really. Save them for the next time you need to trade with humans. The conversation was worth the price of a few nails.”
“You must be very wealthy,” Bucky commented, looking around the shop now that he was shod and feeling better. He probably wouldn’t go completely lame, which was good, and maybe the witches would let him rest at their coven before the long trot back to the herd. There were piles of tools, and stacks of bars. “Are these pure iron?” He touched one of the bars tentatively.
“Those, yes. Those over there are steel.” Tony nodded toward another stack. “Is that what your people trade in? Iron?”
“Iron, yes,” Bucky said, even if he’d never seen so much iron in his life. “And leather. Special wood for our bows. Iron is good. For arrowheads and tools. Awls and hammers and dig-rods. There’s a tool, we have one in our whole herd, that cuts wheat, swish, just like that! With an iron blade.”
“You’re using an iron-bladed scythe?” Tony said. “How... Even our poorest farmers at least have steel scythes.” He glanced around the shop, then stepped into the shadows and came back with a wheat-cutter. Its handle was shaped a little differently than the one the herd had, but the blade was much the same, except for being bright and silvery. “Steel doesn’t wear down as fast as iron,” Tony explained. “Stays sharp longer.”
“Ours--” Bucky said, reaching out as if to touch the shiny blade, but not quite daring to do so. “Ours is dark, and red, and the surface is… has little dings in it. It’s very old. Our herd stallion took it as a trophy of war, some two decades ago.”
Tony sighed a little. “Yeah, that’s not surprising. And if it’s red and pitted, it’s not going to last much longer. Take this one.” He held it out, then frowned and pulled it back. “Actually, I could lengthen the handle, since your shoulders sit a good three or four feet higher than a human’s. Be easier to use with a longer handle.”
“I couldn’t possibly trade for that,” Bucky whispered. “Not even if I picked my tail bare for three seasons.” 
“Picked your-- This is a common tool,” Tony said. “Three gold coins -- well, four, if I’m going to change out the handle.”
Four. Of the yellow coins? And Bucky could have a tool that would make him rich-- a wheat-cutter, long enough to use comfortably? He could clear the fields in mere weeks, before the grain rotted and the bugs infested the stalks.
Bucky found a clear space on one of the shelves and started pulling things out of his satchel. A packet of clay-made arrowheads -- Steve had made those one year when they’d had a good fire going -- and several balls of thread, his trail rations, which were mostly just berries and honey, dried until they were sticky bars. There. At the very bottom, he had what was left of the coins, twelve, altogether. “This is what I have.”
Tony leaned in to look. He plucked a few coins out of the small pile, and then picked up the arrowheads, pulling one free of the packet and testing its edge with his thumb.
“Steve usually makes beads,” Bucky said, as if apologizing for the work. “Beads for luck, and beads for good harvest… beads.” He touched the one in his hair that hung there, tiny and beautiful, that was charmed to keep away owlbears, one of the centaur’s greatest enemies. The better the carving on the bead, the better the charm worked, and Steve was an expert carver. “These were-- because we need to eat sometimes, too.”
Tony frowned. “Why wouldn’t you eat? Especially if your Steve makes beads for harvest. Our hedge-witch, who blesses our harvests, she gets a share of every crop as soon as it comes in. More than she could eat in a year, truth told. She gives a lot of it to the orphans’ home.”
“Steve’s-- well, Steve is bad luck. Born under an ill-omen, too early. Sickly. He coughs a lot and has trouble breathing. He’s very slow, too. His legs don’t always work right. We have to pay the herd stallion just to stay in the herd. We wouldn’t be safe, alone. I’d have to leave him alone to hunt and to harvest.” Bucky shuddered. Rumlow had tried a few times to convince him to let the runt go, to leave him behind. But Bucky wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. Steve was his best friend.  
Tony looked shocked. “You have to pay to-- That’s awful. You and your-- what, brother? Mate? -- you need a new herd.”
“Steve’s my best friend,” Bucky said, a little defensively. “I don’t even know--” He knew there were other centaur herds, but getting taken in as two unmated males, one of whom was sickly? He doubted it would be easy, and Steve probably wouldn’t live long enough to find one, anyway. As it was, Nastasha and Sam took turns watching Steve when Bucky couldn’t be there. “Maybe next year. I still need to go to the witch coven and get herbs. We’d need a good, long, dry season to even start looking.” 
And that didn’t even consider the possibility that, separated from their herd, the owlbears would come. Centaur meat was their favorite, and the owlbears were predation hunters. They would just keep coming, long after a centaur had gone lame.
Tony’s face twisted. “I suppose that makes sense. Still, if you and your friend wanted to come here, we’d help you.”
Bucky blinked. Live among humans. “Why?” he asked cautiously, his tail flicking a few times and his whole lower body sidled a little bit away from Tony.
“Why not? I like you, you seem like a good person. Your friend obviously has some real skill--” Tony held up the arrowhead he’d been fiddling with. “--and the town could always use another good hunter. And, quite frankly, your herd stallion sounds like a dick.”
It wouldn’t take nearly as long to make the trip from the herdlands to the village, Bucky thought. “I will ask Steve what he thinks,” he said. Because Steve had been very outspoken against the herd stallion -- which probably had added to their burden of tithe. And because Steve wasn’t going to live much longer if things didn’t change. Maybe this would be a good change.
“Are we allowed?” Because a human would never be allowed to live among the herd, even if there wasn’t precisely a rule against it.
“Of course,” Tony said. “We’ve got a couple of elf families, and there’s a satyr who works for the tanner, and there’s a clan of dwarves who-- well, they don’t live in town, but they’re pretty close by; they come in all the time to trade with us.” He cocked his head, considering. “Might cause a few problems because the buildings aren’t really designed for anyone with four legs, but we can probably work around that.”
It was worth considering. Bucky nodded. “All right.” He eyed the scythe greedily. “How long will it take, to make these changes? I must be to the coven by the Solstice.”
Tony looked down at the scythe thoughtfully. “You’re on your way out to the coven? Stop by on your way back and it’ll be ready.”
“I shall, then,” Bucky said. He sniffed a bit, and located a bucket of somewhat dirty water. He grimaced, but it was probably better than trying to drink out of the human’s trough they kept. “Can I impose further on a bucket or two of water?”
“Sure, water’s easy,” Tony said. He edged past Bucky to a small covered pit in the yard. He pulled the cover away to reveal a deep well, water sparkling at the bottom. Tony lowered a bucket on a rope and then hauled it back up and offered it to Bucky.
Bucky peered into the well. “Did you-- make this?” Humans were perhaps not so stupid after all. The herd drank from the river, and rainwater when it could be caught up in woven straw buckets.
“Well, not me personally; that well’s been here since before I was born. But I helped one of the farms dig a new well a few years back, so I know how.”
“I don’t think we could do that,” Bucky said. He wouldn’t fit in such a small opening. “But it’s amazing. How convenient for you.”
“Important to have water close by the smithy,” Tony said. “Fire being what it is. I have some ideas for ways to make it easier to lower and raise the bucket, when I have time to build it. Maybe over the winter.”
Bucky drank from the bucket, almost thirty swallows exactly, before handing it back, empty.
“You’re very kind,” Bucky said, “and very clever. Beadwork is not what I do well, but--” He plucked out one hair from his tail and wrapped it several times around his finger, rolling it into a ring. Closed his hand around it and concentrated. It wasn’t much, a simple cantrip that anyone in the herd could do. But when he handed it over, it was a shiny, slender band, the same deep red as Bucky’s coat. “If you have need of my aid, hold this ring and think of me, and I will hear you, and come.”
Tony’s eyes widened as he took the ring. “You’re really-- I mean, this is. I didn’t do that much, you know.”
“It’s cantrip magic,” Bucky said, closing Tony’s hand around it. “Any colt in the herd can do this much. If I show up and you’re facing a parliament of owlbears, I will probably not help you.” He laughed at that joke. No one would want to face a parliament of owlbears.
Tony laughed, too. It was a nice sound. “If I’m facing an entire parliament of owlbears, then I expect I’ll be lunch long before you get to me. Luckily, there aren’t too many near here.”
“No, perhaps not,” Bucky said. “Again, I thank you. I will return for the wheat-cutter in… four days time, barring unexpected delays.” He bowed, hand over his heart, extending one foreleg. Very formal. He rarely bowed to the herd stallion so low, but Tony wouldn’t know that.
Tony echoed the gesture, as well as a being with only two legs could. “It has been my honor to meet you, Bucky.”
“The honor is mine.”
 A/n - Grass tetany is a horse illness that causes them to have muscle cramps, general lack of coordination, and “staggering.” It’s usually caused by a nutritional imbalance, or too much time being transported, or stuck in a small stall. Horses need to MOVE AROUND. 
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viostormcaller · 4 years
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Thinking about it, it kinda sucks just how little new horizons has.
Like... I love the game to pieces and maybe this is just bc im in a shitty mood (which i am) but like... god this is gonna be long and ranty and I'm sorry in advance that mobile tumblr doesnt have the read more feature
For starters, holidays are all scheduled on the company's terms, meaning in 7+ years or so there will be no more in-game holidays because by then they'll probably be thinking about/getting ready to release the next installment of the series on whatever console is out at the time and they won't want to update new horizons anymore. And adding onto this, you need the internet to download the updates. What happens to the players who don't have internet?? Can they just never experience the holidays like bunny day and toy day and turkey day? That takes a HUGE part of the fun of the series out right off the bat. Sometimes making everything rely on the internet is a bad idea. Idk if anyone can like tell me if having no internet means you can't take part in the holidays, but like... god if that's true thats really sad.
They recently took out the hybrid flower and big fish islands, which makes no sense whatsoever why they would do that to a game that has so little, but ok?? It's not like that feature was hindering the gameplay any
There's a lot of furniture but Not a Lot of Furniture, you get me? They took out EVERY set except the classic set (renamed "antique") that you can buy for an insanely high price, and the log and wooden block sets that you can craft, but other that that it's all unrelated items that aren't part of any set, aside from the cute set and diner and throwback sets which as far as I can remember are the only other sets you can buy in the game. No alpine, no ranch, no minimalist, no princess or gracie, no modern or sleek, none of that. And 90% of all the buy-only furniture in the game is just the color variants. You can't even customize them! And it's hard as fuck to find the color variants you want, much less for completing a furniture set
And speaking of which, your starting villagers don't get their default house interiors. Your first three + your two starters from the tutorial days have the same generic layouts. You NEVER see what their houses are supposed to look like, and even if you give them the wallpaper and flooring they're supposed to have (if you figure that out online somewhere), their house doesn't change (I tested this with Sherb and was kinda disappointed).
And stuff is so EXPENSIVE. I know it adds a challenge but my final loan was NEVER 1 mil+ bells in New Leaf. And you can't even expand the extra first floor rooms you get. I'm literally getting less for WAY more. The biggest rooms you get are the basement and upstairs rooms. The first floor rooms aside from the main room really don't have a lot of space and with the different furniture they DO offer, I don't have a lot of room to put things in. But it's not like I can even afford it anyway -- just a freaking air conditioner was 63,000 bells. In New Leaf it was 2500. That's a MASSIVE jump. And the kitchen items are so freaking expensive, as well.
And speaking of houses, for someone who was literally in the real estate industry in the last game, tom nook adds very few house exterior options. And the even more shitty thing is that a lot of the colors straight up don't match. They couldn't even add a plain white roof.
God and the fucking DIY recipes. I know I've said this before on my other tumblr but the RNG for this game is the worst I've ever fucking seen. There is no reason why, two months into the game, I can be given a recipe for a simple DIY bench, which EVERYONE LEARNS IN THE TUTORIAL. Who the fuck am I giving it to?! No one, because literally every player knows it already, and you can't gift diy recipes to villagers! And I keep getting repeats of recipes. My villagers give me fruit DIYs all the time, it's so rare for me to get any new ones. And two days in a row I've gotten the recipe for the deer head mount thing from the same villager. New recipes should 100% take the priority before repeats. This game is slow paced, sure, but that's just frustrating. It doesn't make me excited to learn more recipes, it makes me feel like I'm never gonna learn any new ones because I'll get the same fruit DIYs for a week straight.
And speaking of which, you can't put trees, bushes, or flowers in your storage, which to me makes literally no sense. I can fit a giant ass fountain in my storage but I can't put a flower plant? Really? And speaking of storage, for a game that added 300 whole slots for mail instead of the usual 10, I will never understand why they decided to halve the amount of items a player can order a day from the nook shopping, AND make it so that it takes a whole day to get there instead of making deliveries at 9 am and 5 pm like in New Leaf.
And the fact that they made it so hard to get non native fruit and flowers and shit??? Like they at LEAST added Lief so flowers aren't as much of an issue anymore, but you actually have to travel to other people's islands just to get all the fruits?? I know you have to do the same thing in New Leaf but the reason why this is an issue for me is because you have to pay for online access, meaning most of those nook miles for planting all the fruits are locked behind a paywall unless your villagers can gift them to you. And your mom, when you first start the game, has a chance of giving you the one fruit that's on the non-native fruit mystery island, meaning you'll only get ONE new fruit and not two separate ones (for example, my sis got pears from mom but her non native fruit islands have cherries i believe. I got pears from mom and my fruit islands also have pears. Doesnt help that that's the one fruit i hate lmao). They also took OUT a bunch of fruits, like mangoes, durians, lemons, bananas, lychees, persimmons...
And the fact that your nook miles rewards are ISLAND LOCKED. That is the WORST SHIT. Not everyone has the ability to play with others, bc no internet or no money for the subscription every month. Not everyone WANTS to play with others bc maybe they get social anxiety (like me, which is why i havent asked for things that are impossible for me to get even though i want them for my island or house), or maybe they simply just don't want to. But the fact that each island has their own color variants of the same goddamn rewards that CANNOT BE CHANGED makes me so upset. I do not want nor should I have to rely on others to get the items I want because my game doesn't have my preferred color variations. And it's not like I'm far enough in the game to have anything worth trading for said items, nor do I have the bells.
And Isabelle does next to fucking nothing and I'm really irked about how they made her character in this game. Yeah she's cute, but that's ALL she is. She became more ditzy than anything else. She doesn't let you know about visitors in the town or the plaza or if a bridge or incline was built bc of a completed donation goal. Like really useful info to know would be if Flick or CJ is in town or who is selling stuff in the plaza. Flavor text is nice but if that's all you say 24/7 it loses its charm. In New Leaf she was helpful and hardworking and super focused and on top of things. Idk why they changed that aspect of her. I know her role in New Horizons isn't as big as it was in New Leaf, but still.
And then there's glitches that STILL haven't been patched (as far as I know anyway), like the game-breaking villager corruption glitch (which you'd think nintendo would have made a priority but they're too busy removing other features it seems) or the house exterior glitch.
And it's bad enough that your game saves to your fucking system a la Fantasy Life. But even WORSE, no one can have separate islands on one console. It's not enough to own two copies of New Horizons. Each player has to own one copy of the game and a whole new Switch just so they can play on their own islands. Parents can't usually afford that (aka $360 for each kid give or take) so for a game marketed towards kids, I don't know why they thought that was a smart move (well, I DO know, and that's because money, but still). And to top it all off, cloud saves are not supported normally. If you lose your game or your switch and aren't subscribed to nintendo online, well, it looks like all your progress is gone! And there's nothing you can do about it. And they directly claimed that they did this just so people can't manipulate the game because it's supposed to be played in real time. But people can still fucking time travel by setting the system's clock! They achieved nothing except to make the players frustrated!!! If you make a game you need to accept that the player is going to play how THEY want to. You shouldn't try to make everyone conform to the way YOU want them to play. That just makes you a controlling asshole and the game loses a lot of its fun.
This game was 60 bucks and they took so long to make it and we ended up with less than we got in New Leaf. The main thing they gave us was a shit ton more clothing items (which I really like). Like I said, I love this game to pieces and it's actually one of my favorite games right now. There's so much I love about it -- I certainly don't hate it or anything. But this game has SO MANY flaws, a lot of which are needless. And I think the kid in me just misses the days where you can pay for a game and get the whole game right away. No updates in tiny batches, no content locked behind paywalls, no day one patches, no reliance on internet connection and multiplayer... mainstream companies have all gone really downhill with that shit and it just disappoints me to no end. But because Nintendo is kid-oriented, I think that's where it hurts the most. It was supposed to be accessible, family friendly fun like back during the days of the Wii and the DS. But companies get so wrapped up in competing with each other and trying to make the most money that they forget about all that. I dunno. It just sucks.
If you read all this, god damn I'm surprised XD I got super ranty and I apologize. But I'm in a sad mood and I after learning about features they've taken out I just had to get all this off my chest. It's been weighing on me since the game released, especially since for months prior this game was all I could think about and I was really looking forward to it. It just let me down in a lot of ways, I guess.
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