#Either way it's done!!! Very Cool for me
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To Seem Like the Green Light (Burned Out)
Ectober week prompt:
Soul Shredder
'The Crown Prince of the Infinite Realms sure is familiar with fear for someone who does not hold it within their domain. Fright Knight decides it’s time for a talk.'
(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)
-
Fright Knight, if he’s being honest, does not understand his new ward in the slightest.
As the Crown Prince of the Infinite Realms, the boy is absurdly powerful. He had to be, to have defeated Pariah Dark- a ghost so fearsome it took an entire gathering of the Ancient Ghosts to seal him the first time- and to have beaten him with only his determination and a suit far too large for him, built by his human father. He’d heard of the boy’s abilities in extent amongst his allies in the Zone: his ice, his ectoblasts, his wail. Unbreakable, unstoppable, dimension-shaking. Yes, Prince Phantom was powerful indeed.
But it’s so hard to connect the image of him to this reputation that precedes him so. Because Phantom wears a too-big crown and a too-big cape and a ring that slips off his fingers, and if he looks anything it’s this: small, and skittish.
And scared.
Fright Knight knows a lot about that.
Fear is his domain, after all; it calls to him like a siren song calls to sailors on the open ocean. The taste of it is all allure- dread like a sweet wine, terror strong and honeying- he lives beyond living for it, just as he lives beyond living to serve the Realms’ Keeper, sacred and gratifying as such a duty is. Fear is his greatest delight- but this fear is his liege’s, and it is… sour. Sour to be exposed to, sour against the reach of his senses, the boy’s extending aura. Sour, perhaps, because the boy is royalty won in combat and powerful beyond belief, but he is still a boy. Younger still as a ghost than he is as a human.
Impossibly large shoes to fill, and an overflowing well of mistakes to rectify that he hasn’t even existed long enough to have witnessed in the first place.
Fourteen. His core isn’t even a year old, he’s a child.
Fright Knight may relish in the terror of his opposition, but this boy is not his enemy, and this fear should not have to exist. And if there’s something he can do to abate it- well, that’s only his duty, as the Crown Prince’s most loyal knight.
-
It’s not often that he finds himself in the human world, but the King’s Keep is thrumming with anxiety, and lairs are bound to their keepers in a way few things are, an indicator of the state of their hosts. The moment he takes stock of the shift, Fright Knight is making his way towards the artificial portal the Prince’s human parents created, looking for the disturbance in the Zone’s atmosphere and finding it soon enough.
From there, all it takes is a few seconds of intangibility upwards, and he finds himself in the room of the Prince. The Crown Prince of the Infinite Realms, in his human form, hunched over in bed with a blanket curled around him, expression exhausted but equally sleepless.
“I sensed trouble within your Keep, Prince Phantom.” He says simply.
The boy startles slightly, as if he hadn’t even noticed Fright Knight was there. “Ah- I, uh, hey- hi? Wait, did you say trouble?”
“The Keep reflects its Keeper,” Fright Knight explains, not unkindly. “Your Keep is not in trouble; it seemed as if you were, my liege.”
“Oh,” Phantom breathes, shoulders unwinding from where they’d begun to climb towards his ears, less from a total relief and more from a weariness. As if to prove it, his shoulders do not stop once they’ve receded, drawing further and further into himself as if intending to disappear. “Oh, sorry. I’m not- I’m not in any trouble, or anything. Sorry if you thought something was going on.”
Fright Knight has not had a ward beyond Pariah for a long, long time, but even then, they were never so young- either when alive or dead. They tended to be well beyond childhood before their death (if they were ever alive at all), and their cores fully formed for decades, centuries prior to taking the mantle. Not for the first time, he wonders how it can possibly be seen reasonable, fair to push a responsibility meant for immortals who have tasted that immortality on a child who hasn’t even had his first death day.
But Fright Knight doesn’t control what’s fair, and he doesn’t control how the Keep chooses its holder. He can only control what he does in this moment. “But there is something going on. You’re afraid.”
Whatever thoughts had been turning over behind Phantom’s expression pause at the statement, face all at once becoming bewildered, overwhelmed with the unexpected. He looks like someone with a weapon pointed between their eyes; a realisation, and a cautiousness trying not to reveal a dread.
“Right, yeah, you sense that stuff- you’re the Fright Knight- how did I forget? I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that; I’ll be better about it! I swear you won’t have to deal with this or anything, it was just…”
Oh. He looks like someone with a weapon pointed between their eyes because he thinks Fright Knight is going to draw his. He acted wildly and without a thought when he was freed by the boy some months ago, seeking his Soul Shredder, and likely cemented no assuring reputation when fighting under Pariah. He is not a spirit that tends to dwell on his regrets, but privately, he winces at the reminder. There are very few ways to apologise for such a dismal first encounter in any meaningful fashion; there may be very little point in apologising at all, at least not in this moment.
Instead, he simply lowers himself to the ground, feet meeting carpet from where they’d previously been floating. “I am a spirit who thrives upon fear, and upon summoning it within my enemies, but I am also a spirit who thrives upon the prosperity of my ward. You are in a place of rest, in your own domain, and you have the power to fell any who may cross you, and yet, it is not prosperous. This requires intervention, but it is not punishable.”
Phantom’s eyes turn downwards to avoid his gaze. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Fear is fear; it cannot be stupid.”
A moment passes before the boy’s reservations draw back, and he attempts to explain.
“I keep getting these nightmares. I think it’s just ‘cause I’ve been stressed recently; I always used to get nightmares when I was stressed as a kid. But I keep getting these nightmares of just- I dunno, everything. Some ghost beating me into the ground and hurting the people in Amity; some ghost beating me into the ground and hurting the people in the Zone; being a monster, being a bad ruler, being a bad son. I wanna tell my parents about being half ghosts but they still hate ghosts- and they love me so much, but I can’t really be sure if it’s safe, can I? It feels like everything’s just wrong lately and- and I’m scared!”
It had started subdued enough, but as he carried on speaking, the boy’s voice progresses from a mumble to a cry, ending with tears reflecting off the glow from Fright Knight’s figure.
And Fright Knight is intimately familiar with fear, but he’s far too used to being the cause; he doesn’t know how to soothe it, is unused to wanting to. Slowly, making sure to leave enough time between steps that the Prince has the opportunity to tell him to recede, he makes his way towards the boy’s bed, and sits down at the edge. Slower, slower still, a cold hand makes its way to the boy’s back, motionless but steady once it’s taken its place.
He waits until Phantom has calmed enough that the trembling abates even if the tears haven’t quite finished, and then speaks. “I am a spirit of fear,” He starts quietly. “And I have seen every manner of being afraid, regardless of how strong. Most much older than you, many more imposing- none of them, none of these beings, have I seen able to face the nightmares of your reality unshaken. You are afraid; I believe every time I have met you, you have been afraid- but you have never faltered for it. You are young, and you may be terrified, but there is something about that that perhaps makes you braver.”
“And you have friends. You have your human loved ones here, and your allies within the Realms- and if being a good knight to you means being a friend, then I am your friend as well. You are not alone, Prince Phantom, and I don’t believe you ever will be.”
There is a moment of silence thicker than the blizzards of the Far Frozen, and eventually, Phantom leans to his side, looks him in the face. The fear is not gone (Fright Knight wonders idly if it ever will be, and figures not), but it’s calmer, now. More willing to settle in lieu of raging against any other emotion.
“Thanks, Fright Knight.”
“It is my duty, Prince Phantom.”
His eyes flicker with some kind of amusement. “Can you call me Danny, though? Prince Phantom’s still kind of weird.”
“…Very well, Prince Danny.”
Fright Knight is unsure whether he’s ever made another being smile before, but looking at the child grinning snidely at him between eyes rimmed red-green from past tears, he thinks he could tolerate doing it again.
#ectoberweek2022#day27#Title is from Today Today by Jack Stauber's Micropop!!#Shorter than my last two prompts but I started it late and I also Did Not Know where I was going with it lmao#Either way it's done!!! Very Cool for me#dp au#danny phantom au#dp fic#dp fanfic#danny phantom fic#danny phantom fanfiction#ghost king au#ghost king danny#danny phantom#danny fenton#fright knight#Bongo's Writing!!!
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Let me chew you out a little, since we have a couple minutes (Patreon)
[Panel 1]
Prismo: *mumble* *mumble*
[Panel 2]
Prismo: *mumble*
[Panel 3]
Simon: Hmph. “Just because it’s in your head-”
[Panel 4]
Simon: “-Doesn’t mean it’s yours,” huh?
[Panel 5]
Simon: Give me all the responsibility with none of the privileges?
[Panel 6]
Simon: And then you get mad at me for trying to pick up your slack?
Prismo: Hey...
[Panel 7]
Simon: Clearly you already expect that much from me!
[Panel 8]
Prismo: Hey, hey! I did the best with what I had! I didn’t expect any of this!
[Panel 9]
Simon: And yet you didn’t even consider telling me, so we could’ve avoided this?
[Panel 10]
Prismo: It’s not like I could’ve just- taken it out! I was locked out!
[Panel 11]
Simon: You could’ve done something!
[Panel 12]
Simon: Instead you let my life spiral around this thing, kept me tethered to Ice King’s Madness-
[Panel 13]
Prismo: Fionna and Cake are real thou-
Simon: NOW you tell me! After I find out for myself!
#Doodles#Adventure Time#Fionna and Cake#Simon Petrikov#Prismo#They have like two minutes where they're alone together that aren't directly shown onscreen: Allow me to insert some ideas lol#As long as Simon isn't so faded that he can't work the nerve up I Absolutely think he'd get mad at Prismo for all this#Not like he didn't just come back from a terrible experience trying to work around his terrible dregs! He's very miserable!#Honestly I think the anger would be good for him lol#He's had to live like this for years! Under Ice King's shadow for something that wasn't his doing!#And he knows Prismo - he met him - they talked - but not about this#And I mean I honestly don't blame Prismo - with everything going on and his own depression spiral he had a few things on his mind#It's in a bad way for everyone#That said he is a Wish Master he really could've told Simon at any point even if he couldn't take his little pet project out of him lol#Then again again what Was he supposed to do lol#As much as I would trust Simon to keep a secret I don't think either of them could've expected Simon trying to summon Golb to do this#Obviously it /did/ happen that way but could either of them have guessed?? I don't think so#''Don't go summoning your ex-'' ''She's not my ex >:('' '''Cause there's an illicit universe in your head and you might summon that instead'#Like what no I don't think Prismo could've just - guessed that! Lol#He did leave Simon out to dry vis a vis Ice King and Fionna and Cake tho which was Not cool and he Could've done something about that#Although I can also see Simon snapping and telling someone that it wasn't his own stories - there's no winning!#But that's what makes the argument fun haha#Man they're both fun to draw ♪ Simon in that dress and Prismo's tiiiiired tired eyes haha ♫#It was shortlived but they have a fun dynamic :D Simon speaks so deadpan and sarcastic with Prismo haha <3 It's quite cute honestly
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Were you the one talking about an mcr song based on Gerard being afraid of Mike dying and getting that phone call? I can't remember what it's called and google has failed me 😶🌫️
YEAH I WAS THE ONE TALKING ABOUT IT BUT IT WASN'T AN MCR SONG. you're thinking of last week when I was going insane over the intro to the song Brother. it's from Gerard's solo album, which came out the same year that Mikey was told he should have never woken up after an overdose (iirc) and went to rehab. so the dialogue in the intro (which imo is barely audible, I had to see stuff about it online and then look it up myself to even realize) is based out of the emotions surrounding that.
the actual MCR song that's about Mikey is called Famous Last Words and you've probably also seen me scream a lot about that. Gerard wrote it while they were making The Black Parade (which like obviously is probably their most popular album) because Mikey was having a really hard time and was considering leaving the band. the bridge is actually based on the fact that, when they were doing that album they stayed at this purportedly haunted mansion or whatever (idk man the early 00s were whack) and Mikey has straight up said, on camera, that he would get scared and so would go and sleep on the floor of Gerard's room. thus the "I see you lying next to me" line in the bridge of Famous Last Words.
Gerard has also said that the song Save Yourself from Danger Days is "a cousin" a Famous Last Words, so there's a conclusion that can be reached that maybe on some level that song took a bit of inspiration from Gerard's love for Mikey as well, especially considering that within the plotline of the Danger Days music videos (which have their own plot and characters portrayed by the band), there's a scene where Gerard's character is killed and Mikey's character kinda goes ballistic about it. but that's basically speculation
and as we delve into some very murky and hypothetical areas here, my personal theory is that Surrender the Night, from Schroedinger's album Conventional Weapons*, a series of double-single releases which were mostly written between the making of TBP and Danger Days but weren't released until after Danger Days, could ALSO be about Mikey in some vague, ambiguous way as MCR's songs tend to be vague and ambiguous in general (except when they're very very starkly about love).
*(I call this Schroedinger's album because I take them all in the context of each other and would consider Conventional Weapons as an album in its own right, however it was released as EPs with two songs each so technically speaking it isn't a proper album in that way)
and that isn't even mentioning the fact that Mikey has a cameo on another song from Hesitant Alien (he says "it was really me" in Millions)
#WAIT I didn't even get to electric century!#ok sidetrack in the tags: mikey did some music with this other guy after mcr broke up and that's electric century#and I believe iirc that their song ''I lied'' also ties into all this as it was written either during or right after mikey was in rehab#I think you might be able to look that up but I don't have the interviews like... saved. I've just seen it discussed#anyway electric century is cool too they have a very neat sound! dave debiak's voice is nice#ok I think I'm done now. soz you probably didn't come for this enormous rant but SKFNDKFNSKEDMDHKS hey *shrugs*#I think about this a lot#Lu rambles#music#mcr#goodness gracious what did gracie make of me. she had no idea what she was causing skskskskskdk#gerard way#mikey way
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ClanGen Moon 0
Welcome to WillowClan!
Quietstar - 114 moons, 9 lives remaining, an insecure dream shaper and a great kit sitter
Pumaback (deputy) - 73 moons, a righteous and unusually strong fighter
Daisybubble (medicine) - 154 moons, a charismatic and naturally intuitive elder
Breezecloud - 29 moons, a phenomenal hunter and great teacher but completely oblivious
Wingkit - 5 moons, an ambitious moss-ball hunter
Riverdusk - 103 moons, a cunning storyteller
Downypad - 151 moons, an adventurous hunter with swimming skills
Sloefall - 141 moons, a strong fighter but childish (perhaps it's just childlike whimsy)
Moon 0:
Moonlight shone on the long moore grass as puffy, bunny-tail-like clouds quickly traced the sky. The breeze was refreshing but fell on numb fur as the cats trudged on the freshly dampened earth. New-leaf had been generous with rain so far. Quietflit looked behind her as she walked. She had known the elders who followed her would need a slower pace after walking for such a long time but seeing them now, tailing even farther behind with every step, she realized how desperate the group was for a camp. Wingkit, who had started the trek outpacing every other cat, now had to be carried by Riverdusk after complaining of sore paws.
Were these the cats StarClan had prophesied would found a new great clan?
It's not that Quietflit didn't trust the group; she didn't trust herself to lead them to that destiny. Clearlilac, the medicine cat of RiverClanClan, had been very clear what must be done before his untimely death but had he been correct to pick Quietflit to fulfill this prophecy? Quietflit wrestled with these thoughts as the group walked on. Desperate to bite the throat of this insecurity and bring it to the ground. The group behind her, who had been willing to follow her for a moon, trusted her. Clearlilac trusted her; in life and in death. The dreams of him had only grown stronger since they said their final goodbyes to RiverClan. The sound of his voice in her ear, giving her comfort and guidance on which paths to take through the many forests, hills and swamp lands they walked through. The only thing she had to worry about was taking each step.
A gasp came from Pumaback who had been walking at her side. Quietflit looked up. Her eyes shone with disbelief. Of course StarClan could be trusted. Of course Clearlilac had been right. Of course leaving RiverClan had been the right path for this group of cats. In front of her, as if placed there by the paw of StarClan, lay a large shallow cliff enclosed clearing. Tunnels framed by smooth stones encircled the camp as soft fresh sprouts of grass, no larger than a mouse tail, grew at the center. The willow tree that marked the end of their journey grew at the far end of the clearing, its long dainty branches hung over the slope. At that moment, Quietflit could feel the dragging weight of her group's StarClan given duties lift.
She turned to face the brave cats who had followed her. Their many-colored eyes shone brighter in the moonlight. Now full of life as they took in the sight they had longed for.
"When we set out a moon ago, I did not know tonight would be the night that our many days of wandering would conclude." She smiled as Wingkit was gently placed on the ground. Sleep weighed down the kit's eyelids. Quietflit knew Wingkit wouldn't remember this in the morning but somehow that added to the cuteness of the scene. "You are brave warriors, braver than me that's for sure. I believe this is the place Clearlilac prophesied that we would settle in. I see questioning in your eyes Downypad." Quietflit chuckled. "No, I also did not anticipate living like a WindClan cat but if you listen closely there seems to be a stream nearby. We have not lost our roots, we have simply outgrown our mother soil. Let's begin the duties of making this place a camp tomorrow but you all have done more than enough to earn a long rest." The wind rustled in the grass and the group took a collective breath. Each cat found the footing they needed to enter the camp. It took less than a minute for each cat to collapse into their hollow and drift to sleep.
That night, Quietflint dreamed once again. This one was not like the others. Her eyes opened and she took in her surroundings, awe filling her from tail tip to nose. The hair on her shoulders raised and her ears twitched. This was no the MoonStone cave. She was standing on a large ledge looking over a valley spit by a river. The rock behind her and under her paws was smooth, black, and reflected each star above her head perfectly as if a mirror. It looked as if she was sitting amongst the stars looking over the land below as StarClan would.
The stars began to move and twinkle as if many unseen cats walked in front of them. Then two stars lowered closer to her and blinked slowly. Clearlilac manifested from the light, the two stars becoming his eyes. As Clearlilac approached her, she swiveled her ears behind her. Whispers of her ancestors quietly chanted words she could barely make out in unison. "We grant you your remaining 8 lives." Each voice distant, but together they shook Quietflint to the core. "Use them well and with our blessing."
Their starry eyes stared into the back of her head as Clearlilac touched noses with her. "Welcome to StarCliff, Quietflint. Or-" he looked her up and down with an expression that seemed knowing of her every thought, "should I say Quietstar?" A hearty laugh that reverberated across the land followed. "Well done! The trek was not easy but every cat that came with you I selected myself." He raised his whitened chin in teasing pride.
Quietstar could do nothing but slowly nod. What was there to say that Clearlilac and the cats that watched her didn't already know? "You really do live up to your name." He laughed again. "Anyway, it's about time you returned back to your clan. WillowClan. But I must warn you of something. There is a deeply personal relationship in the clan that will come to an untimely end, however, the young one will recover. She will find comfort in a cat close to you. Go to them now and return to StarCliff in a moon. The path will be clear when you need it." And with a smile, he touched his nose to Quietstar's forehead. A blinding light forced her eyes closed and once she was able to open them again she was in the hollow. Pumaback slept peacefully next to her as the light of a new day shone into Quirtstar's eyes. She sat up and licked her chest to soothe herself. The stretch and yawn that followed cleansed the remaining sleep from her body.
#I haven't done creative writing in so long so I was very intimidated to post any of this#But it is really nice to have a creative outlet in the same universe of the fandom Im hella into at the moment#and everyone's Clangen posts were so inspiring and cool so I had to give to a try#motivation to do art at the very least#enjoy and let me know if this is nifty content to you! I mean Ill make it either way but#and thank you to everyone who has reblogged or liked my art! this is the first time I've made anything for a fandom#and it is so neat to have other people like it too!#warriors#warrior cats#clangen#clangen comic#myclan#warriors fanart#warrior cats fandom#warriors fandom#digital art#art#warrior cats fanart
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i reallyreally like the exarch i want to give him a bunch of little gifts. <33
#lem text#💎#xivposting#MY FRIEND EXARCHHHHH. <33#i know who he ‘actually is’ but until he reveals himself as such he’s just the exarch to me.#rudy would be soooo lonely at the very beginning of shb so i think he’d just kind of latch onto him.#there’s this little part where he has sandwiches be brought to the room you’re staying at;#and i think at that rudy would be like .!!! IF HE’S GIVING ME THINGS THAT MEANS I CAN DO THAT TOO.!!#so he cooks little things for him/brings him cool things he finds. also an excuse to explore the first & experiment with its ingredients 💛#I DONT EVEN THINK. DOES THE EXARCH EAT? IT WAS IMPLIED FOR MYSTERIOUS REASONS HE DOESNT SLEEP SO.#EITHER WAY RUDY WOULD HAVE NO IDEA SO. FNDKJFKDZHD#rudy’s USUAL targets for Snacks + Cool Trinkets are alphi and th.ancred so late-stb patch quests he would be. so lost fkdnj <33#<- th.ancred prefers food because it’s practical + he doesn’t have to carry anything more around#& alphi is embarrassed in general by the affection but would prefer small things that last forever#OKAY IM DONE. EHFKJDN <3333
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Not gonna lie. This current Arknights event? My least favorite so far. I'll be honest... Executor really Does Not Interest Me as a character, so I don't have a lot of reason to be excited about an event centered around him. And the Residents... I do not enjoy them in the stages one bit. It's not even in a "this is too hard I don't like it" way. They are just very annoying. Like you've been standing there for at least 15 seconds or more staring at this hole and you're telling me you're just gonna jump right in and die unless I put down some spare planks???
#ak#txt#the only events i dont like are the kind where characters i dont care about are central to the story#im so sorry executor fans. he bores me#the specific trope he falls into feels over done at this point so im geeling very meh about him#interested in the new girl#but i dont really care about the Arknights catholic church and state#i didnt get all the way through guide ahead either for similar reasons...#i think the lore and world building around sankta is super cool dont get me wrong#but they havent fully Made Me Care about the laterano characters yet#i need more convincing
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Oh Hella your DM sounds like a good one! Hope you have fun and that coin is amazing should we add practice the coin trick to your schedule? /gen
ACTUALLY YEAH PLEASE
#my dm is such an angel i was a bit worried at first bc he's the one that was flirting with me#but he's cooled off and even so i can tell it's more the harmless kind than anything i'll actually have to set boundaries on#and we had our first session last night and it was genuinely insane like he's SUCH a good dm#i was so so immersed the entire time like he had this one NPC and he puts so much LIFE into his ocs like accents and mannerisms#not just backstory/set-up and this npc stayed with us the ENTIRE 4+ hour session#and at the very end he KILLED HIM and it was done so well that one of the players literally teared up#and the rest of us were just sat there in gobsmacked silence#and it's a SUPER wild group too like it's hard for the dm to wrangle them all at times bc jokes tend to domino and get rowdy#so to have us all like that and on the first session no less was INSANE#he also introduced a dragon and i said to him afterwards 'im getting that dragon' bc i mentioned another time that im DESPERATE#to get a pet dragon or even just a dragon i have some dodgy deal with ill take ANYTHING#and he just very casually went 'oh you'll get a dragon' HELLO??? FUCK YEAH#like he listens to his players and he keeps us on track without being too strict and gets super enthusiastic about our ideas#and the rest of the group are all so cool like they're all either queer or neurodivergent or both#i just feel for the first time in maybe my entire life that im in a completely non-judgemental place for my interests#like in the nicest way possible they're all just a bit weird and it would be very hard for me to be the weirdest one there#and there's something SO cathartic about that like literally go ham bc they're not gonna be scared off yk?#like even if i had an interest totally out of left field that none of them shared i just know they'd be so welcoming of it regardless#idk. they're neat. i think this campaign is gonna be really fucking cool#ask#hella goes to uni
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I love waking up, opening my windows, and seeing butterflies at my flowers. Its so fricken rewarding! I love butterflies!
#espy talks#saw a huuuuuge one the other day when i went to ckeck on my tomats#aaa if i wasnt so skittish around bugs id try to let one land on me#id die of fright but id die with honor i tell you hwat#next year im gonna do a whole lot of stuff different#but ill make sure i save some seeds and plant more of these flowers somewhere else#or just plant a wider variery of pollinator flowers so i have more to look at#and i made a lot of little mistakes with everything that are starting to add up#so ill make sure im carefull next year#im thinking of calling my green beans done and planting some squash#ive got juuust enough time i think to get something like that growing as it cools down in the fall#either way! its a nice clear morning!#hopefully its not too bad on my plants today cause its also very breezy#so maybe itll cool em down a bit#and i got a lot of chores to do#espy gardens
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about to become a lifeguard who’s excited for me to save lives
#i’m kidding i barely remember my cpr course freshman year#but will be retaking it don’t worry#the woman who interviewed me was soooo nice and i was so nervous#like i’ve only done one interview before#but i’m relieved how easy it was and she seems like she will be a cool boss#very excited to FINALLY have a consistent job over the summer#cause i used to work for a family friend who only really needed me like once a week#i’m working girl now 💪#i’m hoping they put me at one of the locations with an outdoor pool cause indoor pools are so stuffy#but either way i’m excited#might also start teaching swim lessons too if i get the certification
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youtube
#If this loses as transformative this can do just as much damage to artists and art as if it wins#it's very interesting#will the copyright laws have to go under reform of what transformative qualifies as and specifically exclude ai generated imagery?#but how can that even be upheld?#still don't think everything throwing hissy fits like they were and clogging up feeds with banners does shit besides be annoying#and i doubt those people have thought once about the law around copyright that currently protects them#very interesting#guess we'll see how this all plays out#either way ai is still done and here#and it could still be a very good thing for a pipeline#but yeah#it really does feel like it's a matter of the lesser evil#in case of this lawsuit#either win is still a bit of a loss and a risk to open up doors on either side#i remain neutral#the nerd in me thinks it's cool as shit that they got it to do guesswork so well with the noise#and the artist in me appreciates good art#so meh#the driving point in my own art has always been to learn#not to make money anyway#not like my finances will change either way#or my desire to make art#or learn it#but it is absolutely fascinating from a legal standpoint#and oh so tricky
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i feel like at this point tumblr is a negatively-oriented community with a drive toward misery and radical extremism disguised as humour that's only worthwhile because it's the only platform that offers the things i need to roleplay with friends i have had for 10+ years on this website. i wish there was like. any space at all for it to Not be that though
#current events cw#politics cw#the number - the number - of ppl celebrating QEII's death rly threw me wow#not a fan of the monar/ch/y think it should be dismantled think QEII should have done more in her r/ei/gn think she missed bare minimums#also think making jokes about her death online is not ... comparable ... to making jokes about the suez canal#also think actively poking fun at a lot of people's grief is cruel? not funny or cool?#'well they shouldn't be grieving her!' once again you use the word 'should' like that has any bearing on real life people living real lives#i am not One Of Those People but i have mourned people before#anger sure. you don't need my permission to be angry. emotions are just emotions#you don't have to feel way x or y or z#you can even use it to further a political agenda i'm up for that i'd like a republic#also .............................................. making fun of the death of a 96yo woman crosses a line i won't cross with you 🤷♂️#how is that controversial. 'don't laugh and joke abt someone's death' not ...... hard#not hard at all#i am not accepting discussion or commentary at this time thanks#i'll block you it's very easy to not defend making fun of sb's death#'ingrid you can't walk the line in between you're either supportive or you're not'#a) incremental change is essential for social movements it is the *way* change happens#it deals with real people living real lives in the real world and works towards change#b) idealism is also important for social movements#we are each more or less agreed about the eventual end of the mona/rchy#i'm just not stuck in the 'idealistic' stage and refusing to accept that incremental change is the only way to affect radical change#thanks#anyway tumblr keeps popping up with jokes abt this topic and it annoys me every time#and i unfollow people and then someone else does it too#it is why i am on a hiatus it's because. tumblr is exhausting
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I think the thing is: I love breakup fic, but I hate "mature" "realism" about it. which is really just to say the thing I am saying about many of my fictional tastes, which is I hate most forms of closure
#I do not mean exes to lovers when I say breakup fic here#I also love that but that's a completely different beast than anything I mean here#like I don't have any interest in omgdrama angst 5ever life ruining either to be clear#but I have so very rarely come across any fic that doesn't take the#'and it was Hard But Okay and it Happened And Was Real But Is Over' etc etc tack ykwim?#anyway this just brought to you by plotting a whole new layer of Wicked Shenaniganery for the Badwrong Wicked Ship fic#informed also by the longstanding data point that in the really quite a lot of my original stuff#all of which includes romantic subplots by the dozens#there is One couple who die of old age still together#I love writing romance and I apparently do not ever write happy endings#and yet I almost never find anything else that could be described that way that I like?#(I mean I don't go looking for anything particular in my non-fic literature so I notice it all less but such as I've noticed)#anyway tl;dr fictional closure is wildly overrated in almost every sense#if the thing works artistically in how it ends (harder than it sounds) then cool bam done success#but like actually yes even in non-fic#all the works that have made me go oh so romantic so wonderful#end very badly and against everyone's will
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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.
It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.
To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.
This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.
Join me below, if you would.
2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.
Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.
It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.
But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.
The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.
“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”
“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”
We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.
"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?
The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.
We had slightly miscalculated.
Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.
“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”
“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”
“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”
“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”
And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.
00000
We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.
It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.
At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.
Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.
So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.
“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.
“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.
Monday is the last day to do this, after all.
00000
So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.
The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.
“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”
So.
Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?
Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.
It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).
Then it starts to rain.
We had not dressed for rain.
00000
Here is how the next six hours go.
We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.
Everyone is so happy.
Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.
People online start making delivery orders.
Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.
A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.
The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.
A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.
Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.
00000
We have Line Neighbors.
Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.
The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.
Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”
“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”
“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”
My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.
“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.
“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”
We stay in line.
It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.
The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.
We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.
It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.
They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.
We still have a -long- way to go.
00000
They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.
It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”
We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.
We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.
I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.
The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.
Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.
The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.
A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“
The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”
We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.
If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.
That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.
There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.
We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)
I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.
There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.
Then we're married.
Then we get in line to get our license.
It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.
Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.
We make it to the marriage records office.
I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.
It's almost 3PM.
00000
There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.
We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.
I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”
He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.
Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.
We get back to our car and climb in.
It’s 4:30 and we are starving.
There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.
We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.
We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.
The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.
My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”
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It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”
But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.
It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.
I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.
We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.
Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.
It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.
Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"
And that was that.
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When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.
I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.
I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.
I never thought I’d live in this world.
And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.
I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.
The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.
And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.
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Too [insert adjective here] for guard ...................
Well, it's only half related.
We "hit a pothole", "had a slipup", whatever you want to call it — sunday. Aka: for the sake of my sanity we are not labeling it a relapse but good god does it feel as though I have invited the demons back in.
I know why, but I don't really know why. Because, I mean... I never have, to begin with. So: when I decided i was doing it sunday, i accepted it. "Let it happen", as someone would probably say to me. It's not...
I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's like anything - it comes and goes, a few times a year, and no matter what, I always ignore it.
Except, maybe there's something I'm not paying attention to? Or, ignoring, is the better word for it?
Of course it would be the one thing I have happening in my life.
November, I was burnt out for unrelated reasons. It was a lot to take in. That made sense. Now? ... why now?
There's not really any pressure on me. Yes, I have to do things, yes, it will be noticed if they're bad, but ...... it's not important. We don't spend time on it. I'm coming back next year, but it might be at the cost of ... all of this. I think it's progress. I haven't touched my guitar in any serious capacity in over a year. I think it's progress.
I don't take compliments well. I can't tell if that's why I don't get them, but I'm not being corrected much either. Only when I drift too far from what the work is supposed to be, only after weeks of it going, I can only assume, unnoticed. I keep getting stuck.
...push it back down.
Telling me I'm doing good isn't telling me what I know I have to be getting wrong. I could take it, at the cost of... all of this. I'm anticipating, and I know it can come. This is not where I was when I started.
It's been said, I haven't been told, that not starting it means you're more of a burden, by making the other person have to do it first. I know that. I do. And still it doesn't help. I'm not drowning. It wasn't an accident, but it wasn't planned, either. I don't know you.
I don't know you.
I'm not a good person. I'm not a nice person. Every week I tell myself this is really it, and every week I come back, and ... what? Forget I ever said anything? Forget we're not friends?
Well, we're not, huh? Nobody is, with me. What you see I swear you misunderstand. You don't ask. If you do, well, I can't answer. We're at an impasse.
It's not even my fault we didn't make it. I shouldn't feel like this over nothing. I don't do anything. You will, correctly, not let me do anything, because potential doesn't matter if you can't back it up. If you won't back it up. I let things happen to me.
I don't even feel better. And, actually, ironically, i think i know what would let me feel better. If I can't be upset with anyone else, at least I can be with myself.
... but, well, not even that. Your heart in my hands, but I mean it diegetically. And metaphorically. I hate putting myself out there, I hate having to actually perform, and yet every time, no matter what, I do it. I'm fine. I only cared at the start, and even then not very.
I don't feel anything. Not a lot, anyways. I don't let it happen. I can't. I don't know what it'll mean if I start being honest with myself.
...
I've pulled myself out of this before. A few times, now. Different circumstances, but I've done it all the same. Seasonal depression notwithstanding.
I'm only here because I did things I was scared to. And still, I'm the same. No progress made. The only way out is to do it again but I feel like I can't. I can't.
Will someone just let me say that?
Will someone just fucking help for once?
#sh tw#(implied - i know i didnt actually say it in the post but yes i did c** myself sunday)#100% секретный дневник левы НЕ ЧИТАЙ#im cursed with being a bit too self aware so#i think its compounded by my nepotism hire ... not letting me do my nepotism hire things#(for legal reasons i cannot say)#and then to add to that not letting me do anything I probably COULD actually do given slightly more instruction (at guard)#its just ... im a very angry person actually . except right now thats because im not EATING RIGHT EITHER#BECAUSE ALL OF MY PROBLEMS ARE COMBINING INTO ONE BIG INTERCONNECTED PROBLEM#back to my point.#guard instructors decided that for my first year i will not do anything cool because i'm not able to learn in about 2 seconds flat#[read: get very upset very quickly when i get things wrong and then . cant do them because im trying not to have a breakdown over]#[something REALLY STUPID like NOT BEING ABLE TO DO A SIMPLE TURN WHILE MOVING WITH THE FLAG]#so like okay. i get it okay. i'm not good at this. could you at least TELL ME i suck so i can feel justified about feeling bad about it.#could you just fucking tell me this isn't a guard where you can show up with no experience. could you do me a real solid and tell me that.#i dont know maybe the real sign it wasnt for me was when i was seriously considering not turning up for the second 'audition'#really i just hate how much he yells at us. not even at ME because i do so little there is no room to fuck it up. just at everyone else .#it doesn't motivate me to come back but i NEED 'friends' so bad and i love performing so now i just get anxious enough that i cant eat ..#.. before going to rehearsal. which is stupid. because i've done it a million times before.#......#i'm just.... everyone says he isn't actually that bad. & he used to be worse. so it really is just me.#it's just me being oversensitive. because i've never had any REAL experience in ... just about anything#so; yes. it IS on me how I feel and obviously how I react. and I keep pushing it down because it's stupid; really; to still feel this way.#anyways. our last weekend without a competition is this very weekend#so you'll never guess who's having a REALLY FUCKING HARD TIME trying to practice#i'm like this close to going to bed early and without having done the dance warmup for the third day in a row.#лёва there is no TIME why are you STILL NOT PRACTICING for the love of god get it together#(oh also when i say 'friends' in quotes it is because i desparately want to believe we're friends but they dont even talk to me really)#(and because im not even IN most of the show theres not much to bond over. literally like i have everything down Decent enough (apparently)#so theres not even any 'i will help u with this toss' team bonding. no shared moment of we are all out of breath because i DONT DO ANYTHING
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Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats
#rat rambles#oni posting#now it does sadden me a smidge that itll probably be in paid dlc but thats a problem for future me#the bright side of new lore is new lore#the downside of new lore is the eternal fear of canon jackie and olivia designs#not because Im opposed to them getting canon designs its just so scary#like what if klei made them white how would I move forward from that#and its not even a situation where I can say with any level of confidence if they would or not because god if I fucking know#like they have until very recently seemingly deliberately avoided including anything Too lore relevant in any animated trailers#but that can kind of just be explained by well. the fact that most of those updates didn't include any lore.#and those that do involve it stay strictly in the dupes perspective#so I can't rly use that as any sign that theyre deliberately avoiding giving olivia and jackie canon designs#I would highly prefer they dont get designs even without fear of designs I dislike mostly because narratively it just works better that way#but hey its not up to me so whatever happens happens#I mostly assume future lore is going to mostly relate to the dupe donors we havent met yet and elaborating on some of the ones we have seen#but dont see a lot of if anything at all#I hope they dont mess with jackie and olivia too much but I do think itd be nice to give jackie just a smidge more like Ive talked abt#and other than that I could see them adding maybe new story traits and if they're feeling real generous more dupe lore#oh and if we're mega lucky we could get a dr.holland first name#honestly I hope that for dr.holland specifically they either just do a hard name drop and move on or just dont touch him#rly my main concern with any added oni lore is I Really dont want them to start telling us too much#I really really like all of our information being very fragmented and unclear as it adds to the post end of the world vibe rly well#and this is in fact a problem that they had in older versions of the story that they seemingly went out of their way to solve#so I rly want to have faith that they wont fuck it up but I have been burned before and oni has yet to have fully earn my trust#its not far off tho just the scrapped logs themselves give me faith that they are aware what story theyre writing and what needs done#again the scrapped logs are cool but would have dampened the narrative quite significantly from how straight forward they are#so them being full one scrapped early on makes me hopeful that they realized that too#rly I just dont want too much expansion on the stuff we already know#some names and work ids would be splendid and Im all for new fragments to try to place in the timeline#I just dont want a log where nikola stares at the camera and monologues abt the duplicant project or smth
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geto reaction to you wearing only his shirt
OVERSIZED NEVER LOOKED THIS GOOD
a/n: lore. a lot of lore. i always cannot help but write backstories. ure gonna have to bear w/ me SORRY !!!! based off of this drawing that i wanted to write sum about but then i thought why not combine it w/ this prompt. i went a little insane on this mb / tagging @papersirens @crysugu @getousex @hyomagiri @slttygeto, who else r geto fuckers
wc: 2.9k
warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, mutual pining, reader steals one of geto’s shirts, geto is also a little bit of a pervert, mentions of panty sniffing but geto doesn’t do it, m! and f! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, slight nipple play, spitting (on ur pussy), finger sucking, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut
geto was a sweet roommate.
he’s always topping up on supplies when you needed things, pushing away your hand whenever you wanted to pay. where he got all his money, you weren’t even sure. geto cleaned the house, he cooked dinner, hell, it was like you two were married at this point. even gojo had asked if he would get together with someone who wasn’t you (and of course, in classic gojo way, he was skilled in asking it in a roundabout way), geto’s firm and abrupt “no” was enough to make gojo grin from ear to ear.
even he wasn’t sure when it all started — you were always friends with the three of them, gojo and shoko and himself, participating in their antics and getting in trouble in high school. there was hardly any dull times between the four, looking at you through the lens of a friend. but when those lens started to turn blurry and black, seeing you in a new light of tighter outfits and a sweet smile that looked like it contained something hidden, suguru genuinely hoped it would all go away.
it’s not like he thought he was unattractive, but you wouldn’t go for a guy like him, someone hidden behind gojo’s bright personality or shoko’s satirical, cool demeanour. he was oh so oblivious, however, turning an unintentional blind eye when you’re hanging with gojo for the day but only because you wanted to know what birthday present would be best for him, or having a movie night with shoko only to disregard cher horowitz on the television just to ask if geto would like your new nails and hair.
the two of you were so dense when either of you were hanging with them, going on for so long even after taking a gap year for shoko’s overseas med school attachment. they assumed the two of you would’ve done something then, but it was stagnant, dry, that gojo almost wants to take matters into his own hands; so when you’re begging geto if you could room with him, since he lived near the university you were all attending together,
“suguru, pleasee— i wouldn’t wanna travel for hours on end just for like a two hour lecture.”
shoko smiles, gojo laughs, slinging an arm around you, “help your poor friend out, suguru.”
gojo torments him to no end. he doesn’t regret it one bit when your arms are thrown around his neck in a bear hug in thanks, feeling himself get hard just from the way your breasts press against his chest.
“yeah,” it’s said breathily, softly, “it’s no problem.”
suguru thanked god you hadn’t wanted to move in that very same day, cause all that could be heard throughout the small apartment was him pumping his cock to a polaroid picture of you, calling out your name softly as he came all over the photo of your bright smile. he didn’t need the fan that night, the guilt was enough to burn him alive. and after, he acted like nothing happened, except the many, many times he’d think of taking you on every surface of the house, suffering silently for an entire year as the two of you fell into routine day by day.
today might change, however, when geto hangs the last piece of clothing, something that was hardly a difficult task, but it proved to be the hardest thing to date when he’d spot the bras and underwear lying at the bottom of the basket each time he prepared to do laundry. geto wills himself to wash, hang it, and get out but he cannot tear his eyes away from the unmistakable dark spot at the centre of your panties before it’s thrown in, taunting him to just pick it up to breathe in your scent, to do something to defile it, to let his desires take over. but he wasn’t gojo, no, he’d wait all the time in the world for the right time, even if it was at the expense of a throbbing cock and flushed cheeks.
“(y/n), ’m going to the store, you want…” his voice trails off when the drawer before him shows only one clean shirt left, sighing when his favourite shirt has gone missing, again. he knows it simply by the missing tag on the top, cut off terribly by your hands on a drunk movie night. he was thankful you missed his skin by an inch, but he cherishes that shirt and night dearly. geto simply brushes off the mishap, grabbing a sweatshirt instead.
there’s a rap on your door that quells all movement from your side, fabric clutched tightly between your fingers that it hurt just a little.
“(y/n)? love? you okay?”
“y— yeah, i’m fine sugu. what did you say earlier?”
“i’m going to the store. it’s grocery day so i’ll be there for a while — need to stock the fridge up for the week. you want anything?”
geto wishes so desperately to see your face now, asking if you could go and holding a reusable bag by your side, but strangely you don’t even make a move to open the door.
“no it’s fine, and okay! i’m— uh, busy with something,” you look towards the door and back to the article of clothing in your hand, “so i’m sorry i can’t help today.”
geto’s disappointment is brief, but he recovers as soon as he hears your apology, in that sweet, honeyed voice you love to use on him, as oblivious as you were of its effect.
“’s fine, see you later!” there’s a weird and panicky bout of feeling geto gets, but he’s satisfied with the hum you sound through the door. and once the door clicks behind him, you’re unlocking your own door softly, ensuring your surroundings are safe.
geto wasn’t the only one. between your fingers were his favourite shirt, straight from the dirty laundry of last week’s load; it’s been a reoccuring thing these few weeks after realising you maybe want geto to fuck you silly. you’re sneaking around undetected with it, holding it to your nose, breathing in his natural musk. it was the one shirt you liked on him — always put on when with you — it’s like your secret little joke from that night. and it was so sinful, the way your breath hitches from just his scent, the way your panties pool with arousal.
what would it be like to actually wear it?
the thought crosses your mind and leaves just as fast, heart pounding in your chest when you realise you’ve never tried that before.
peeling off your top, you slip it on carefully, swallowing from how much larger he is than you. the sleeves extend past your elbows by a little, so much cloth on you that you’re a little lightheaded by the possibility of being geto’s, belonging to geto.
“oh god…” you sigh, feeling your pussy throb at the thought, and your hands are shy when they creep in between your thighs. they rub at your clit gently, imagining geto was doing the work instead. he’d be so gentle with his hands, cupping your thighs, spreading your legs.
you’re whining when your fingers find your way into your cunt, nose filled with the scent of geto and head filling with the repeated runnings of his tongue on you, his cock in you, his whole person devoted to you. it’s cute how you don’t know that’s already the case. your fingers are lacklustre as you pump them in and out while your other hand is busy with your clit and you look like a goddess: spread out on your bed in nothing but your roommate’s shirt, a soft, slow melody playing from your phone.
you’re so entranced by the sensations you don’t hear the front door opening and the rustle of the plastic bags (he forgot the reusable bags) containing your groceries, distracted by the phone call he’s having with gojo who teases him through the line. his best friend says stupid crap like she’s definitely into you, too. what her panties smell like? have you guys fucked yet?
the last two was enough for geto to whisper a soft satoru!, clearly displeased with the way he was asking about you, about you both that he only rolls his eyes, muttering an annoyed “i’m hanging up, you pervert. i’ll talk to you later—”
setting down the bags, he frowns again upon seeing the closed door, although not as closed you thought you left it.
“suguru— f-fuck, right there—” geto chokes on his saliva at the moans coming from behind the door, careful not to step on the wrong floorboard below him as he lines up with your room door — a terrifying feat rewarded by your needy whines begging for him. he can hear the wetness of his roommate’s cunt, and he wants to take a peak so bad; so he does just that and stiflies a groan at the sight.
your hair is splayed out all around you, pussy facing the entrance of the door just perfectly and his shirt draped over your body. it sends him into a frenzy, head reeling at seeing his shirt so oversized and so perfect over your body that he swears he cums a little at the display. your cute face scrunched up in pure pleasure, your toes curling around the bedsheets he changed for you.
oh, shit.
and geto panics when your head shoots up, eyes meeting his and your hands halting.
fuck, did i say that out loud?
you’re speechless although your reflexes cause you to close your legs immediately, scooting up the bed like you’ve just got cornered by a predator. it was similar — geto with his big, brooding self, moving slowly into the room with both hands up and a dazed look behind his eyes, you, exposed in the eyes of a hungry man who’s craved you for so many months. you like it.
“you’re— you’re wearing my shirt,” geto gulps, causing you to let out a nervous laugh.
“yea— yeah…”
geto thinks that maybe this is it. this was the moment he’s been holding back on for so long, and so he crosses that boundary into your space, stopping right at the footboard of the bed. you follow suit, going onto your hands and knees and crawling to him that he tilts his head back. everything you do drives him crazy.
suguru’s words is heavy, “you think you’re cute, hm? stealing my shirt and then moaning out my name and fingering your pussy like that…”
your breath shakes, ascending to your knees so you’d reach his height, but not quite. he tugs you closer to him.
“yeah.” it’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, “been wanting you for a long time.”
your roommate hums, lips hovering over yours just by an inch. you’d probably pass out if not for your racing heart and pulsating core.
“yeah?”
you’re finished with words, resorting only to a shy nod before geto crashes his lips onto yours, wrapping the other arm around you as yours go around his neck. it’s messy, filled with drool, devouring you on the spot for teasing him for so long, mouths moving in sync with each other. there’s a soft moan that escapes your mouth when you feel him manhandle you with ease, picking you off the bed to set you down on your back gently.
“c’mon, let’s see the mess you made,” you mewl at the words but your legs are stubborn, still in disbelief at the way suguru treats you, but you let him pry your legs apart after some gentle praises. you stifle a smile when you see how geto exhales at how beautiful your pussy is, leaking from your hole while your puffy clit is begging to be touched.
“oh, she’s so fuckin’ pretty…” your roommate mumbles, intoxicated on your scent as he bends down, giving your cunt one last loving look before he looks to you with a small grin. it’s clear he cannot wait, but he pauses for the words he wants to hear.
“wan’ you to eat me out, sugu,” you’re mumbling and suguru thinks it’s so cute, only responding by giving you a peck on your inner thigh, a soft yeah? before he goes down on you.
geto’s tongue on you is slow and cautious, drawing languid circles around your clit as he plays with your thighs, moaning softly into your core.
“s’damn sweet,” you can feel the stretch of a smile before he resumes, drawing you in slowly with each lick, each suck. geto doesn’t let your arousal go to waste, using a finger to scoop up your juices before he rubs the area around your hole and then the first push into your pussy makes you let out a loud, wanton moan.
“oh— your fingers, sugu, they’re—” they’re so much thicker and longer, everything that you couldn’t feel before now feels too much and yet your cunt gives him his answer by clenching around his longer finger.
“better than yours?” he asks with a lopsided smile.
you huff in indignance — not your fault you had shorter fingers, “yeah.”
“i’ll make full use of ’em, baby,” geto gasps softly when he pushes his finger right to the hilt, obsessed with the way your hand closes around his wrist. “too much?”
you shake your head, “n-no, just— feels too good.”
your roommate laughs softly, “princess is just too sensitive.”
he’s tempted to chuckle again when he sees how the pet names affect you, but soon he’s adding a second finger and pushes in, moving at a slow speed. and then when he adds his mouth into the mix, you’re begging for him to hurry; his eyes flutter close, getting lost in everything that you dish out.
geto’s pace is routine like his life, but it’s not any less pleasurable as he curls his fingers upwards, stretching you out and hitting your spot repeatedly. he continually flicks his tongue and sucks and slurps, tasting your essence once and needing a second, third, fourth, umpteenth taste, bringing out the most delicious moans to fall from your lips. it’s like hearing aphrodite sing, and yet you cross her by miles both in beauty and voice. surely, he shouldn’t mention that out loud, but eros can’t possibly help the arrow puncturing his heart, and looking at his psyche now, he thinks you look absolutely flawless.
“f-feel so good, mmh— so deep, suguru—!” his eyes snap open to look at you with hooded lids, sending you a cheeky wink before he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves, keeping his mouth latched around it as his fingers speed up. the noises of your cunt sucking him in paired with your whines just sound so good, and the scent of his shirt is dizzying, pulling it higher and higher till it pools around your chest. you watch as geto pulls away for a second, gathering saliva in his throat before he spits on your pussy, and the action is so lewd your jaw drops and your hips start to hump against him.
“ya like that? filthy girl,” geto smiles, rubbing his thumb into your clit and there’s that distinctive build-up in your stomach, coiling and burning until lays his tongue flat onto your cunt, pressing it deep along with the fingers that curl up in your pussy.
“su—” you don’t even have time to tell him, cumming all over his fingers and soaking the sheets, flustered at the in-awe look geto has on his face at how the shirt had ridden up, at how your hands cup your tits and play with your nipples, at how your cunt gushes so sweetly for him. he continues to pump his fingers to let you ride out your orgasm, relishing in the whine you let out when he removes his fingers.
“patience, sweetheart,” geto moves up to reach you, fingers waiting inches away from your lips. you’re taking his fingers into your mouth, keeping eye contact as you wrap your tongue around them and sucking your cum off of him, swearing lowly when you grab his wrist and shove them deeper. “but then again, we’ve been dancing around each other for too long, now.”
you smile at his allusion to the many times that the what-ifs could’ve come true, and yet now you’re tangled up like this in his shirt.
once geto’s underwear comes off, you’re gaping at the cock that he pumps, clearly looking intimidating enough that geto has a hand to your knee and kisses it gently. “we’ll make it fit, alright?”
you nod a little timidly, taking his hand off and twining your fingers, “yeah, i trust you to take care of me.” you make a quick move to remove his shirt but he stops you, saying something embarrassing about wanting to see how cute and small you look in his shirt. you’re scoffing and pushing at him later, you’re just too tall.
he takes care of you perfectly fine — when geto fully sheathes himself in you, he can only focus on your gummy walls that wrap around him fully, his eyes are rolling to the back of his head and you’re grasping at his hands that grab your hips so hard. your roommate fucks you so well, your body limp and your pussy begging to milk him dry that it spills out so much — geto groans into your neck with reddened cheeks at that later.
you’re receiving a noise warning the very next day, alongside a QR code that takes you to a link for soundproof foam, and all you can do is laugh at each other. like routine, geto is already gathering the ingredients for an apology cake, beside him right in that little kitchen in another shirt of his that starts to smell more and more like you—
as his roommate and maybe now, something more.
part two ♡
#anon#asks#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk thirsts#jjk drabbles#geto x reader#geto smut#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#getou suguru smut#geto x you#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto smut#getou x reader#jjk geto#jujutsu kaisen geto
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