#people do not care about us unless they can profit off us

[thecorvidforest]

i fucking hate how for so much of the year people will claim to be disability allies and then september hits and suddenly they’re super excited about the horror movies and games and costumes that profit off of the fear of the the visibly disabled and those with “scary” mental illnesses. you can’t simultaneously be a disability ally and also spend your spooky season ignoring the blatant ableism in horror so you can delighted at how scary we are to you.

#corvidforest mutt’s posts #people do not care about us unless they can profit off us #like i am getting nonstop ads for horror movies where the villains are disfigured/disabled/mentally ill #and anyone who tries to tell me it’s not that deep #look up the ugly laws and come back to me #physical disability #cpunk #cripple punk #spooky season #horror #visible disability #tw ableism #ableism #ableism tw

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

#ao3 #using ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanworks

[bibluebutterfly]

Hoo boy. Now I've made it known multiple times on my blog that I LOATHE the whoobiefication of Vox, but lets get into why/how Vox is NOT a good person nor a baby that needs protecting and why he's all the better for it. Buckle up ladies and gentlemen, this will be long.

Now, why isn't Vox a good person? Easy. Because he (along with the other Vees) is supposed to be the bad guy of the story. Shocking, I know. Vox was NEVER intended to be a good person, and some of y'all just need to accept that.

Now for the long part: HOW is he not a good person?

Well, first of all, his literal introduction is an ad selling drones HE DESIGNED specifically for stalking,"peeping on the neighbors has never been more stylish"

Right off the bat, this tells us he doesn't care about people unless he can profit off them.

Which is also backed up by the point that he ADVERTISES Val and Vels "love potions" which are basically just roofies.

Again. This man ONLY cares about profit first and foremost, screw the people who can get hurt/SA'd by his products.

Next, he has a power of hypnosis which he is NOT hesitant to use. He can take away someones free will at a glance and uses that to his full advantage.

He's also very willing to give Val his lowest earners to shoot. Notice that he does so with no hesitance and no regret.

Also, (and most significantly) he's a huge, HUGE enabler. This guy has cameras EVERYWHERE, ESPECIALLY when Valentino is involved. He's got cameras in Val's room, Angels old room, at Vals corner of the club (which moves when Val does), there's NO WAY he DOESN'T know that Val is a r@pist.

And DESPITE that, he still sleeps with the man, is very likely in love with him, and oh yeah, FUNDS HIS WHOLE DEAL. The cameras Val uses are Voxtech cameras.

Val may be the one who does the dirty work but Vox willingly and knowingly makes a profit off of that. He doesn’t just know and do nothing, he actively HELPS Val out and obviously has no second thoughts nor regrets about it.

This is not a look of disgust or discontent, this is fondness. Genuine fondness. For Valentino. As a PERSON. Let that sink in.

There’s also the implications that Vox is jealous of the attention Angel gets from Val. Angel gets abused constantly by Val, Vox KNOWS, and still hates Angel because of the sheer fact that he takes up so much of Vals attention.

Not to mention the HEAVY implications that he gets off on watching people suffer.

“Well Vox can still do better than Val!!”

While I’m at it, I guess I should bring up the fact that BOTH Vox and Val are MASSIVE red flags.

With Val, aside from the obvious, he’s also a huge attention whore for Vox and isn’t afraid to break Vox’s property if Vox doesn’t pay attention to him. Yeah Vox gets frustrated with him, who wouldn’t be when their lover is throwing temper tantrums every other day?

With Vox, again, aside from the obvious, isn’t afraid to handle Val roughly when he’s mad, and literally screams about how watching his arch nemesis/obsession get the crap beat out of him is better than sex. Right in front of Val by the way. In regular circumstances, 9.98/10 that’s gonna get your ass dumped in a second.

Not to mention the mutual condescension ation towards each other.

And as much as fans (including myself admittedly) like to shit on Val for being a man child, Vox is literally no better.

Plus the explosive tempers.

Seriously. Vox LITERALLY cannot do better than Val. Vox is the only one who can put up with Vals BS and vice versa.

OH YEAH and lets not forget one last thing: VOX ALSO ABUSES HIS OWN EMPLOYEES.

This dude is scared of him, and it’s NOT because he’s worried about getting fired.

So yes. Vox is not nor HAS EVER been a good person.

And for me personally, I love that. I love that he’s entertaining yet awful. I love his dynamic with Alastor, and I love his relationship with Val even more.

If you’re wondering why I personally love Staticmoth, it’s because basic couple rules do not apply to them. They’re both toxic narcissistic red flags and therefore they can be as awful as they want to each other, and the other will simply shake it off. Yet there’s still heavy trust between the two (never being scared of each other) and they still have little moments together where they’re genuinely happy. It’s unique, and something I’ve never seen in media before.

Basically, if you liked Vox better when you thought he was a poor little baby being abused by Val, read a fan fiction. There’s a lot of them out there.

But people really just need to accept the fact that he’s an awful person. Always has been. He’s not better than Val by ANY means. He and Val are both evil pricks who deserve each other.

And guess what? LIKING AN EVIL CHARACTER DOES NOT MEAN YOU SUPPORT THEIR CHOICES. IT’S OKAY TO LIKE VOX EVEN IF HE IS EVIL.

But don’t go on saying that Vox was “ruined” as a character when all signs have always pointed to him being terrible.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #voxval #staticmoth #character analysis #long post

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! CEO! Arranged! Ex-husand x AFAB! Ex-wife! Reader

Hold your horses, we're going to wattpad territory here.

I went back to reading the cliche runaway wife or stranger with them being pregnant from their one night stand with a CEO and I must say, it's making me really nostalgic.

As a small gift for myself, I'm using the name of my CEO protagonist on the novel I wrote, and his background... Actually, the whole story for this one will be just my novel's. Self plagiarism, if you will lol. There are quite the big alterations, but that's for me to know, and for you to skim over.

So, let's unlock a hidden memory especially for previous wattpad girlies, shall we?

Pause though, this is my 3rd pregnancy fic. I hate myself.

Yandere! CEO name: Iñigo Dragonov

"Father, I seriously do not need your input in my marriage!"

"You will marry the Smith's daughter and that's final!"

"But why?! I'm content with living by myself and flourishing the company! I do not need a wife!"

"How about a husband then?"

"No wives, no husbands, no spouses!"

Allastor frowned. He knew that his son is not one for romance, but he dated a handful of people, also slept around sometimes. But for the sake of his son, who is workaholic to the point he's forgetting about his health, he needs someone who would be there for him.

"Son, if you don't marry the Smith's daughter, i'm afraid I have to get back the company."

Iñigo clenched his teeth. His jaw ticking as he looked at his father with wide, feral eyes.

"You won't do that. You already gave the company to me!"

"Yes, but I will take the company back. And you know I can pull strings like no other."

That's how Iñigo married you, the Smith's daughter.

Dragonov group of Companies. Just the name itself sent shivers down the spines of aspiring and even well off businesses. They're ruthless, and dominated almost every possible market. Textile, food industry, hotels, even schools. Name it, and they'll have it.

So, with the Smith Corp being the leading company in the Fashion industry, and the Dragonov looking to integrate themselves in Fashion and not just textile, Allastor decided to have this arrangement. It's like killing two birds with one stone.

Inigo Dragonov. The perfect man and the perfect bachelor. Rich, handsome, reliable, he's someone who's a bonafide genius when it comes to business. Almost his every investment have such huge profits, and never a lost.

So why was he so adamant about marrying when it's a good strategy in order to get into fashion?

He has always thought of marriage as something so restraining. Something that weighs such a workaholic like him down. He never even thought of marrying unless his father and mother mentions it.

So when his eyes laid on you, he sneered in his heart.

He doesn't want you at all.

He's always finding faults in you.

"Why do you look so frumpy? I thought your company focuses on fashion?"

"Stand up straight. Your slouching is unsightly."

"Will you get out of my sight? Don't you have any work to do? Don't be lazy."

His words never, ever dripped of affection, only vile words of nitpicking came out.

You were tired of it. Sick and tired.

Yet you did your best to always serve your husband in all aspects. Affection, taking care of him, even intimacy. After all, he's still the one to put food on your plate. Not just any food also, but luxurious ones.

But the empty feeling on your heart persisted. You don't want this at all.

So with a heavy heart, you decided to divorce him.

As you predicted, he didn't care. He signed it, and you left the chateau.

But as Iñigo relished in the fact that he's now a single man once more and can focus on his work, you knew something he didn't.

You touched your womb.

"I'm going to take care of you myself, baby." You whispered to the unborn child on your stomach.

Iñigo clocked out of his office and sighed, feeling the tiredness cloak his body.

He felt empty. Really empty.

At first, he felt such a deep satisfaction that he can finish the job easier without you around.

Every time he comes home, nobody will pester him to eat, to take care of himself.

Nobody nosey to ask him about his day, nobody to annoy him by kissing him on the cheek...

Something invisible gripped his heart as he groaned and took off his suit jacket.

"Tedious."

He slowly walked towards the dining room and sat down at the head of the table. He started eating his dinner, feeling the emptiness reside the giant mansion.

Was his chateau always this big?

He looked over to the seat to his left where you usually sat down.

He can see the faint image of you in his memories, talking about your day and job, that he painfully ignored.

He remembered how your lips would always twitch as it fought back a frown from his lack of response.

He would watch you go silent and finish your meal quickly, before waiting for him to finish so that you could bring the plates back to the kitchen.

He would remember your tired sighs and fervent glances at him.

He went upstairs, wanting to take a shower.

The room you shared with him was now devoid of your personal touch, just leaving with a dark and modern aesthetic that looked like it was from a display in a furniture shop. It was professional, too professional.

He looked over where your vanity was once was. Now there's just an armchair and a lamp that he never really used.

He got to the bathroom and what was once filled with your bathroom essentials. Now, it was just his shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush and paste, and other basic needs tucked away.

And as he went under the shower, tears started to leak from his eyes, regret gnawing at his heart.

He never realized how much he loved you.

He never realized that the reason why he was so critical of you was that he was trying to distance himself from you.

He never realized that your presence was a constant peace in his fast paced life, and that you were a part of his routine.

And now that you're gone...

He gripped his wrist, a bruise forming.

And that was his daily routine a year after your divorce.

And now, two years later, he was still the same.

On the outside, he looked fine and dandy, but deep inside, he's only a broken husk of a man that he never dared to repair.

He thinks he deserved this as punishment.

But then, in those years, he felt that he needed you to come back.

Yes, he's punishing himself, but he needed you still.

He misses your touch,

Your warmth,

Your care.

Your... Love?

Did you love him?

Or is it out of responsibly?

Bah, he doesn't care.

He loves you, and that was enough.

A knock came from the door and his CFO, and his best friend, Oliver, got inside.

"Here you have it. This week's report of activities of Miss Smith--"

"Mrs. Dragonov."

Oliver sighed.

"yes, Mrs. Dragonov, this is the week's report of Mrs. Dragonov."

Iñigo nodded in satisfaction and waved Oliver goodbye.

He opened the enveloped and his eyes widened. You were back from New Zealand. This was great news! He could talk to you. Maybe coax you into coming back.

Iñigo grabbed his key and opened a door at the back of his office and smiled at the inside. Inside was a perfect replica of your old office when you were still married to him. The only difference is that wall to wall was plastered of your face, taken by his private investigators. On the vanity, which was once in his room, have a picture of you, and your twins with him.

He smirked lazily, sitting down on the chair as he kissed your face on the picture frame.

His stormy dark eyes were bent a bit, his gaze filled with so much longing and regret.

"I'll take back what's mine." He whispered.

"and I'll do everything and use everything at my disposal to get you back." Iñigo declared, looking at his children.

"And I mean everything."

"We need to do this."

"Tsk. Why would I? I'm perfectly capable of myself."

"We both can't deny the fact that they need me. You need me."

".... Okay."

" But in one condition."

"What is it?"

"You need to marry me."

You blinked, not getting this absurd situation at all. Marriage again? But why?

Seeing your confused face, Iñigo grabbed your hand gently and squeezed them.

"Sweetheart, you don't want our children to grow up ridiculed, right? What would the people say if they saw our children with no father?" Iñigo started to whisper, coaxing you into seeing his perspective. "I am willing to provide the support you need."

You shook your head.

"But I can provide that myself. I am rich also, so that support means nothing."

Iñigo gritted his teeth and held you tightly once more.

"What will an incomplete family do to our children? Won't they question my absence? Besides, a father is a crucial role one must be filled no matter what. And I'm fully intending to be present at all." He coaxed you, whispering words of promises he wants to fulfil. "There are studies out there that an incomplete family slows down children's development."

He continued to try and let you see his perspective.

"With my influence, nobody can touch you and the children. I promise, I won't be an asshole again and ridicule you. I am so sorry for saying those things." Iñigo whispered as tears filled his eyes. "I regretted all of those. Every single day since you left, I felt like a husk, I know something was wrong, and that I was that something. I hurt someone so precious to me."

Why would he need to dirty his hands when his words and acting skills were enough to persuade you?

Iñigo knelt down, hugging your waist, begging, groveling for you to come back.

And when he saw your resolve crack in front of him, he hid his smirk as he continued to sob in front of you.

His words were working.

Besides, he knows the children were your soft spot.

He was thankful for the existence of your children. If not, he'll probably resort to... Extreme ways just to get you back.

Maybe like, making your company bankrupt with him the only lifeline left.

But now, he held your waist tightly, listening to your words as you gave up trying to fight his logic.

You were his.

And you will continue to be his,

Until death do you part.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

[leviathans-watching]

Do you have any random headcanons about any of the Obey me characters that no one's asked the right question for you to share / don't fit with any headcanon post you've made?

misc hcs of the brothers

includes: the brothers

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list | pt. 2

a/n: omg?? this was so fun to write i'm def going to have to do one of these for the dateables at some point. thanks for requesting!! my inbox is open to that, req, or leave feedback, so come say hi!

please reblog :))

➳ lucifer wears makeup. after someone (mammon, most likely) not-so-kindly pointed out the bags and dark circles under his eyes, lucifer went to asmo for help and learned the basics of concealing, which eventually grew into a whole bag of products he applies most mornings, unbeknownst to everyone but asmo. he does a light coverage foundation, concealer, pencils in and shapes his eyebrows, some light contour on his nose and jawline, and some hardly-noticeable eyeliner. his whole goal is for it to look as natural as possible and he’s gotten really, really skilled over the years.

➳ mammon not only knows how to sew, but makes many of his own clothes himself. nothing on the market was eclectic or unique enough for him so he took matters into his own hands and not has a closet full of custom-made and designed pieces. he doesn’t tend to show off his talent (for once) preferring to let others think they’re obscure designer clothes or made by difficult-to-book designers. every once in a while he can be convinced to make his brothers something, but not unless they agree to an exorbitant price.

➳ levi is an adobe girly. not only does he use almost all of their services, but he’s really really good at them too. mammon and asmo will have him photoshop pictures for him, lucifer will go to him for help with document creation, and even belphie had him teach him the basics of premiere pro. the reason he has such high-powered computers and machinery isn’t for gaming, as most assume, but so they can handle adobe optimally without lagging or overloading. additionally, upon hearing adobe flash was being retired, levi scalped the mechanics of it and created a knockoff that functions just as well, something he shares liberally at rad.

➳ satan has a prodigal-like talent for instruments, able to pick them up and teach himself how to play decently in very little time. he also has perfect pitch, can sightread excellently, and composes music in his free time. his favorite instruments to play are the violin, the piano, and the harp. though his not in any music-based classes (as those are all too basic for him of course) he offers help to students in the classes that are struggling with theory, composition, or playing. he’s also the reason the music wing is rumored to be haunted, as he often plays at weird hours.

➳ asmo is the most independently wealthy of all of his brothers, thanks to all of his economic ventures. not only does he model and act, but he also has shares in many major companies in all three realms that show large profits even if they aren’t super successful when he first invests. he works with barbatos to manage his money and has several bank accounts, and though he lives lavishly, is careful not to show the extent of his wealth, leading people to believe it’s family money he’s spending. although this was done, in part, intuitively, he’s also taken several finance and business classes over the years to help him learn and improve.

➳ beel really really enjoys all of the booktok books, and even discusses them at length with solomon and thirteen, when the two can be civil enough to speak to one another. his favorite genres is dark fantasy and belphie makes fun of beel to no end when he catches him reading. beel keeps his kindle on him at all times, and for his personal favorites, buys a hard copy and annotates it with sticky notes–the whole nine yards. for his birthday, satan gives him a book cover so that he doesn’t keep walking around with those embarrassing overs on display. beel doesn’t use it.

➳ belphie is notorious for stealing his brothers’ clothing. for some reason, he finds them more comfortable than his own and every few weeks the others force him to empty out his drawers and give them everything back. his personal favorites to steal are beel’s shirts and asmo’s sweats, but he’s not picky. he wears them to sleep, around the house, while running errands, and would wear them to rad were there not a uniform. at the beginning, it was out of laziness; him grabbing whatever was close. but over time he developed favorites, and, well, there was no going back from that.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

#obey me #obey me game #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me x you #obey me x reader #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #levi obey me #asmo obey me #satan obey me #beel obey me #belphie obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #anon ask #answered asks #leviswriting #leviswriting-obeyme

[zoohouseart]

An idea of how Ed Edd n Eddy's cast may appear as adults. I wrote a bio for each one too.

Ed: Married May Kanker right out of high school, had 26 kids all named after monster movies (all of which he's VERY protective of). Spends a simple life working on tree-lifting and mine digging, bathes in gravy every night. Misses Edd and Eddy a whole, whole lot. Unfortunately doesn't see them often, since they moved further into the city while he stayed in the cul-de-sac.

Edd (Double D): Cleaned his act, got the girl, gained a master's in science and engineering, became a teacher, and yet STILL isn't happy or widely respected. Has yet to fully address his long standing anxiety of taking off his hat. Cannot let himself catch a break as he stresses daily about getting the bills paid. Wishes there was more to life than this ever-revolving door of monotony.

Eddy: Flunked out of college. Works as an errand boy for the mayor of Peach Creek and "oversees productivity". Secretly continues to feed his compulsions to scam and gamble at any chance he can get. Spends his every evening dreaming of the day where HE's the mayor, and scheming up ideas he'll never enact (unless..). Often complains that jawbreakers aren't as big as they used to be.

Nazz: Lives a bohemian life, praying someday her time to shine will glisten once more as an "influencer" but works retail in the meantime. Mooches off her fiancée Edd and tries to make up for it in emotional (and erm, well, physical) support. Is struggling with the idea that she peaked in high school, but will never admit it. Mockingly called "Double Z" by Eddy, though she doesn't mind.

Kevin: Is the mayor of Peach Creek. Won this view through pure charisma and good word as the football king of Peach Creek High and general "best at everything", but is often these days fumbling the ball on keeping the streets safe and clean. Is now friends with Eddy, or at least he likes to think so. Is sad he didn't make it into pro league, and will sulk about it when noone's looking.

Sarah: Took up the job of being a shrink (specifically in anger management), and a general town do-gooder. She's often, even if obnoxiously, asking to help others. Has really turned her life around from her loudmouthed, vicious childhood and make up for her past cruelties.. but has mostly done so just to repress her unbridled rage bubbling inside. Whatever you do, don't bring up Jimmy in front of her.

Jimmy: Sarah and Jimmy were conjoined to the hip practically forever, until the day his braces came off. Once he did, he got the call from Hollywood for his incredible acting chops, and ditched his BFF without a second thought. People often tour Peach Creek to see his hometown, much to the chagrin of everyone there. Is a real piece of work these days and could use a nice ass whooping.

Rolf: Grew to be a mighty farmer, creating a titanic cattle industry. Used his profits to buy a massive chunk of Peach Creek and turn it into "New Yergosluvia", so his old country family could live nearby. There he resides as it's king, and frequently feuds with old friend Kevin. Wears Victor's pelt in honor of his life-long servitude to a son of a shepherd (Victor passed peacefully in his sleep).

Johnny 2x4: MIA. As the Eds became more accepted, Johnny became the new misfit. One day, tragedy suddenly struck Plank in senior year of high school, and Johnny was never seen again. There's urban legends of crudely drawn faces appearing on the trees around the old cul-de-sac they grew up in. Ed swears he's seen one tree move. But that's crazy Ed for you. …Right?

May Kanker: Spends her days mostly exhausted from having to take care of 26 children, and hardly ever leaves the house. When she's not trying to drown out the kids with a cranked up TV, she's spending every other hour gossiping about occurrences across the city with her sisters.. though there's not a lot of time between that and cleaning up shit smeared on the walls.

Marie Kanker: Was expelled from Peach Creek High School for stalking Edd and threatening harm on Nazz. She now spends her days as a forum rat on doxxing related message boards, betwixt a day job of driving a garbage truck, where she mostly rides around town spying on people and scribbling down their whereabouts. She too spends all remaining hours gossiping with her sisters.

Lee Kanker: Was mid-planning on going to college and had her life all figured out to be a part of law enforcement until she was unexpectedly locked up for "illegal wood burning". She swears she was framed but has no idea who could've done it. She's usually calling her sisters, but occasionally talks with Eddy. She's not interested in him anymore; they just like to shoot the shit sometimes.

#ed edd n eddy #cartoon network #fan art #cartoon #animation

[otrtbs]

Okay Y'all

It has come to my attention that someone is selling copies of Art Heist, Baby! on Etsy this evening. If you've been here for a little while then you'll remember something similar happening to me on Amazon. This seller on Etsy is also selling copies of several other fanfics. Once again, this is not me, I do not condone this, I didn't give my consent for this, and I am frustrated beyond belief.

I am taking measures to contact the seller and to get the Etsy listing taken down. (feeling super disheartened abt the people who have this fic in their basket rn icl. DO NOT pay (esp this ungodly amount) for fanfics you can read for free online. and don't profit off of fanfiction.)

I do feel like every time something like this happens, I run to tumblr, make a post, and make something like this everyone else's problem. And I want to apologize for that and say that this is in no way y'alls issue (unless you are the one selling fanfiction and/or buying it). It is my fanfic, my issue, and I am handling it (though, I always appreciate each and every single one of you going out of your way to help more than you could possibly know). However, I am making this post to let everyone know that

I am no longer allowing people to make physical copies of my fanfiction.

People have used my acceptance of hand binding my fic for personal use and abused it to sell my fic and mass-produce it. Not cool. So I would like to say I am no longer allowing physical copies of my fics to be made. I don't know if that will fix or change anything and I am extremely doubtful that the people who are the issue will even listen to or care about what I wish since they've already disregarded that but I really don't know what else to do at the moment. I am hoping this issue will get resolved shortly! As always, Art Heist, Baby! is available to read online for free on ao3! (how cool is that?) Thanks for reading and hearing me out. Sorry again about another post like this but it's always fucking something with this fandom and I just don't ever know what else to do.

#art heist baby! #nat speaks #CRAZY AMOUNT OF MONEY TO PAY FOR THIS FIC BTW. DO NOT DO IT. ALSO IT IS MACHINE MADE JUST FYI #stop being uncool and chill the FUCK out. make money off of something other than my godforsaken gay wizard words and go to hell!

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

hi there! love your work! i recently had a prof say that all zoos (USA) are bad (so we shouldn't support them) and sanctuaries are better because using animals for entertainment is morally wrong, most zoo profits dont go to conservation, and conservation efforts are bandaid solutions to capitalism destroying animal habitats, so the real solution is to return the land to indigenous stewards to manage/rewild. i didn't disagree with the last bit, but the argument as a whole felt a little off to me for a reason i couldnt put my finger on. am i off base here? just feeling really unsure about the whole thing.

You're not wrong! There's a mix of reality and personal opinions in those statements, and it's definitely something worth critically examining. A quick fact-check of what they said for you:

All US zoos are bad

There's a massive range of quality of zoological facilities within the US (and around the world). Some are stellar and some are not, and it's really just not accurate to lump them all under the same umbrella for almost any purpose. Unless, of course, your issue isn't with animal welfare, and it's philosophical, which is what it sound like in #2...

2. Using animals for entertainment is morally wrong.

This is one of my favorite things to talk about w/r/t how we exhibit animals. Entertainment has become equated with exploitation and implicit low welfare in the last couple decades, and so you get a lot of people saying using animals for entertainment is wrong. But those same folk will say that they enjoy seeing animals in other contexts, and they think that's okay. Where's the line between enjoying something and being entertained by it? What makes something one and not the other? Also, we know that people learn better from from situations which are enjoyable/entertaining - even just a fun teacher who jokes around vs a dry lecture - so how can that only be a problem when it's used to make viewing animals more impactful? I wrote a whole piece on this a while back (linked here) if you want to dig into this more. Some zoos (and accrediting groups) are shying away from "entertainment" type branding - shows are demos now, for instance - and others are leaning into "edutainment" that's done with good welfare and communicates actual education messaging. In short, this is a personal philosophical belief, and you're right to question if you agree. (Even if you decide you do think that too! It's always good to question why someone is arguing what they believe about animal use, and how they came to believe it).

3. Sanctuaries are better than zoos.

There's two reasons I think he's misinformed here. First, almost all exotic animal sanctuaries in the US are licensed exhibitors - just like zoos! I only know of a couple that don't exhibit to the public at all. It's an important part of their revenue stream, because gate take helps support paying for animal care. Also anything you see from a sanctuary on Youtube, Facebook, or TikTok? Also exhibition! They just message about it differently, and often have a different ethos about how they exhibit (e.g. tours to reduce stress instead of letting people wander, doing conservation or rescue messaging instead of just display). Second... look, most people assume that the word "sanctuary" means a facility is intrinsically more ethical than a zoo, and therefore they must be a good place. In reality, many sanctuaries get much less public and regulatory scrutiny (at the state level) than most zoos. There are good sanctuaries out there, but there are also sanctuaries where stuff goes on that would absolutely be unacceptable at zoos, and it slides because of the assumption that sanctuaries are inherently more moral and ethical and care for their animals better.

4. Most zoo profits don't go to conservation

This is correct! Direct conservation funding is often a small part of the money a zoo makes. However, that's because money goes to things like facility maintenance, new construction, paying salaries, etc. If zoos put all the money they made back into conservation programs, practically, they wouldn't have the funding to continue to operate. The question that I'd suggest asking instead is "where are they putting money into conservation" and "are they doing conservation work or just throwing money at something to display the logo of the program." Also, it's worth keeping in mind that a lot of what zoos do to support conservation isn't necessarily financial. Many facilities contribute "in-kind", by doing things like sending staff to assist with programs or teach specific skills, or by donating things like vehicles and equipment. Research zoos do also seriously contributes to in-situ programs, and breeding programs for re-introduction like the scimitar-horned oryx and the black-footed ferret are also conservation. Could many of the big urban facilities with huge budgets do more? Yes. But looking just at dollars spent on conservation programs is disingenuous and inaccurate.

5. Conservation efforts are band-aid solutions to capitalism destroying habitats / Returning the land to indigenous peoples to manage/rewild is the real solution to conservation issues

This is a little outside my scope so I'm going to only address the part that I know. First off, like, there's no One True Answer to conservation issues. That's reductionist and inaccurate. Conservation really is a human issue, though, and it often has to involve solving human problems that lead to negative results for animals. There's definitely an issue with what some people call "parachute conservation" where Westerners swoop in and try to tell people living in range countries how to best manage their animals and natural resources without recognizing their perspectives, needs, or what drives their behavior towards those animals. That's not just a zoo issue - that's an issue with a ton of traditional Western conservation work. And there is progress towards fixing it! In the zoo world, I've been very impressed with the work out of The Living Desert, where their conservation people spend a lot of time overseas teaching people in range countries to evaluate and improve their own conservation programs, so they can assess efficacy and also have data to apply for grants, etc. They provide support when asked, rather than trying to tell people who live with these animals regularly what to do. One of my favorite programs that TLD collaborates with (they don't try to run it!) is a group called the Black Mambas that reduces poaching by supporting entire communities to reduce the desperation for food/income, educating kids about animals, and running all-female patrols staffed by community members.

Overall, it sounds like your professor's view of zoos is really informed by their personal moral perspective, and possibly reinforced by a lot of the misinformation / misleading messaging that exists about the industry and about conservation work. They do have some specifics right, but not necessarily the context to inform why things are like that. It was a good catch to question the mix of information and approach it critically.

#zoo industry #zoo information #philosophy around zoos and what they do #conservation #zoo questions

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Hello TBSkyen, I have a question for you. I myself am a person who's interested in making videos about art and posting them on youtube but have heard pretty much every youtuber I watch complain about youtube's unfair copyright system. So I would like to ask, how do you typically deal with that? What do I need to do to decrease the chance of a video getting claimed/struck? I know you don't have all the answers but I would like to hear the opinion of someone who has had to deal with this.

*deep breath born from long history of frustration*

Okay, so number one, you can't protect yourself fully from that. Anyone can file a copyright claim on anything you upload for any reason, they don't have to have evidence that they own the work being claimed, and all of the onus is on you to prove you didn't commit infringement by disputing the claims being made.

Which sucks.

It's a very frustrating thing to deal with, and it can make it nearly impossible to discuss certain properties or media because the owners (or a bunch of shitty grifters abusing the copyright system) will strike and claim anything and everything they can possibly identify.

Having said that, there are some tips and tricks. First, understand the principle of Fair Use (which is American law, and which is usually what you have to deal with on YouTube, but not always), which Casey Fiesler has a good video primer about here:

The broad strokes are that you can use as much as is needed to make a transformative point and then no more than that. The spirit of the law is that you can't use Fair Use to simply repost and profit off of other people's work, and the reality of how it's enforced is that bots scan YouTube for instances of videos using Too Much of the media they're protecting, and claim it as infringement.

So. If you're discussing any kind of video media - film, TV, animation, etc. - use clips of no more than 5-8 seconds of continuous footage, and do not use the original audio of the show unless it is necessary. You can sometimes get away with longer stretches of footage, but anything over 10 seconds is just begging for an automated copyright claim.

Shrink the footage down on screen and put a frame around it so it doesn't take up the entire screen, edit something on top of the footage like animations and other edits that transform the footage, maybe slow the footage down to a lower speed so that your video can't be construed as a meaningful replacement for watching the original media.

If you're discussing static art - comics, paintings, etc. - make sure to double check the copyright status on them, and keep in mind the principle of using what is needed to make a point and no more than that. If you discuss a manga or comic, be careful about simply showing whole pages unaltered on screen if it's not necessary. Show the panels or dialogue as you discuss it, but don't put whole pages or issues or chapters up on screen in sequence.

There are other tips and tricks and guidelines and hacks also, but if you're discussing any popular form of media you do have to be ready to have to fight a ton of spurious copyright claims on anything you do, especially if it gets views and becomes popular. It's a long process of filing disputes and waiting 30 days for them to get dropped before you can publish your video, it sucks.

#tb answers #youtube

[corinne-eaglebridge-sso]

A simple guide to Shilling-banking

So, these are all the methods I've found to save up Jorvik shillings in your closet, without it actually being shillings and counting towards the cap! I personally use these to stockpile for limited events, but you can use it for whatever you want! Most if not all of these methods are aimed towards starriders.

Light Every light sells for 1 shilling, which doesn't seem much - but it is extremely easy to get light! Run around the woods, extract it from wild seeds with your terra powers, gather herbs, etc! Light will easily be your biggest source of shillings if you spend a lot of time in the Hollow Woods. Be careful, though! While light stockpiles easily, dividing from stacks goes one-by-one... Consider taking some time to run around between the woods and closet, making and stockpiling different stack sizes of light - 500, 2000, 5000, etc. You're not going to have a completely empty shillings amount in your backpack very often, and this will save you the pain of losing shillings by selling more than you need to reach the cap!

Archeology The tried and tested method! Focus especially on Epona's special finds, and keep the items you get there in your closet. For ease of stockpiling, do not trade them in until you need the shillings. If you have the time and have a route, Dino valley might be a nice change of pace - however, regarding time management, you're unlikely to make more shillings here than you would if you ran around in Hollow Woods collecting light, and with more different items, it takes up more closet spaces. Only do Dino archeology if you actually like it - it's not very profitable otherwise now.

Championships If you are interested in doing championships, winning and stockpiling ribbons from this can be a good way to fund your spending. There's not much to say about this one - it is dependent on your racing skills. Edit: (thank you @centeris2) every championship you complete will give you at least 200 shillings - store these by not claiming the prizes you get in the mail until you need the shillings.

High Score Races Like championships but worse; races give you payout if you have the daily, weekly or monthly high score of your server. This one heavily depends on your racing skills again, and also shows way less immediate and substantial reward: you might be the first when you finish, but unless you race at 11PM, it's likely someone will kick you off the first place later in the day. This is more like a nice bonus for if you are already training horses than a reliable source of shillings. To stockpile these, simply leave the messages in your inbox until it's time to use the shillings; you can then claim all this mail with shillings.

Flax = hay Another terra path ability is turning flax into hay. And while some of that hay may go towards your horses, depending on your garden setup you may quickly find yourself buried in a mountain of flax. Flax grows fast and interacts with many plants to form the rare flowers, so there's a high chance you have this in your garden. Each piece of hay sells for 5 shillings - take some time to convert some flax every once in a while, then stockpile them in your closet!

I hope this is helpful for people! There might be more techniques, of course - these are just the ones I use! If you know of any others, please feel free to add them in the comments!

#sso #my posts #ssoblr #star stable online

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Random HC's That I Probably Overexplain - Cater Edition 1!

TW: Angst heavy, using kids for profit via social media, emotional/physical abuse (nothing explicit/gory) His mom was a family life vlogger. I've dabbled on this topic a few times before, but never got really into it. His mom ran a channel called the "Beloved Diamond Family", in which his mother went by Dreamy Diamond, and his older sisters went by Dazzling and Ditzy Diamond. He was "Daring Diamond" or sometimes just called "Little Gem/Diamond". "Daddy Diamond" was never around, but his mom sometimes went on rants about him on camera. They rarely made it onto the channel though. Part of the reason the Diamonds moved so much is because of his dad's work, but the other part was because of how much information his mom would divulge and put her kids in danger. Cater's dad did his best to protect his kids from the consequences of her actions, but couldn't get ahead of them. Cater was the star of many of the videos, as he was the baby and everyone wanted to see more of him. He hated being made to do everything that his mom said, or repeating the actions a hundred times until he got it "perfect", but the comments of other parents telling him how much their kids loved him and whatnot was enough to keep him going. It's also why he's so attached to his phone now and a big part of why he just keeps up the facade. To be caught at a less than picture perfect moment or with a subpar reaction at this point scares him. Irrationally, he worries about his mothers reaction, and because he's never really been to school for long enough to make friends, he has to act the only way he knows how and hope that people keep liking the show he puts on. A lot of the videos were pretty fluffy, happy videos, but Ms. Diamond would do anything for views, and did put out videos of Cater sobbing over his dead pet, about him breaking his arm on his skateboard, and a lot of her "prank" videos that were mostly just endangering her kids or trying to prove her husband was cheating. (At one point she did a "slip and slide" in the kitchen and called Cater over to try some of her cookies. He couldn't have been more than five or six, so he came running in excited and ended up in urgent care. All the scars and marks he got from his moms wacked out ideas have been carefully hidden under makeup and magic for years now, but sometimes he doesnt have the energy to cover them up on his clones). Obviously, none of the Diamond kids were off very well, but when they were "too big to be cute anymore" his mom kind of let the channel die out and became a more severe alcoholic. However, when her channel started to pick up traction again years later, Ms. Diamond decided to keep her channel going with behind the scenes clips and telling stories about her kids while mildly tipsy. She didn't tell her kids she was going to do this, and now that they're all 18 and over they want to stop her, but don't want to cause more drama from her. Cater's bigger sister wants to take her to court for everything she's done, but Cater and his eldest sister just want to ignore it and sweep it under the rug like nothing is going on because it hurts too much to revisit the things they used to have to do. Cater's mom is...a BoyMom. Like she is Not Normal about her son to a creepy uncomfortable extent and Cater doesn't know how to deal with it, he mostly tries to break contact with her, but she is relentless and a master guilt tripper. He had been looking forward to his 18th birthday to officially disown her or put a restraining order on her, but never had the heart to actually do it, because...it is his mom, and family never abandons each other unless you want to be a piece of shit, right? (This is not serious, please, if you have family that doesn't treat you well don't be afraid to leave if you can)

#v talks #twst #twisted wonderland #twst hcs #twst headcanons #cater diamond #twst cater #my baby boy I'm sorry I do this to all my favourites #I can build on this more if you all Want but like. It'll involve my OC bc they're dating #like I could #fully infodump about Vizzie or something and tie everything together with a little bow #but I probably wont lmao #random hc's I probably overexplain #<- if you want the rest of them and in case I forget to make a masterlist for these....or get too lazy #abuse tw #tw abuse #random hcs i probably overexplain

[adore-laur]

BULLSEYE: PART ONE

— a lonely small-town boy meets a demure city girl (this series is unfinished)

| The Boy | 

Morning fog drifts throughout Lurgashall, West Sussex. Doves faintly coo in the dense forest. The sound of the rushing river nearby gives life to the rural landscape. The pathway is hugged by trees on both sides, weeping willows and broadleaf evergreens bending over the gravel as if to greet passersby. The sky is a silky shade of periwinkle, and the sun gently grapples to peek out from behind a sheet of looming stratus clouds. Squirrels and hares race through the thicket to rustle and stir up insects. The crickets will soon chirp and wake the rest of the sleeping nature around them. 

Distant footsteps crunch rock fragments with each stride, the approaching noise startling the birds as they scatter away to their homes nestled in the slim branches above. A boy whom the townsfolk know as Harry is the product of the sound. His intriguing and mysterious presence always makes itself known, even to placid wildlife. Unless he's with his father, of course. In those moments, he's a silent shadow in the background of the older man's domineering limelight. 

As the steps grow louder, creatures turn their heads to observe the boy's blue, melancholy aura that walks the timeworn path every dawn. He holds a metal bucket filled to the brim with fresh water from the stream. It's heavy but no challenge for his strong arms. He ventures down the winding trail, disrupting the pebbles with each clunky trudge of his steel-toed boots. Atop his head is a cowboy-esque hat made of straw, and his freshly showered hair, damp and curly, makes an appearance underneath as it dries with assistance from the crisp breeze. His long legs are clad in light-wash jeans, and his upper half is covered with a cream-colored button-up. He leaves it open over a trusty white tank top, the fabric sticking to his perspiring chest. Humidity is starting to make its presence known, and he wishes autumn would arrive faster. He despises summer for his own repressive reasons. 

Harry is not a cowboy by any means. He's what people would instead consider a rancher. His father had once told him that there was a significant difference. A rancher doesn't wrangle cattle or compete in barrel racing. They don't herd sheep or wear chaps. Nor do they own a lasso or race horses for profit. No, Harry takes care of the horses. He nurtures them by feeding, grooming, and riding them across the village fields. He speaks to them when he locks the stable up at night, telling them about the newest baby born in tiny Lurgashall or the fawn he saw grazing in the pasture. 

He works at his father's ranch. It provides services such as horseback riding and equestrian lessons. His father handles the latter, having grown up in the village his entire life and acquiring decades of experience. On the other hand, Harry helps with the guided horse tours by visiting the picturesque countryside a few times daily with a group of locals or tourists. They travel the paths overrun with blossoming flowers and satiny grass matted down by hoof prints. Farthest out on the tour, they stop at beautifully eroded rock formations on the hill and soak in the expanse of the sky.

It never gets old, yet the boy still feels stuck. He's caught up in a constant cycle of living the same day repeatedly, always ending with desolation crawling into his lonely heart that so desperately wants to be loved. It doesn't help that he doesn't have many friends, not that it's such a horrible thing. However, living in a place with a whopping population of six hundred people leaves him relatively isolated. He doesn't mind, though. He's grown used to going home to his cabin in the woods and having the entire place to do as he pleases. He can play his records as loud as he wants. He can get drunk off cheap whiskey and dance around his living room, thinking about all the things he should have said and done in his past. He can fall asleep under his quilted blanket and dream of flying through the sky, his fingers sweeping through the soft grass of foreign fields he wishes to visit one day. 

When Harry does manage to hang around other people, it's usually at the singular pub in Lurgashall. It's small, with a rustic, sixteenth-century interior and matching decor that comforts him. He walks there from his cabin or the stables, either chosen way taking less than ten minutes, and admires the scenic view of the whole journey. 

Whenever he steps through the doorway, he comes alive. Talking to strangers and locals, listening to their stories with endless questions bubbling up inside him. He sometimes rides his horse there and ties it to the porch fence, then excuses himself from the pub for a moment to feed them a carrot that he always keeps in his satchel. Hogging the jukebox by playing Dolly Parton back-to-back until a drunk man yells at him to pick something else. Harry will often go behind the bar and help serve drinks to the patrons, charming them with his infectious smile, never forgetting to undo a couple of extra buttons on his shirt to attract anyone interested. Someone usually is, but he never acts on their flirtatious exertions. Harry prefers going back to his cabin alone with rosy cheeks and a dizzy head. His father calls him a dry-as-dust introvert with how much time he spends in solitude. So be it, the boy thinks. He's doing perfectly fine on his own. 

Harry's favorite thing to do at the pub is partake in a game of darts. He claims he could be a professional one day and travel the world, knocking down any competition far and wide with ease. He'll play by himself for hours straight with complete focus and a light buzz coursing through his blood from the beer or whiskey he drinks. The local ladies will watch while whistling and cheering him on. It feeds his narcissism nicely. Then he'll stumble home and crash on his bed, getting no more than four hours of sleep before dragging his feet to work the following morning with a headache and a feeling of existential dread about the stand-still life that his father gave him. Needless to say, the boy has some unresolved daddy issues. 

That's not to say Harry isn't fond of where he lives and works. He loves horses and showing people the beauty of his hometown. He doesn't mind waking up at dawn to sit with the horses after completing his duties. He'll bring his sketchbook and pencils and draw potential ideas for tattoos. 

Oh, don't even get him started on tattoos. His father hates them, so Harry gets dozens out of pure spite. His arms are covered with ink inspired by his own drawings. He will often tattoo himself with his gun and supplies in a drawer at his cabin since the nearest tattoo parlor is an entire town away. He honestly can't get enough. The feeling of the needle piercing his flesh brings him a painfully addictive pleasure he hasn't found anywhere else. 

It's six in the morning when Harry walks into the main stable. He hears the familiar sound of hooves clopping against the wooden planks. This is where he can stop thinking about everything wrong in his life. This is where he goes to get away from his father's disapproving demeanor. This is where he can reminisce about his mother, his angel in the sky guiding him toward better days. 

—— 

| The Girl | 

It takes just under an hour to drive from Portsmouth to Lurgashall. There's green everywhere, a pleasant change from the grey city. Boundless fields and forests seclude the cozy, spaced-out cottages and farmhouses along the road. It's technically not even a road; it's simply a gravel path looping throughout the village. 

Cramped in a car with three other people, it's becoming hard to breathe with the muggy air wafting in because someone insisted on rolling the windows down. It's almost comical to think about how city girls could survive staying here for a week after being conditioned to traffic and bumping into people on concrete streets. 

The girl, who suburbanites know as Shyla, has friends who insisted they travel to the countryside to temporarily flee their swarmed hometown of Portsmouth. They quite literally threw a dart on a map of England to determine the destination. Lo and behold, it hit the microscopic region of Lurgashall. 

Eight square miles. Six hundred residents. She's absolutely dreading it. 

Shyla was left out of the trip planning. She also wasn't given the option to ride shotgun in the car. Now, she's on the way to go horseback riding at a ranch when her friends know she's never ridden one before and has absolutely no desire to. The guided horseback tour is private for the four girls. Shyla is thankful for that since she doesn't want strangers laughing at her inability to steer a horse properly. Needless to say, the girl doesn't have a great support system. 

See, Shyla is lonely even when she's around her friends. They ignore her and leave her out of conversations. They only hang out with her when they need something out of it — a designated driver, money, or someone to tease. Shyla is fed up, to be honest, but she's too terrified of confrontation. She doesn't want to lose the only people she has left. 

Once the ranch comes into view, Shyla feels her heart sink with an anchor of anxiousness. From the backseat window, she admires the rolling hills that expand as far as the eye can see. Behind the ranch is a fenced pasture connected to the stables. Horses are tied up, chewing on hay and stomping their hooves, causing dust to swirl in the stale air. 

Gravel crunches under the car's wheels as they slow down. No parking spots are marked, so they park in front of the wraparound porch. The ranch building is cute, with its horseshoe hanging above the front door and the crooked wooden sign that reads Styles Stables. 

Shyla thinks maybe this won't be so bad after all. The exterior atmosphere of the place seems inviting enough. She wonders how the business stays afloat in such a small town, especially since there are currently no other cars. The owner will be in for a surprise when a group of girls from the city asks to ride their horses. Her friends can be obnoxious sometimes, so she prays they won't embarrass her and make anyone's job more difficult. 

They all clamber out of the car and stumble toward the front door on legs that haven't been used for a while. Shyla strays behind, trying to get fresh air in her lungs. Plummeting apprehension has suddenly hit her. 

The door is already open, revealing a naturally lit room. Shyla is the last one to step inside, and she's taken aback by the overpowering smell of sawdust and leather. It's a spacious area with creaky wooden floors decorated with only a rustic bench and a shabby front desk. There are two men behind it. One has grey hair that shines from the sunlight pouring through the window. The other has curly brown hair. Their backs are turned, and they seem to be poring over a stack of papers. 

One of Shyla's friends rings the silver service bell to get their attention. The silver-haired man slowly turns around with a stoic expression and studies each person. He seems intimidating right off the bat. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers at the other person behind the counter. The boy flinches slightly and silently hurries out the back door. Without a word, the older man slides four waivers toward them. They paid beforehand, and Shyla assumes they must not have anyone else riding today since he didn't ask for their names. 

Her three friends sit on the bench to fill them out, leaving Shyla to remain standing and write on the splintered surface of the desk. After they finish, they give the papers to the man. Shyla gets negative vibes from him. It's no wonder no one comes here; the owner is the most off-putting person she's ever met. 

Then he speaks. A low, gruff voice thunders when he says, "Harry, my son, will be your guide today. Go out the back door, and he'll situate everyone with a horse based on experience. Let me know if he's cranky. I'll make sure to give him a stern talking-to." 

They all nod and head to the stables. They're met with posts lining a fence that several horses, all varying colors and sizes, are tied to with rope. Shyla's eyes start watering from the dryness outside—or maybe from fear. 

The boy, who Shyla now knows as Harry, carries saddles out and begins setting them on a few select horses. She has an unobstructed view of him now, so she takes in his outfit, consisting of a beige button-up with a brown leather jacket over it and jeans with a hole just below each of his knees. His hair is almost parted down the middle, with some loose curls hanging over his forehead, and there's faint stubble growing above his lips and along his jaw. 

Once the horses have saddles on, Shyla watches Harry lead a tall, sleek black horse in front of the girls. Shyla guesses it's the one he'll be riding since it doesn't have a saddle on, and it looks daunting. He ties it to the entrance gate leading to the trail, then brings another horse out. He's silent the entire time, and Shyla thinks he might actually be cranky. She's not a snitch, though. 

Harry stops in front of the girls after the four horses are tied to the fence. He clears his throat, then asks, "Has anyone here never ridden a horse before?" 

Shyla glances over to her friends and quickly realizes she's the only one who hasn't. With a hesitant raise of her arm, she indicates her inexperience. The boy locks eyes with her and nods before untying a copper-colored horse. He walks it over to Shyla while adjusting its saddle. 

"This is Quake," he explains, patting the horse's neck. "We use him for beginners. Are you comfortable mounting him by yourself?" 

"Um, I've never gotten on a horse before, so I might need some help." 

"Sure. Start by putting your left foot in the stirrup." Shyla steps into the stirrup and waits for further instruction. "Then push down on it to lift your leg up and over his body." 

He's watching her every movement. Shyla swallows her parched throat. She does what he says and hoists her leg to stretch uncomfortably over Quake's wide body, then sets her feet in both stirrups and holds onto the saddle's horn. She peeks over at her friends to see if they'll be proud of her, but they're all too distracted taking pictures on their phones. She tries not to let it bother her. 

"Do your feet feel loose at all?" Harry asks, placing the reins in her grasp. 

"They feel a bit loose, yeah. I also feel like they're too low. Sorry, I'm short." She doesn't know why she's apologizing. She just feels bad for being a beginner and wasting everyone's time. Her friends are obviously bored while waiting for her. 

"All right, let me fix those for you." He grabs the left stirrup and pulls the strap to tighten and lift it, his fingers grazing Shyla's ankle. She almost shivers at the touch. He goes over to fix the other one and gives her a questioning thumbs-up. She hastily nods to confirm they're better. 

"What's your name?" he mumbles as he adjusts Quake's bridle. 

She almost forgets it but manages a quiet murmur of "Shyla." 

"Shyla. Pretty name." Harry puts his hands on his hips. "So, if you want to steer right or left, just turn the reins in that direction. The hand you write with holds the reins, but you can use two if you're more comfortable that way. If you want to slow down or stop, gently pull the reins back. Quake is a good horse, so there shouldn't be any problems. Going downhill, you want to lean back. Going uphill is when you'll lean forward. If Quake stops moving, just lightly kick his side. Let's see... always sit up straight, but keep your body relaxed. No need to worry about trotting or accidental running since he's our most easy-going horse. He doesn't get spooked much." He exhales, eyes squinting from the sun. "That's it, I think. Any questions?" 

Shyla shifts in the saddle, overwhelmed by all the rules. "No, I should be fine. Thank you." 

"No problem." He hikes his thumb over his shoulder. "Quake will just stand still for right now, so I'll get everyone else set up." 

Once everyone is on their designated horses, Harry unties his horse and gracefully mounts it. He then takes his leather jacket off and hangs it over the fence post, skillfully turning his horse around to lead the front of the line. 

"Okay," he says, looking at everyone. "Since Shyla hasn't done this before, I'll have her ride behind me. Sound good?" 

The girls all nod their heads. Harry opens the rusty gate and gets his horse to start walking by clicking his tongue, causing the other horses to follow suit. Shyla sees him twist back to check on her, and she smiles softly to show she's good. He just bows his head and stares straight ahead again. 

Shyla doesn't remember what she was ever anxious about. 

—— 

| The Boy | 

Harry has concluded that the girl behind him is catastrophically pretty. He finds himself looking back at her every so often to make sure she's all right, and each time he does, she grants him an innocent smile paired with eyes the color of chestnuts. 

Harry has also concluded that her friends are absolute shit. They won't stop gabbing about city gossip with their whiny voices. He thanks his lucky stars that they're not behind him; otherwise, he would be seconds away from getting his horse to kick them off. The girl not being annoying, who Harry now knows as Shyla, is reserved and respectful. Whenever he subtly steals a glance at her, she's admiring the nature around her and petting Quake's neck with a delicate hand. 

When they finally reach the rock formations, everyone gets off their horse to stretch their legs and appreciate the view. This is Harry's favorite part. He likes to watch his groups be impressed with how beautiful little Lurgashall can be. 

He observes Shyla with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Her wide eyes scan over the rocks and endless greenery around her. For some reason, it makes his mouth twitch with a ghost of a smile. 

Five minutes pass before they begin their trip back to the stables. Shyla, who has been otherwise quiet, suddenly speaks up, much to Harry's surprise. Her friends are too busy talking about where to get dinner to join in. 

"How long have you been doing this?" she asks. 

Harry turns his head toward her momentarily before turning back and taking a deep, calming breath. He's awful at small talk unless he has alcohol in his system. He keeps his backstory vague and says, "Around a decade. I started as a guide when I was sixteen. My father built the ranch long before I was born, so I kind of had no choice but to follow in his footsteps." 

It's true he didn't have a choice, but there's a more personal side to it that he can't talk about without either crying or getting angry. It's about his mother and any fleeting thought of her begs for tears to fall. If he starts crying on a horse in front of a pretty girl, he's officially hit rock bottom. 

"Is it just you and him working at the ranch?" Shyla questions further.

His shoulders tense. "Only us," he curtly replies. Shyla must notice his discomfort because she's silent the rest of the way back. 

Eventually, they arrive at the stables. Harry smoothly dismounts his horse and walks over to help Shyla off Quake first. He reaches his hand out, and she firmly grips it while swinging her leg over and hopping onto the ground. His thumb lightly strokes the back of her hand before he lets go. If she feels it, she doesn't let it show. 

As Shyla dusts off her pants, Harry glimpses at her friends, who are getting off their horses and taking more pictures of themselves. Irritation simmers inside of him. They could at least pretend to care about her. 

He shakes the thought from his head and coughs gingerly into his fist before mumbling, "Have a nice day, Shyla," and bidding farewell with a two-finger salute. 

Again, he's awful at making conversation. He gets nervous, especially when mesmerizing brown eyes give him a tenderhearted look he hasn't seen since his mother left him. 

—— 

| The Girl | 

Shyla and her friends have decided to go out for cocktails tonight. Much to everyone's disappointment, there's only one pub in Lurgashall to choose from, but it'll have to do. They drove aimlessly after horseback riding since the checkout time for the inn they are staying at isn't until tomorrow morning. The girls are terrible at planning, so they have no other option but to sleep in the car tonight. It's going to be hell. 

It's ten o'clock when they walk through the threshold. Shyla's view is instantly bombarded with people chatting, dancing, and drinking in every corner of the confined space. Her friends are already heading toward the bar to order drinks. Shyla lingers behind and soaks in the lively environment. Friendly smiles fleetingly greet her. Bony limbs accidentally elbow her. Boisterous laughs invitingly lure her in. 

As her curious eyes scan the room, she quickly spots a familiar face. Harry, the boy from the ranch, is in the far corner, standing next to a retro jukebox. He's wearing his brown leather jacket from earlier with no shirt underneath, and several tattoos can be seen in the dim lighting of the pub. He nurses what looks like a glass of whiskey or bourbon in his hand as he slowly sways to the song playing. He's mouthing the lyrics with his head tilted back. Shyla recognizes the song as "You're the Only One" by Dolly Parton. She flits her gaze away so he doesn't catch her gawking. 

The mix of conversations around her on top of Dolly's smooth-as-butter voice creates an ambiance that eases her anxiety. Clinking glasses and the sudden outburst of hysterics make her want to participate in the drunken bubbles. Walking over to the bar, Shyla finds an open stool to sit on when Harry suddenly slides behind the counter with a beaming smile and dilated pupils. She stares at him for a while, trying to understand how quickly he noticed her. Now, his tattooed torso is right in front of her, and she thinks he's one of the most attractive people she's ever seen. 

"Hi!" Harry cheerfully greets, blowing a curly strand of hair away from his face. Shyla can immediately sense that he's a bit tipsy. 

"Hey," she says awkwardly. "Um, do you work here?" 

"I don't work here," he slurs with a smug raise of eyebrows. "But I can make you anything your heart desires." 

Oh, so tipsy Harry is an entirely different person. Got it! 

"Could I please get a lime margarita?" she asks, his intense eye contact making her flush. 

He winks as he grabs a glass from under the counter. "Coming right up, Miss Shyla." 

She's shocked he remembers her name as she watches him run a lime wedge along the rim of the glass and skillfully coat it in salt. After that, he pours the liquid ingredients into a mixer filled with ice and then shakes it like a professional bartender. His stomach muscles flex as he does so, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in concentration. Shyla wonders how he's so good at making drinks if he doesn't work here. 

Once he pours the concoction into her glass, he kisses the lime wedge and garnishes the rim. Lifting it in a cheers gesture, he slides it toward her. Who is this man? He can't be the same one she met earlier today. 

"Thanks," Shyla mumbles meekly. She takes a sip and puckers her lips at the sour taste. 

Harry's palms cradle his cheeks, his elbows resting on the counter. He has a cute smile on his face as he watches her expression. He looks like a kid in a candy store, his dimples deep enough to build a dreamland in them. 

"I'm tipsy," he admits, his mouth barely moving. "Apologies if it's not my best work." He stands up straight with a slight sway. "Hey, do you know how to play darts? I can teach you. Not to brag, but I'm pretty decent." 

Shyla peeks at the dart board snug in the corner of the pub. She's never played before, and her friends probably don't care that she's not with them, so she nods, grabs her drink, and heads over. Harry shuffles around the counter to walk beside her. He smells like pine trees with a hint of something floral. 

They reach the board, and Harry leans against it with his ankles crossed. He takes a dart and points it at her. "So," he says, "the simplest version we can play is 301. Easy rules. We each start with 301 points, yeah? The goal is to reach zero; to do that, we have to try to land the dart on high numbers to get there before each other. We subtract the scores each round, and whoever gets there first wins. However, if you go past zero, you bust out and have to reset your score to what it was when you started your last turn." 

Shyla's sure she'll be terrible at it, but at least it'll be something fun to do while her friends get hammered without her. She takes a gulp from her margarita to get some liquid courage churning, then sets her glass on a nearby stool and grabs a dart, the only pink one in a bundle of red and blue ones. She stands a decent distance away from the board. 

"Is there a certain way to throw it?" she wonders aloud, spinning the dart between her fingers. 

Harry tuts. "I'm not supposed to help you since we're competing, but yes, there is. Here, let me show you." He stands behind her, his bare chest resting against her back. His cologne and presence dangerously invade all of her senses. 

"See the white line in front of you?" he says, his warm breath heating her ear. "It's called the oche. You can't step over it, or you'll be disqualified. Your feet need to be hip-width apart behind it, okay?" Shyla spreads her feet to the appropriate length. "Keep your feet at that width and then turn sideways to face the board," he adds. She does as Harry says. He continues, "Place every finger except your pinky on the barrel of the dart. Toward the front of it." Shyla attempts to mimic his direction. "Ah, ah, ah. Not too firmly. Try not to curl your fingers. Keep them long and open." 

She readjusts her fingers on the dart, then turns her head to meet Harry's eyes. He licks his lips and nods. "Good girl. Now raise the dart to eye level with your elbow at a ninety-degree angle." Shyla feels him lightly grip her wrist to raise it as he bends her elbow. "Just like that." 

Fuck. Her skin is on fire, surely. 

"Now tilt the end upwards a bit," he murmurs, his thumb stroking her elbow, "but don't let the tip drop too far down. Then aim it right at the bullseye. Is this your first time throwing a dart?" 

Shyla swallows. "Yes. Sorry if I end up putting a hole in the wall." 

Harry hums a low chuckle. "Trust me, you won't. So, what you'll do now is use your dominant eye to aim. You held the reins at the ranch with your right hand, so I'm assuming you're right-handed?" 

He remembered. Is that the bare minimum? Shyla can't think straight when she can feel every single one of his breaths against her neck. She manages to squeak out an affirmation. 

"Okay. Keep your right eye open and close the other one. Then pull your hand back and keep your shoulders motionless as you throw it." Harry's hands place themselves on her shoulders. She tenses but relaxes instantly when he gives them an assuring squeeze. "Place weight on your foot closest to the board when you throw, but don't lean or sway. Stay as still as possible." 

"All right," Shyla whispers. "Then I just throw it forward, right?" 

"Snap your wrist forward, not downward, as you release it. And always remember to follow through with the motion." 

He removes his hands from her shoulders and tucks in the tag from the neckline of her shirt. Has that been out the entire day? How embarrassing. 

Shyla clears her throat and gets ready to aim. She closes her left eye and keeps her shoulders still like Harry said. She then lightly pushes her foot closest to the board and snaps her wrist to release the dart. 

Not quite a bullseye, but pretty damn close. In Shyla's peripheral, she sees Harry whistle by sticking his pointer and middle finger in his mouth. He removes them and claps slowly but not mockingly; he looks thoroughly impressed. Shyla curtsies and takes a sip of her drink. 

It's Harry's turn, so he takes a red dart and stances up behind the line. Before he gets any further, Shyla can't help but ask, "How do you play when you're tipsy? Won't your hand-eye coordination get messed up?" 

Closing one eye, he pokes his tongue out in concentration and gracefully releases the dart. It hits the bullseye. He glances at her and smiles lopsidedly. "Practice makes perfect, darling." 

She's stunned by his perfect aim as he removes the two darts and then writes down both scores on the nearby chalkboard. When he faces her, he spreads his arms out and arrogantly shrugs. 

"You're good," Shyla compliments, breathing out a laugh and clapping. 

"All in a day's work," he replies, gesturing his hands like he's dusting them off. 

Shyla is about to grab another dart when Harry suddenly gasps. "You're Still the One" by Shania Twain starts playing from the jukebox. She really enjoys the song, too. She's not tipsy enough to dance around like everyone else, but when Harry holds his hand out for her to take, she can't refuse. 

"What about our dart game?" she asks, taking his warm and calloused hand. He twirls her and brings her into his chest, beginning to sway them to the romantic song. One hand in hers, the other gravitating to her waist. 

"Nothing else matters when Shania comes on. You'll have to stop by again so we can finish." 

"Already trying to get me to come back, huh? I'm only here for a week, so you better make it worth it." 

She hopes that came across as flirty. The margarita in her bloodstream is doing wonders for her boldness. 

Harry's eyebrows dip sadly. "You're only here for a week?" 

Shyla's unoccupied fingers graze along his abdomen. His skin is soft but somehow firm. "I'm from Portsmouth, which is about an hour southwest. I'm here on a girl's trip." 

"Oh, a trip with your shitty friends?" he says monotonously as he looks over at them. They're taking shots and talking way too loudly. "Sounds absolutely riveting." 

Shyla's mouth clamps shut. Had he really noticed that they mistreated her? Is it obvious? 

"I mean, it's been fine so far. They're just a little more outgoing than me." 

"Bullshit. They treat you like rubbish, and I've known you for less than a day." 

Shyla is quiet because she knows he's right. If she can see it, why can't anyone else? She's in this boy's arms, touching his skin, and she feels more comfortable with him than the girls she's been friends with for years. Is that wrong? Or is this a feeling she shouldn't fight? 

Shyla stares into his glassy eyes and then down at his lips. Something is magnetizing about him. He pulls her in and makes her feel seen.

"Do you want to come back to my place?" Harry asks, just loud enough to hear over the music and chatter. "I have a jacuzzi, or we could listen to records and dance some more." 

"I would really like that," Shyla says, releasing herself from his proximity. "Um, let me go tell my friends." 

"Screw them." He catches her hand before she can leave, pulling her back. "Just come with me. They're too plastered to notice you'll be gone." 

Shyla thinks they wouldn't notice even if they weren't plastered. "Okay," she gives in, playing with his fingers. "Are there taxis here? Maybe an Uber?" 

Harry laughs, his nose wrinkling as his hand rests on his stomach. "I'm afraid taxis in Lurgashall are nonexistent." He gently picks an eyelash off Shyla's cheek. "Listen, it's a ten-minute walk to my cabin. We can get to know each other on the way there." 

She doesn't have to contemplate. "Let's go." 

—— 

| The Boy & The Girl | 

On the journey to his cabin, Harry sobers quite quickly. Shyla had a few sips of her margarita, so there was only a faint buzz coursing through her veins. They talked about what it was like growing up in their respective hometowns and their favorite music artists. He's a Dolly Parton fan, and she's obsessed with Blondie. 

They round the corner of the main path, his arm slung around her shoulder. When the cabin comes into view, Shyla's breath hitches. It's a black A-frame structure with a wooden balcony. The jacuzzi Harry mentioned is surrounded by potted plants. The place is completely secluded in the forest, with no other houses visible for miles. 

Harry guides her up the stairs and to the front door, opening it for her. He reaches for the light switch, and the room lightens as they enter. To their left, there's a kitchen, a cozy and compact area with a small island and a counter along the wall. A tilted window panel is angled over the sink, providing a glimpse of the pine trees outside. 

His living room is opposite the kitchen. It has a leather couch, a rustic fireplace, and rugs scattered across the floor. Along the wall is a bookshelf packed with all sorts of titles. On the other wall, there are shelves filled with records, and under them is a vintage record player. The wallpaper is old-fashioned, with picture frames holding minimalistic paintings of roses, daisies, and orchards. 

A rickety staircase leads to a loft area where his bedroom is. It fits a queen-sized bed and a square wooden bathtub next to it. String lights hang along the log rafters and railing, creating an inviting and intimate ambiance. 

Harry begins removing bags off the counter in the kitchen while Shyla admires his space. "Sorry for the mess," he mumbles, putting groceries in the fridge. "I wasn't expecting anyone tonight." 

"It's okay. You have such a beautiful home." Shyla hopes she's not intruding when she asks, "Is it just you that lives here?" 

"Just me. And my horse on occasion." Harry is suddenly nervous. It's been so long since someone was in his home. Does she think it's odd that he lives in a cabin alone in the woods? Does she think he's a loser for having a bookshelf stuffed with romance novels? 

"I would kill to live here," Shyla says, disproving his insecurities. "Living by yourself sounds so nice. I have to live in a congested apartment with one of my friends you saw today." 

"Hmm," he hums while slowly walking toward her. "That's a shame." 

"It's fine. Once I get my degree, I'm going to find somewhere to live on my own." 

He stops in his tracks. This girl keeps surprising him. "Yeah? What do you study?" he asks as he changes his course and strides over to his record player. 

She joins him and replies, "Psychology. I want to be a school counselor." 

"Shit... you're quite clever, then. Have you been trying to psychoanalyze me all night?" 

"From what I can tell, you're a very composed person. At least on the outside." She begins sifting through his records. There's ABBA, Supertramp, Stevie Nicks, and Pat Benatar. He's an old soul.

Harry stays silent at her assumption as he takes a black record out of its sleeve and carefully sets it on the turntable. He moves the needle to a specific spot, and a crackling song eventually filters through: "My Girl (My Love)" by Dolly Parton. It's her slowed-down version of the original song by The Temptations. 

Leaning his hip against the table, he watches Shyla take out a Stevie Nicks record. She gazes up at him and gently smiles before setting it down and closing the distance between them. Her hands innocently grasp the lapels of his leather jacket. His skin looks so smooth under the subdued lighting of the cabin, the black ink on his chest and stomach standing out. 

Shyla begins taking his jacket off, raising her eyebrows to silently ask if she can continue. He nods, so she removes it and lets it fall to the floor. Then, she drapes her arms around his bare shoulders. Harry hesitantly places his hands on her waist, swaying them to the steady music. He can't remember the last time he touched someone like this. 

He has always felt like a bullseye. Everyone tries to hit him straight in the heart and win his affection, but they miss every time. No one has gotten close. No one has wanted to get to know the real him. 

Except for Shyla. 

She hit him in the bullseye when his green eyes met her brown ones. She pierced his lonely heart, and now he's terrified because he knows he'll mess it up. He's forgotten how to love another person and keep a flickering spark from dying. He takes the road less traveled and refuses love before he can get hurt. 

Yet he craves it like a greedy beast. Every night, he becomes jealous when he goes to the pub and watches couples dance. He becomes wretched when he tipsily listens to love songs and wishes he had someone to sing with. He becomes desperate when he falls asleep and dreams of being held by someone. 

The opposing path is right in front of him, but he's scared. He should run away before it grows into something he can't control, right? That's what he's used to. But as they sway, Harry obliterates those thoughts and focuses on the present. This sweet, gorgeous girl is in his arms, and she's real. 

When the song ends, Shyla steps away and moves toward the sketch papers she noticed while dancing. She admires the unique designs; flowers, suns and moons, and minimalistic landscapes of oceans and desert views fill the pages. 

"Did you draw these?" she quietly asks as her fingertips trace the graphite. 

Harry clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. He's slightly embarrassed since no one has seen them besides himself. "Kind of. Well, yes, actually. I have a lot of tattoos, as you can see. I drew most of the ones on my skin myself." 

"These are incredible," she says, facing him. "You're so talented. What's your favorite tattoo?" 

This is what he means. She's the only one who tries to dig past the hardened shell around his heart. 

Harry spreads his left arm out and doesn't hesitate to point to a specific one above the inside of his elbow. Shyla leans in closer to read the small lettering. 

Mirror in the sky, what is love? 

"I got it for my mother," he explains, his throat tight. "She's... not with us anymore. She passed away eight years ago. Anyway, she would always play "Landslide" on her guitar when I was a kid." 

He hasn't opened up about that in years. What is this girl doing to him? 

Her fingers delicately touch the ink. Harry watches her softened eyes graze over the other tattoos on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she whispers with a sympathetic frown. "I lost both of my parents, so I understand how difficult it is." 

She rarely talks about her parents. Why is it so easy with him? 

"Shyla," Harry breathes, grabbing her wrists in comfort. "God, I'm sorry. That's awful." 

"It's okay. I was only four when it happened, so I don't remember much. But growing up with no parents was strange. I still feel lost a lot of the time." 

"Yeah, I get that. We don't have to talk about it anymore. Kind of a mood killer." 

Shyla laughs and nods. "I agree." She pauses and says, "Hey, I think I'll take you up on that jacuzzi offer you mentioned earlier." 

"You read my mind," he says before letting go of her wrists and walking toward the patio door leading to the balcony. 

When they step outside, the nighttime chill makes them shiver. Harry turns the string lights on above the circular jacuzzi tub and then presses the button to turn the water heater and jets on. The moon and twinkling stars above make the forest visible, the leaves rustling in the wind. She's glad she dressed warmly. 

Oh no. She just remembered that she doesn't have her swimsuit. It's in her luggage in the trunk of her friend's car. 

"Harry?" Shyla says timidly. 

"Yeah?" 

"Um, I don't have my swimsuit with me." 

He twists around and blinks once while checking the water temperature. "Oh. Well, that's a problem." 

"I could walk back to the pub and grab it out of my suitcase," Shyla suggests. She really doesn't want to say goodnight to him yet. 

"No, no. It's late, and you don't know your way around. I could… give you a pair of boxers to wear? Is that weird? Sorry, I shouldn't—" 

"No, that would work! If you're okay with it, of course." 

"I'll be right back." Harry shuffles back indoors, and Shyla dips her fingers in the hot, bubbling water of the jacuzzi. This night has not gone as planned, but she's not complaining. 

Moments later, Harry comes back with a folded pair of grey boxers. He shyly hands them to her before they both turn their backs to change. He first removes his shoes and jeans, then puts on a pair of white swim trunks he grabbed from his dresser. He usually sits in the jacuzzi completely naked, but that's neither here nor there. 

Once he's changed, he doesn't turn around in case she isn't done yet. 

Shyla puts his boxers on and decides to keep wearing her shirt. She regrets not wearing a bra tonight. She'll have to cross her arms over her chest the entire time. 

"Okay, I'm all set," she says, shifting her hair to one side. 

When Harry slowly turns around, his breathing instantly falters. She's in his boxers. It seems wrong, but so right. 

He gestures for her to get in the tub first. Seeing her curves and exposed legs makes his blood rush. Once she's in, he gets in and sits across from her. He submerges his entire body in the water except for his head as Shyla brings her knees to her chest and thinks of something to break the awkward tension. 

"Thank you for tonight," she says eventually. "And for making me a drink and teaching me how to play darts. And how to ride a horse." 

Harry rests his arms against the edge of the jacuzzi. "My pleasure. I hope I didn't mansplain darts to you. I just love playing and got excited when I got to teach someone." 

"No, it was fun. I'm totally going get a bullseye next time we play." 

"Good luck," he murmurs with a smirk as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. "So, you're planning on coming to the pub again tomorrow?" 

"My friends will probably want to since they seemed to be having a wonderful time." Shyla rolls her eyes at the thought. "I'm sure they wouldn't care if I went alone, either." 

Harry opens his eyes and studies her face. He can't help but wonder why she's friends with such horrid people. They should appreciate her grace and kindness, not ignore her, and act like she's a burden. 

It's quiet for a few seconds before Harry sits beside her. The silence that ensues is unbearable as he brushes his arm against hers. 

Then, without warning, his pinky grazes the back of her hand under the water. It's the lightest touch, but it sets her skin ablaze. His eyes are burning holes in the side of her face. Flipping her palm so it faces up, she awaits his next move. Her heart nearly gives out when his fingers slowly walk across her palm. His thumb strays and begins stroking the crease, stretching directly underneath her own fingers. 

Enough of the tension. 

Shyla straddles Harry's right thigh and holds the sides of his neck. He stares at her, hunger and smug desire in his eyes like he wants her to initiate something.

"Is this okay?" she asks. Harry isn't saying anything, so she wants to be sure. 

"Can I ask you two things?" Harry replies, his voice low and steady. Shyla is confused, but she nods anyway. "First question: Is this okay?" His hands rest on her ass. She nods again, more eagerly. "Good. Second question: Do you want to ride my thigh?" 

Oh. Shyla was not expecting that. When she feels Harry lift his thigh to apply a slight pressure to her core, it feels heavenly. 

"I've never done it before, but I want to try," she whispers as she grinds against the defined muscle. 

Harry groans at her movement and pushes his hands on her ass to keep her grinding against him. Shyla rocks back and forth, the relief making her whimper into his neck. He keeps his thigh propped up as he runs his hands across the expanse of her back. 

"That's it," he murmurs. "Just like that." 

"It feels so fucking good," she says. Her swearing causes Harry to let out a low rumble and nip at her jaw. She doesn't even know what she's doing to him. 

"Atta girl," he praises, barely brushing his lips against hers. "Use it. Make me a mess." 

Shyla realizes they haven't kissed yet. His lips look soft and inviting, and they're right there, so she tests the waters and gently, almost hesitantly, suckles on his bottom lip. Harry smirks into it, causing their lips to part. 

She shakily exhales as she continues grinding against his thigh. "Kiss me."

He laughs at her impatience, then envelops his lips with hers. He kisses her deeply, moans getting caught in both of their throats. Shyla slows her motions down since she's close. 

Harry's tongue parts her mouth, and he inhales when she starts sucking on it. She switches to gliding her tongue under his. A fueled desire to be closer makes their teeth clash, and their hands roam near dangerous places. He lifts her and sets her over his other thigh, never breaking the kiss. A fleeting glance at her face tells him she's confused by the change, so he separates their mouth contact and squeezes her hip to get her attention. 

"I tattooed something on my thigh a couple of days ago," he says, his chest heaving. "It's still sensitive. I want you to ride it." 

Shyla doesn't waste any time as she grinds down, continuing her mission to orgasm strictly using his thigh. She can't see the tattoo he mentioned due to the cloudy water, but the thought alone makes the pressure bloom in her stomach. Harry's jaw goes slack as she rides the sensitive skin with fresh ink on it. The friction is borderline painful, but he loves it. It hurts better than any needle piercing his flesh. 

"Good girl, Shy," he whispers. His cock is throbbing at this point, straining uncomfortably under his shorts. "Gonna make me come just from watching you." 

The nickname and one last skim over his thigh has Shyla stilling and pouring her moans into Harry's ear. She feels like she's floating outside of her body as she orgasms. 

Harry, on the other hand, isn't done yet. He situates her body so that it's facing a jacuzzi jet. His arm circles around her stomach as she straddles backward on his slick thigh, the pulsating jet directly in line with her core. Shyla cries out from the sensation, her head lulling against his shoulder. Harry rubs soothing circles onto her clit through her — his — boxers as the jet stimulates everywhere else. She can't help but grind against his thigh again as another orgasm begins building. 

"Again," he encourages against her cheek. "One more for me." 

The double stimulation and his dirty talk quickly coax another orgasm out of her. Shyla's body crumbles when she releases for the second time, Harry's hands rubbing up and down her trembling thighs. 

"You did so good," he says, pulling her away from the jet. He turns her around, and she wraps her legs around his waist. 

Shyla clings to his warm body, slumping her head against his neck and breathing heavily from the adrenaline. Harry holds her and soaks in the physical intimacy he's been craving for so long. His cock is still aching, but he just wants to hold her right now. Feel her skin melt with his. Her heartbeat. Anything other than loneliness. 

After a while, Shyla removes herself from his arms and stands up on shaky legs. She steps out of the jacuzzi and looks at the sky. 

"You're leaving?" Harry asks with a hint of insecurity. 

"I should get back. My friends will be wondering where I am." 

"Ah, okay. Wait here. I'll get some towels." 

Harry hops out of the jacuzzi, his bulge on full display, and then goes inside. Water drips all over the floor as he jogs upstairs to his loft, palming at his cock to get some relief. He bites on his fist to stifle his moans as he swiftly grabs two bathroom towels he keeps by his dresser. 

Shyla's cum is on his thighs. She came twice on each of his thighs and soaked all the way through the boxers she had on. Even when he got out of the water, the result of it stayed on his skin. On his new tattoo, no less. The mental picture is unbelievably raunchy. 

When he steps back outside, he sees Shyla squeezing her shirt out. Her nipples are pebbled underneath, and he nearly passes out from the explicit sight of her casually standing before him. He snaps from his immature fantasy and hands her a towel. She dries herself off, a weird silence lingering in the air. Harry hates it. How did they go from being intimate to not knowing what to say? Will she ask to stay the night? Or will she leave him lonely like everyone else? 

He turns around when Shyla begins to remove the boxers. He nibbles on his swollen bottom lip, dries himself off, and puts his leather jacket back on. He decides to just keep his swim shorts on so he doesn't have to face the shameful reality of how she made his cock the hardest it's been in years. 

Shyla inhales sharply, making Harry turn back around. "I'm going to leave," she says, buttoning her denim shorts. "My friends are probably blackout drunk, and I need to drive them before they stupidly do it themselves." 

He nods understandingly. She's right, but that doesn't mean he wants to say goodnight to her yet. "Will you let me walk you back to the pub?" he softly asks. 

Shyla smiles and gestures for him to lead the way. He puts his shoes back on while she does the same. They then head down the stairs, Harry grabbing a lantern on the way so they can see. 

In the limited light, Shyla catches a glimpse of the tattoo on his thigh. It looks like the head of a tiger, and she notices the leg hair surrounding it is still coated with her arousal. It must not have washed off in the jacuzzi. Something fervent stirs in her stomach when she realizes he didn't even wash it off when he went back inside. 

They walk to the pub silently, and Shyla is irked by the awkwardness. Did she do this whole thing wrong? She checks her phone and sees that it's almost one a.m. 

She's about to shake every doubtful thought from her mind, but when they finally arrive at the pub, the car she rode in is gone without a trace. 

Now that's just cruel. 

Shyla takes deep breaths while swallowing her anger. It manifests as prickly heat spreading across her skin like wildfire. The inn they were going to stay at tomorrow is close by, so she could just see if she could acquire a last-minute room. It's not a big deal, right? 

Harry is furious. Who does that? He can't believe anyone would do something so disrespectful to such a kind girl. It doesn't matter if they're drunk; it's selfish and reprehensible in his eyes. 

"Stay at my place," he says abruptly, his jaw clenching. 

Shyla looks at him and shivers from the breeze. "I can't. Listen, I had a great time, but I need to figure this shit out with my friends and make sure they're okay. I'll find directions to the inn and get a room for the night." 

"Shy, I'm not letting you walk alone when there's a pub full of drunks nearby." 

That damn nickname makes her weak. 

"I carry pepper spray in my pocket. Go home and get some rest." 

Harry sets the lantern down before stressfully raking his hand through his hair. "I won't get any rest if I don't know you're safe," he says. 

"Do you have your phone with you?" Shyla asks. "I'll give you my number." 

"I- I don't use one," he mutters, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 

"You really should have a phone, Harry." Her posture perks up. "Wait, the pub has to have one, right? Go in there, and I'll call it when I get to the inn. Does that sound good?" 

Harry sighs and peers at the door. "Yeah, sure. But I'm gathering a search party if I don't hear from you in twenty minutes." 

"Don't worry. I know self-defense." 

"Good, but… just please be safe," he says anxiously.

"I will." Shyla begins walking down the gravel path. "I'll call the pub. Promise." 

Harry helplessly watches her leave. He should say something, maybe convince her to stay with him, kiss her, walk her to his cabin, and hold her under the covers. But he's an idiot that fucks things up every time. 

When Shyla calls the pub seventeen minutes later, Harry answers and gets his heart broken. She tells him that her aunt is picking her up tomorrow to go back to Portsmouth because she got into a nasty argument with her drunk friends over the phone on her way to the inn. 

She hangs up before he can say anything, and he can't help but feel like he just lost her. 

—— 

| The Girl | 

Shyla's aunt arrives at eight in the morning. Despite all the yelling over the phone, her friends were decent enough to drop her luggage off at the inn where she managed to get a room. 

They were smart enough to have one of them be the designated driver at the pub. As much as Shyla is beyond livid, she's relieved they're all in one piece. But she can't forgive them for leaving her without knowing where she was. 

Then there's Harry. God, she feels sick to her stomach about what happened. She hung up on him because she was frustrated. Not at him, but at her friends who had been assholes, telling her she should've told them she met someone and went home with them. Well, she technically did go home with someone, but she thinks it's common decency for friends to tell friends when they're taking the car with her belongings in it to who knows where. 

Shyla was going to wait until she calmed down to call the pub, but it would have taken too long. Harry would have gone looking for her by then, so she spoke to him in a high-strung tone and told him she was going home. She was so focused on finding someone to pick her up that she didn't get to ask him about seeing each other again.

She has no way of contacting him now unless she calls the pub again or the ranch he works at. What would she say? Would he even want to talk to her? It doesn't matter since she doesn't plan to return to Lurgashall. Her friends are still staying there for the rest of the week, and with the tiny population, she'd be bound to run into them. 

Shyla looks out the car window as the city of Portsmouth slowly fades into view. She's back where she's comfortable and ready to stay with her aunt for a few days until she finds another apartment. 

Everything will be fine. She'll forget about her friends and forget about Harry. It was just one night. She has always been replaceable. 

—— 

| The Boy | 

Why can't he just say what he means? Why did he let her walk away so easily? Why won't she leave his mind? 

Sitting in the bathtub in his loft, Harry numbly stares at the ceiling as the water's warmth consumes him. Rose bath salt tints the water pink, and petals from his mother's favorite flower float on the surface. He purchases a bouquet from the general store every week since it's the only physical remembrance he has left of her. His father got rid of everything else. 

On the table across from his bed, a record player echoes Dolly Parton's Jolene album throughout the cabin. "Lonely Comin' Down" plays, and Harry almost laughs at how the lyrics perfectly fit his forlorn mood. 

He didn't get much sleep last night after the phone call, maybe three hours interrupted by tossing and turning. He had jerked off in the bathroom, feeling unbelievably ashamed of himself. He then drowned his sorrows with whiskey until his heart became heavy enough to knock him unconscious. He woke up the following morning with a migraine and drank some more whiskey for breakfast. His soul sank when he saw the Stevie Nicks vinyl Shyla picked out still on the table. 

She won't leave his mind. Her presence lingers everywhere. 

He wallows during his bath and thinks of everything he should've said and done differently. He's drunk with blurry vision from either the alcohol or tears. He doesn't know or care. All he wants is to feel her again. Try to love her. He's known her for less than twenty-four hours, yet it feels like a lifetime. He felt it at the ranch, the pub, and the jacuzzi. She pulls something out of him that hasn't seen the light of day in so long — nervousness, desire, sensuality. Idyllic emotions that are otherwise scarce in his life. 

He has never fallen this fast before—never at all… until now. It was inevitable that he'd be an idiot and not fight for her. He let her slip through his fingers without a kiss goodbye, and now she's miles away, probably cursing his name. 

Swallowing the aching lump in his throat, Harry lets the petals in the water mend his damaged soul as tears of loneliness drip down his face. 

—— 

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles x oc #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles #adore-laur #bullseye

[roguemonsterfucker]

I was gonna reblog a post that had some really good points about these recent hbomb videos but then they went and used ableist language so I guess I gotta make my own post.

Please y'all, as fun as it is to make jokes about Tommy Tallarico and James Somerton and the other folks Hbomb has "taken down," we need to remember that taking these people down was NOT the point of his videos.

The Oof video was originally conceived as a simple video concept about how easy it is for our history to be lost and forgotten "through the lens of a video game sound that had been reused without credit for a decade." Hbomb fell into a black hole when he stumbled across all of Tallarico's lies and used the information he found to further emphasize his point. Credit in video games wasn't and sometimes still isn't taken seriously. The people that actually create the games (and other content) we love are often forgotten while the biggest names involved are put on a pedestal and given all the credit. That is the point of the video.

And the Plagiarism video also holds deeper meaning than just James Somerton. Plagiarism is a serious issue and there are multiple people profiting off of it. With things like ChatGPT, it's easier than ever to write something quickly that is based off of the hard work of others. When I think of "content mill" I usually think of videos like Five Minute Crafts (which also steal content and ideas from people btw!), not video essayists. So Hbomb's plagiarism video is a wake up call to all of us to be aware of the content we consume. Not only is plagiarism harmful to the original creators but it can also accidentally spread misinformation. Potentially extremely harmful misinformation.

Hbomb's videos always have a deeper meaning than "fuck this guy in particular." His Vaccine's video wasn't even purely about Andrew Wakefield, it was about how to combat misinformation.

Also, as someone who is very anti harassment, I beg of you, PLEASE do not go harassing people because of hbomb's videos. I don't care what they did, they don't deserve death threats, suicide baiting, or any cruelty directed at them. It's one thing to make funny posts about what they did here on tumblr but I beg you, do NOT go messaging them or tagging them or interacting with them in any way. Unless you have an actual legal dispute with them (such as if you paid money to them you would like refunded or if they plagiarized you) just don't talk to them.

In addition to harassment just being bad in general, we've seen in hbomb's video that James Somerton will weaponize that harassment. Someone very politely interacted with him and he claimed they sent him death threats. So let's not actually send him death threats please and thank you.

[an-au-blog]

Can’t help but recontextualize Asylum!Chopper as just the friendliest but also most capable man you will ever meet in this au. He cares a lot for his patients, so much that some people sneer it borders on unprofessional, behind his back, where he can’t hear, because everyone also begrudgingly has to admit he’s probably amidst the best staff this asylum ever had. (And he knows. He knows about all the awful things people say about him behind his back but he actively decides it doesn’t matter and not to care for it). Type of doctor who’s delighted when old patients catch up with him. Has some more “”childish”” interests and still watches kids cartoons and reads comics to this day because they help him unwind. Also probably collects stuff like little mecha figures or Gundams or Funko Pops he displays on his desk. Routinely swaps them out every once in a while so he can showcase them to everyone and because lots of patients adore them. Is however keenly aware that people may infantilize him during to his dwarfism coupled with his “childish interests” (can you tell I loathe the idea of interests making you inherently childlike by now?). Do not, I repeat, Do. Not. He WILL remember that for the rest of his life and file you in his mental “people to distrust”folder (unless you sincere apologize and he can tell you are making an effort to educate yourself,but even then he will side eye you for another month or so just in case) and will make it clear that he’s an adult. Deceptively strong. Rumor has it he actually broke a man’s nose once in a bar fight after said drunken fool decided it would be hilarious to grab him by his armpits and swing him around like a rag doll (It’s true. Chopper will gladly tell you the full story when he’s off the clock and he likes you enough).

Oh absolutely.

In fact, Dr Chopper is one of the leading names in his field. He was a wonder child. Even though some people were intimidated by it.

He is the dream for every employer, even though, as you said, some of the other employees don't always share the same sentiment. He's dependable, responsible, cares about people and is an amazing doctor.

Everyone was surprised when he moved from a high paid job to dealing with the mentally ill. He used to work for a pharmaceutical company but after discovering a deadly poison that the company wanted to profit off of he quit. Ironically enough, the same poison sped up the death of he best friend and college at the time Hiriluk. No one other than Robin and Jinbei knows about that though. And of course, his other friend, who took an early retirement - Dr. Kureha.

He's still a general practitioner, and the kids love him, which also makes the mothers love him too... a bit more reluctantly, but still.

I love the idea that he watched cartoons and collects Funko pops, maybe even action figures. (I have a few friends who collect and it's so fun when they show me, so) I'd also like to think that Chopper's friends - Franky, Robin and Jinbei also like seeing and hearing about his interests. The others may think it's weird but he learned to only care about his friends's opinion.

I feel like Chopper would start going to the gym purely for health reasons, but then he'd get really invested in like a sports anime or hyperfixated on something that he feels more and more inclined to go more often. Him getting strong and or buff was purely an accident of circumstance.

#east blue asylum wing au #tony tony chopper #one piece au #op #answers

[fakeboitherottengirl]

I’m prolly going to make a donation post for my friend soon because she’s stranded in a for-profit shelter that literally provides slave labor to the DOL offices in exchange for a bed and she had no fridge or stove and her roommates steal and she is relapsing really bad into disordered eating because she has an avoidant disorder related to her autism that makes most cooked food taste disgusting especially microwaved food so she’s literally starving I just have to get permission to share her PayPal and I’ll make the post but she’s a non drug user (other than occasionally weed which she uses medicinally and her prescribed sleeping pills which were stolen her first night there), she’s a young mother of 2 children who she’s trying to find stable living for so they can be a family again, she’s a human trafficking survivor and a dv survivor and is disabled (autism, BPD, and a digestive condition) she had a job until she was laid off due to seasonal cutbacks and nobody will hire her because her autism impacts her speech so people at interviews think she’s dumb because she speaks slowly and has a little bit of a processing lag (she is actually HIGHLY intelligent but struggles with memory and communication). I know there’s no way that online charity is going to get her housed or get her kids back but anything you could spare just so she could get a nutritious meal would help just so she has a little bit of hope to survive through until the next day. She doesn’t want to go back to sex work and wants to write a memoir about her time being trafficked but unless she has at least one good meal a day she’s going to have no energy to tell her story. She also has serious allergies to pesticides and certain preservatives so she has to buy organic produce but literally even if it is $2 so she can go buy an apple she needs any help she can get. All who donate will receive a free ebook of her memoir when it is released. Also block the tags if you do not want to see this post because once I get her PayPal I will be reblogging it daily I don’t mean to spam it is just so important that she gets help. Will be reblogging with her PayPal when she gives me the link. Like I said anything at all helps, her entire family turned their back on her because she didn’t go to college (she has a learning disability and academia is not set up to accommodate autistic people but they just care about appearances) her mother abandoned her in favor of her partner and her father is a delusional cokehead boomer who thinks she can “pull herself up by the bootstraps” she’s been homeless for almost 5 years not and just finally got a bed in a shelter and it is a for profit shelter so they are trying to charge her $700 a month to stay there (either that or work 20 hours a week unpaid at a government office which means she wouldn’t have an opportunity to look for paying work) this whole situation is so shameful and horrific she escaped so much only to be left with the clothes on her back and a garbage bag full of belongings in a horrible living situation some fruit or a muffin or some iced coffee would totally change her day so like I said even if it is a tiny amount it makes a difference. This is America when you have a disability.

#donation post #mutual aid #please donate #actually autistic #actually disabled

[prof-peach]

Hi,

I'm making a dnd campaign with a pokemon module of 5e and wanted to use a bit edited version of Dotaku Island, Prof. Peach and the crew cause I like your headcannons and work nice with my idea of the inner workings of the Pokemon world.

Is it okay to use them?

It's a campaign with friends and we're not making any profit from it, but still wanted to ask cause now more than ever artist consent is important (even when nothing about this is goong online so normally people woukdn't ask, but I also wanted to say I've been a huge fan of your work for a long time so two birds with one stone ig).

Either way, thanks for showing your work to us here on tumblr and hope this ask isn't too weird :)

Haha sure go for it, I’m chill with non-profit use, and if you ever do post junk let me know so I can snoop.

Fun notes for anyone who may be inclined to do this: THESE DO NOT NEED TO BE USED NOR FOLLOWED, PICK AND CHOOSE IF YOU PREFER.

North is off limits, no exceptions. Being caught there will get you removed from the island on the first ship back to your original region. You will struggle to return here if found in the north. Patrols line the fences to make sure no one goes in, night and day.

Players will take damage if they try to touch peach in any way. Treat her as a high level monk/Druid, who 1000% will throw hands with u and your Pokemon given a good reason. Cold and distant to approach, pawns players off to other staff at any given opportunity. A hermit who will humour you if you can appeal to her better nature, or great desire to fight things. You may lose but it’s the trying that counts.

Wisdom saves (DC28) with Val if you try to touch her. Not only will you gain force damage if you succeed (half damage) or fail (full damage) to lay hands on her, but you’ll see horrifying illusions for a minute relating to loved ones. Frightened condition until a long rest, compelling you not to approach further. I cannot stress this enough. Penalise players for trying to touch her, peach will bluntly warn you once, after that you’re on your own.

Grey regularly hands out handy snacks that may help heal or buff teams. He is warm and open, a good person to approach for hints and tips. Notably found in his labs or out running errands, he’s always kind and gentle, unless that is you threaten his home or his loved ones in a severe way. He is scarier than peach when he’s pushed too hard.

Plenty of staff roam around to offer aid or information, ranging from gardeners, cleaners, shop staff, and specialist keepers who maintain the visitors sections.

A groomers, cafe, food stands, daycare, small fairground with rides and games, a hotel, lighthouse, port, greenhouses and of course multiple lab and practical spaces exist, amongst other interesting buildings.

The resident ranger can offer assistance but she is known to stay quite busy, and so getting her attention may prove difficult if it’s a trivial issue.

Adoption zones are the only approved areas to catch Pokemon, and even then it’s a process that requires a test and paperwork, so everyone involved is able to provide adequate care to the mons in question, and so they know any pre existing conditions.

The islands purpose is recovery, so human needs come in second. The Pokemon will always come first, a fact some visitors may have issue with. The staff will not care and continue to do their job without concern for this.

Year round events make the island busy and people are welcomed to join in with whatever’s going on, be it chilli cooking contests, fairs, pageants, board rental for the sweet ocean waves, or watching a migration pass by. There’s always something to do!

This is all optional, just have fun with it, and I hope your players enjoy! If they ask about it, redirect them to the blog so they can dive on into the content.

#prof.peach #ooc