Long car trips mean hunch over my ipad and film dumb stupid videos in restaurants at 11pm 😍 (future me screw u idk if it’s shaky also do not perceive me)

(That one vine)

Also have the things

Time for another traditional embroidery mend! This time, we're trying out the Puncetto Valsesiano stitch, which, after I finished this up, I've found, is an entire style of needlelace! For this patch, though, we just did stitch after stitch after stitch, no fancy patterning. (I might do fancy patterning later, to be fair! been reading up on things, and I've got a few smaller repairs to make that would suit it quite nicely!)

One row of stitches in, and I was thinking, oh this can't be so bad! this is actually quite soothing, all these repetitive actions, and with such a delightful, knitting-like texture!

This many stitches in, and sure, I'm still having a good time, but mostly, I'm finding out how much thread this takes! Poor razz, @razzmatazic, I thought this was going to be a simple, small patch, so I borrowed her thread to work on this one! You can't quite tell in this shot, but I'm actually about to run out of thread!

After likely much, much more fuss than was strictly necessary, including accidentally picking a slightly different color of floss because of some mislabeled strands, noticing I'd dropped enough stitches to need to throw some extra ceylon stitching in a gap, and a probably pretty noticable shift in texture because of single vs. double threading, we've got ourselves a patch that, even despite its shortcomings, I really dig the look of!

Unfortunately, I didn't make this patch wide enough generally, so I've got a few more holes that'll be getting filled by a big 'ol sashiko patch that's going to layer overtop the puncetto, eventually! Stay tuned, I'm just as curious as you are as to how that'll look.

Not them dying to bring Sarah back and absolutely hating their characters current plotlines 🫣🫢🤭

Carmen De La Pica Morales stans rise!

Adventure: Dreamy Drabble, 12 June 2023

special big huge Thank You! to @starcrosseddeancas for the awesome prompts, cheerleading, and running this Dreamy Drabble ❤️

deancas ust, 100 words

"I'd go on any adventure with you." Sam's sincerity made nearby diners gasp.

Dean gritted his teeth.

Cas, hand clasped in Sam's, nodded. "Of course I'll marry you."

The restaurant burst into applause. Dean considered fratricide.

Elsewhere, a dozen trays clanged to the floor; Rowena appeared tableside, hands covered in bloody glitter.

"Gentlemen, we need to hurry." She fled through the fire exit. 

"Thanks for helping with the distraction," Sam told Cas in the alley.

Dean said under his breath, to no one, "I could've gotten engaged to Cas too, you know."

"You still could," Cas pointed out.

Dean hiccuped.

Me talking about Lucien Lachance: Sick little freak (derogatory) Die

Me talking about Arquen who has 5 lines of dialogue and is canonically rumored to have feasted on his remains: My quirky girlfriend who deserves love and respect. They hate to see you winning, queen. ily girl.

I just realized I completely forgot to send you an ask for the WIP title game! Please, please tell me about "how to say farewell to the only family you have left but three times over for each of them" 👀 — @emyn-arnens

hehe YES i LOVE this one and i feel like you will too lol. essentially its a very extended set of scenes (think rotk six ending scenes energy) over which faramir comes to terms with leaving minas tirith behind for…not really for GOOD but for the longest time he ever has and undertaking the longest hardest journey he’s ever been on. well i called it that because i write basically solely character dynamics and so each one is centred around saying his goodbyes to his father and his brother in each of the different roles that they play in his life. ive always loved playing with names and titles and levels of formality in interactions between the same people in the different things they mean to one another and it was VERY fun to be like. well boromir and faramir saying their last goodbye immediately followed by the captain-general farewelling his second. the things they can't say and the things they know they're saying. and contrasting that with denethor and faramir where the line btwn father-and-son and steward-and-captain is WAY more blurry and they DONT really know how to talk to each other without some of that duty and a lot of their personal issues creeping into it.

it starts with in the middle of the night denethor and faramir have a civil conversation as father and son for probably the first time in ten years it's a lot of faramir's complicated feelings about his father. like a LOT of them. resolving into. well no matter what has passed between us i am glad we have this one conversation where we can part kindly. here is this part of those complicated feelings. god when they understand exactly what the other is saying and CHOOSE to misinterpret them.

Faramir knows he does not say this to doubt the strength of his company, only to state a truth. Ithilien has ever been a tenuous position, and to hold it in recent months has taken all the shrewdness of Faramir’s tactical mind. There are few he himself would appoint to bear that strain. Yet it is still doubt, and he cannot help but bristle. “There is strength in Ithilien that is not yet spent,” he says pointedly, a cold note to his voice. “I do not doubt it,” returns his father, equally frigid. He looks Faramir in the eye, grey to grey, and his gaze turns merely cool. “Yet to be the forlorn hope is thankless. I would accede the company all that I can spare, if it will prolong the defense.” “And they will thank you for it,” says Faramir, mollified, and angry about that, too. He has forgotten that they are not at council. He does not need to couch his position in shrewd word and inassailable will, striving endlessly against the forward advance of his lord’s judgment. His father would not send his Captain-General if he did not see it necessary, and in truth Faramir would not have made a different decision.

this is followed by boromir, as his brother, helping him dress in the morning. its fun because he spends the entire time being very stoic and squire-ish and pinning and straightening faramir's clothes like a captain who's conducted a million inspections and Not Crying and then like two seconds before the official summons sounds the floodgates open. very...you're never Ready to say the goodbye no matter how much you pretend you are. (i selected this excerpt specifically to contrast with the previous one lol)

“Do not change.” The words burst from Boromir’s mouth in an imploring rush, his hands tightening on Faramir’s shoulders. “No matter what happens out there. I expect you to return with tales I do not understand, with-” he breaks off, sniffs- “with an adoring train of admirers, with some precious book you have carried over hundreds of leagues. Something no sane man would bring upon a journey such as this.” “That, I can promise,” Faramir laughs, even as tears blur his vision. “You may regret making me swear so, when you tire of my incessant chatter.” “I am sure,” says Boromir. “Remind me of it, when that time comes.”

and then. well. he has said farewell to his father and brother. but he now faces the steward and the captain-general before the great gates. and yet they still ARE his father and brother and none of them can forget it!!! god i love messed up family dynamics with my whole whole little heart. yes denethor's line is written to be an explicit parallel to "i sent my son unthanked unblessed onto the field of battle" because i am NEVER not thinking about it.

Denethor steps forward then, until they are separated by but a pace. Lifts his hand, brings it to his heart and then leans down to press his lips to his son’s brow. “Go now, Steward’s son. Go with the blessings of your lord and city, and may your burdens be few and your road run true.” Faramir bows his head, kisses his lord’s hand. When he rises, he meets his father’s eyes. A glance passes between them, a wordless communion. He turns to the Captain-General, then, and they end the farewell in the warrior’s manner, a clasp of the forearm in place of the kiss of fealty.

anyway. yeah. it was so fun to write and ALSO so difficult and wildly heartwrenching. but i miss it. i miss them. when will they (fucked up house of the stewards dynamics) return from the war (theyre always there because faramir carries them in his mind. but you know what i mean). thank u for asking for this one<333

ok the initial post for brotzly fake couple's therapy au has already gotten way too long, so i take this as a sign i should start posting things separately and establish a new navigation tag

so, either way, a lil background on the characters

todd: exactly the same shit as canon, just imagine that instead of the seer-of-universal-truths syndrome there's some regular non-magical neurological disease running in the brotzman family.

farah: mostly similar to canon, just a bit toned down. she's not exactly an one-woman army, but she is freakishly physically fit, combat-ready, and proficient with common types of firearms — significantly more than you would expect any random person to be; she had always wanted to become a part of the police force like her brothers and father, but never passed the screenings due to debilitating anxiety, ocd and autism (never tried to join the fbi or the military tho; both her skills and her family expectations aren't That high).

her father had gotten terminally sick when she was a teen, and that significantly cut their income and added to their spendings, usa healthcare system be damned; old family friend, successful enterpreneur patrick spring, had stepped in to support them both financially and morally. farah ended up being halfway raised by him, always hanging out at his house and playing with lydia; out of all her family, save for her father, farah was the closest to patrick.

some time before the main timeline events, maybe half a year or a year ago, farah, patrick and lydia were having a nice family outing — up until patrick had been shot to death in broad daylight. his history of rising to success hadn’t been exactly pretty, you see, and the organized crime eventually took what was due. farah still blames herself for letting that happen despite her training and her worrying habit of never leaving the house without her gun; but if you asked her, really asked her how would she go about preventing that, she wouldn't be able to give you a good answer — it's just that one second he was alive, and the next he was not.

lydia, as both the key witness and the fortune's inheritor, had been taken into the witness protection program; farah hasn't heard from her since. she misses her like crazy, possible even more than patrick. therapy was meant to help her cope with the ruinous ptsd from those events, and she's been slowly, slowly making progress. that day she was having an especially Bad One — after which she and dirk got shit-faced — was soon after her father's death.

dirk: he grew up in the foster care system, and as a pre-teen was adopted by a kind and soft-bellied, if a little strict, ex-military man on a good pension, scott riggins. dirk had always been a bright kid, fascinated by complex mathematics (oh, the patterns! the beauty chaos and order! the language of the universe!) and some strains of physics (especially quantum studies; it all started with an article on shrodinger's cat and went downhill from there), quickly picking up on underlying logic within numbers (way quicker than his little undiagnosed autistic brain picked up on most social cues); teachers always promised him a bright future, even with the chronic lack of resources. scott had made sure dirk would get access to the best education possible, be taught by best tutors available, enroll into the best school imaginable; he gave dirk everything, and all the boy had to do is put in some effort. and he tried, oh god did he try; but he didn't do it hard enough. the new schoolwork load was multiple times bigger and harder than the worst he had ever experienced before, and he would often grow exhausted, distracted, unfocused and loose-minded (the adhd never got diagnosed either). some days a new and curious configuration would catch his attention and he would crack down on it with fervor, but some days he would just sit there and chew on the same three problems for hours on end to no avail. on those bright days scott saw his potential, his true and exciting and wonderful potential, and wanted the kid to live up to it; on the brain-foggy days, when he failed to do so, scott grew dissappointed. and whenever he felt disappointed, dirk felt it tenfolds on his skin. scott wasn't violent, godforbid, he's not a monster — just a little strict: it's just that he frowned, and tutted, and shook his head, and told dirk off, and didn't kiss him, and said things that dirk deserved to hear no matter how it felt, and took his books away (if there was anything the kid loved as much as math, it was thrilling detective stories, and sci-fi, ans fantasy, preferably all at once, read in one sitting) so that he wouldn't get distracted, and sometimes wouldn't call dirk down for dinner until he was done with the homework.

it hurt terribly to have the only person who'd ever cared about dirk, who had chosen him out of everyone else, who had chosen him and stuck by him, the only person in the world who loved him, be upset with dirk. for the longest time, dirk was convinced that he simply was lazy, and awful, and ungrateful, and hopeless, and the worst person to ever live, with how he let his father down time after time. but over the years, his self-hatred got so large he couldn't carry it anymore, and it spilled onto the mental image of scott, just so that he could breathe again; over the years, he grew bitter and disillusioned. as a young adult, he still couldn't tell if scott's demands and ambitions were fueled by simple materialistic hopes of fame and monetary grants, or a vain desire for glory, or some weird roundabout way of achieving personal fulfillment, but he knew for sure: scott riggins wanted himself a pet boy genius, not a son.

when the time came to attend college, dirk picked cambridge over harward, mostly because he would take any excuse to get an ocean away from scott. and he passed the exams — with flying colors! he was, after all, exceptionally smart. the teachers were delighted to have him; three months later he got booted because he missed half the classes and didn’t do any homework: drunk on the newfound freedom, stressed out by a trans-atlantic move, and lacking the only accountability system (however flawed) he'd ever had. he didn't tell scott, of course — he wasn't ready to go back home, he would do anything to avoid going there. so he took the college-student-allowance his foster father kept sending him, none the wiser, and set out backpacking across britain and then the rest of europe. soon it turned out that travelling cross-country is slightly more costly than living at the dorms, and there were only so many plausible excuses he could use to cajole more money out of scott, and coming clean about his strategical-omissal-of-crucial-information-that-wasn't-tecnhically-outright-lying was out of the question, so dirk had to cut some costs: skip a meal here, sleep on a train station bench there, get chased out by foreign policemen once or twice, a few times of staying overnight at some shady moldy place with some shady people whose language he didn't speak too well — nothing any other travelling young person hasn't seen, truly. he was coping alright. eventually scott caught wind anyway, and dirk, not that dirty and scrawny, had been forcibly dragged home. from there it's been a steep decline in the relationship: more harsh demands and more desperate pleading, more affection followed by more coldness, threats and promises from scott, and a few failed attempts at coninued education, a few move-outs followed by a few move-back-ins, plus a few ultimately abandoned career choices from dirk, who never seemed to grow out of whatever it was that was wrong with him, even as a decade slowly passed and gave way to another one.

when todd meets dirk for the first time and asks the inevitable "so what do you do for a living?", dirk introduces himself as a writer, which, combined with his rather frivolous spending habits and impressive disposable income, leads todd to assume that dirk must be some literary genius, top-nyt-bestseller, author-of-future-classics madly successful type of guy — but in reality, he sits on his arse and writes experimental-storytelling-style sci-fi/fantasy/whodunnit fusions that no agency interested in commercial success wants to look at, he's been published only once by a tiny indie house that paid him jack shit and a penny in royalties, and half his money still comes from scott. that financial dependence is the main reason dirk's in the us at the moment — he's been pulled from his latest bout of doing volunteer work for a queer nonprofit in eastern europe by the threat of cutting his whole goddamn allowance off. as a compromise, he returned to the country but not to the city, claiming that he needed fresh scenery to inspire his creativity and maybe actually write a profitable book for once; really, he just hadn't been mentally ready yet to be in the same town as scott so soon. so, settle, washington it is, why the hell not.

by the way, "dirk gently" is his pen name — legally, he's still dirk riggins. also, in the skype calls he's sometimes talked into having, dirk still calls him "father", but behind his back it's been "scott" for almost two decades now: at some point growing up he felt the need to put some mental space between himself and that man in order to stay sane.

after his fateful Big Talk with todd, where dirk admitted the less pleasant parts of his childhood and youth in most detail he had ever did in his whole life, todd convinces him to start looking for a better job to support himself, change his legal name, and someday cut riggins off for good. also get some therapy, for fuck's sake, god.

tumblr disappeared the original ask but thank you @coldshrugs for the sleepy prompt 💜

“You’re still awake. Something on your mind?” || 508 words || Mature for some sensuality, nothing explicit

Corisande stretches an arm out of the cocoon of blankets they hoarded in the night. Haurchefant’s side of the bed is empty, the sheets cool to the touch. She opens her eyes, blinking blearily in the strip of light that falls across her face, coming from the slightly open door.

They free themself from the blanket and push open the door to find Haurchefant sitting at his desk, frowning down at the papers scattered across it. They lean against the door jamb, watching as he pushes the papers around, writing something down every so often. Fondness tugs on her heart at the quiet ordinariness of the moment.

“You’re still awake,” she says after a third sigh escapes him. He turns toward her, frown already relaxing into a smile at the sound of her voice. They walk toward him, stopping just behind his chair and resting their arm against it. They gesture toward the paperwork with one hand, eyebrow raised. “A bit late in the day to be reviewing reports, isn’t it? Something on your mind?”

“Nothing all too important,” he says. He straightens in his chair and grasps their fingers in his. “I was awake and thought to pass the time by clearing a few reports that seem to have fallen to the wayside.”

“Do you do all your paperwork in the middle of the night?” she teases, pressing a kiss to his temple to make up for the jest.

Haurchefant laughs softly. “I must admit, paperwork is not my strong suit. I find it best to indulge the impulse whenever it strikes, that I do not fall too far behind.”

“I will not keep you from your work then,” they say, stepping away from his chair. “Do you need anything? I could make tea—”

He does not let go of their hand, tugging them lightly back toward him. “You could stay a moment,” he murmurs softly, and lifts their hand to his lips, brushing a featherlight kiss across their knuckles. He tugs one more time and they go easily, falling into his lap with a small huff of laughter.

Corisande settles into the warmth of his embrace and cups his cheek, sweeping her thumb across his cheekbone. He kisses her softly, sweetly, a tender spark catching gently between them.

There would be no urgency in the kiss, were it not for the way Haurchefant’s fingertips slide along the exposed skin of their thigh, heat blooming in their wake. His hand slips under her night shirt, tracing patterns against her side.

They clasp their hand over his, trapping it against their side but not removing it. Loathe as she is to stop him… “I thought you had work to do. I’ll not be responsible for Camp Dragonhead’s books falling into disarray.”

“Mayhaps you were correct before,” he says. He shifts and in one quick motion stands, carrying them in his arms as they let out a laugh. He starts toward the bedroom door, murmuring against Corisande’s lips as they go. “’Twould seem there is something on my mind.”

THE MOLE SONG!!!!!!!!! PLEASE ENJOY I AM SO EXCITED TO TALK (ALWAYS AM BUT!!!!!)

HEY I SAVED OFF ON ANSWERING THIS UNTIL I FINISHED THE MOVIE AND IN THE SHORTEST REVIEW POSSIBLE

THAT WAS DEFINITELY A MOVIE™️

rooj

Finally,, it's past midnight,, we are now free from threshold

yongseung fact of the day! he accidentally went one bus stop ahead of where he was supposed to get off, and had to walk to his shop. it was so hot he thought to himself ‘i’ll have to fend off this heat with bingsu!’ and then he got to the shop and it was nice and refreshing and cool. ‘i’ll fight off the heat w bingsu another day’ was his conclusion

It feels like my level of learning for 90+ days of studying Japanese is pretty low. I can still only say the simplest of sentences (tho with slowly growing complexity)

Then I remember how much effort it's been just to learn the fucking writing system & I feel a little less bad lol

too the baddie that gave me a free corn dog g god bless u 🙏

it’s what tom would’ve wanted

a lot of things i personally get mad about are very online, this is a habit i'm trying to soothe by reminding myself how pointless it is to get worked up about them. i think having strong opinions on online discourse is fine and natural if you spend any time online but devoting time and energy to arguing with people who will never listen to you and so on is bad for the body and soul. i try to talk exclusively to people who seem to be willing to engage with me in good faith and do away with contact with all others, in pursuit of preserving my sanity, but simply thinking about very specific discourse and forming opinions and sticking to those opinions is probably a rather good exercise, in thinking critically and engaging with complex topics; you just have to remember they are not vital to life and are usually wasteful to engage other people with. tl;dr just argue in your head man

right 😭 that's my reasoning too like would I randomly start arguing with someone in real life if they brought up this random topic in the middle of a conversation like no id just let it pass no matter what my opinion on it was. so why would I argue with anyone on the internet about anything like they're not changing their opinion and neither am I so it's pointless