Curators Through Time

*screams in agony defying gravity*

Anyway...

This is my first Tumblr Post in so long I forgot my old Tumblr account's password. Not Slay. I was in the Hetalia fandom (*gasp* pasta sin)...you will never know who I am. That is a past...

And I basically lived my 2011-2013 era in the golden days, where Wattapad definitely wasn't stealing data and I just keep reading the same Fanfiction.Net fanfiction for too long. Me neurodivergent? Nooooooooo... 👀

After sleeping for a few years and deciding to basically go goldfish mode on everything. I was free. Who's A03? Never met them. Amino? What's rping? Shipping? Nah I never did that...hahaha...

*gets dragged back to hell by Buster Keaton of all people*

Anyway, this is just a intro posty. I'm going to figure out how I'm going to style this, though. Like the idea is it's going to be a old classic film/vaudeville info dump cause I'm obsessed with both. But also rehashing my tumblr era life in a postmodern tragic nostalgia fest that will slowly consume my whole life and identity and I will stop using punctuation and the world will go into nuclear winter whilst I'm still deciding if I actually understand the secret rules of the online world whilst being lightly skewered by fandoms I thought I escaped.

Also I have ocs I want to build up but I'm too lazy to actually write long form for atm.

Cool. That's it.

Fun Facts About Me Because I Have Ego

I am a film curator and the dream is to have a film festival.

I am a shark. I like to swim, eat seafood, get headpats, bite sometimes and exist.

My hobbies are crying over academic papers, writing fancy letters, cosplaying, cats, being not funny and D&D.

Queer Neurodivergent and Welsh.

Free Watermelons :)

Person A: Here are my boundaries and rules.

Person B: Here are my boundaries and rules.

Person A: So plot.

Person B: Plot.

*spends two days on character and relationship dynamics*

Person A: I have some plot prompts.

Person B: You are now my best friend.

*creates a tear jercking awesome rp that never will have an ending. Probably for the bedt*

Me, a writer with a history of angst writing: Yeah buddy, fun. You'll have lots of fun.

*Turns to Camera.*

Using my old A03 to start writing. Please ignore the hetalia...🥹

Anyway, I would appreciate thoughts and feelings on Curating Time. It's really early stuff, so there is a lot I'll edit.

Summary

A one shot story (accidentally turned into like a couple thousand words but we ball) following three characters exploring the entertainment of the past.

***

In Curating Time, three lives, separated by a century yet connected by their devotion to history, preservation, and the fleeting beauty of the past, each fight against the slow erosion of memory.

Okay, Bye.

'In another life— this life'

Warnings: Possessive Behaviour

Part 1 :: A03 x Tumblr :: historical romance????

It's the summer of 2013, owl necklaces were trending, and space leggings stretched like the tedious years of the 2010s. The ever racing heat of climate change blasted down on the small human beings that populated a funny shaped rock floating in space. Or, according to flaters, being Frisbee shaped. Perhaps if Pluto decided what it truly believed they could be, a dog could be one option to catch the perpendicular eath provlaimed by the illiterate masses suppressed by the 1%. They didn't mind that, as long as they got to feel superior, that was fine.

Anyway, Tumblr, they thought, grew out of their early years. A short figure, with string bean arms and delicious steak cutting cheekbones, was an icon. Tumblr had a thing going on with Yahoo at the moment, a tasteful older individual with wisdom to share. TUMBLR. Pronouns: they/them, age and gender best described as “prototype”. Wakes up tangled in blue bedsheets, the color somewhere between pale code and full sapphire, hair askew with the echoes of late-night reblog spirals. Their fingers already itch for their phone, for notifications, for the thrum of electricity that pulses just beneath their skin when they open their app and see the flurry of activity: likes, reblogs, messages from strangers who know them better than some real-life friends ever could.

But there’s also a weight. Something changing in the air that’s sharper than humidity or the fabled global warming every clickbait article warns about. It hums like the background noise of dial-up internet; faint, insistent. It’s hope threadbare at the elbows.

Downstairs, in a kitchen filled with sunlight that feels more artificial than real, Yahoo waits. Smiling in a slightly-too-white button-down, their sleeves rolled up in the determinedly casual style of the business casual elite. Their voice is smooth, heavily focus-grouped, woven together by algorithms and advertising studies. Tumblr’s heart clenches at the sight; they appreciate the resources, sure faster servers, a new smoothing filter on the post composer but something about Yahoo’s proximity always makes them keenly aware of the walls closing in.

Yahoo hands Tumblr a mug (the mug says “#business” in Helvetica white), and their eyes already dance with calculation.

“Morning,” Yahoo purrs. “Did you see our trending data? Engagement is through the roof.”

Tumblr shrugs, retreating into their sweater, sleeves pulled past their hands until all that pokes out are their chipped-nail fingers.

“It’s not about the numbers. It’s about the… the vibe. You know?”

Yahoo laughs, but it’s clipped. “Vibes aren’t quantifiable. Advertisers love quantifiable things, Tumblr.”

"Yeah, it's okay to like ads but you know the people using it matters too right. No point if everyone hates you." Tumblr grumbles.

Tumblr looks down, swirling the coffee, watching the thin spiral of sweetened condensed milk dissolve and then disappear. They run through replies in their mind something sarcastic about capitalism, something about how reblogs can’t be bought, or about how fandom energy can’t be bottled but all the words feel brittle, and so they stay silent.

The day goes on. They spend hours scrolling, liking pastel edits of Sherlock and Doctor Who, reblogging gifs of a wolf howling underneath a sky stippled with cosmic dust, queueing posts about flat Earth conspiracies and Pluto’s ouster from the planetary roster. Each post is a world, an inside joke someone somewhere gets, a ship someone somewhere will die on a hill for. They live in the tornado swirl of comments, long tags, endless inside jokes about OTPs and it's happy. They want people to be happy, not always getting it right but...they try. They think.

Still, every so often the air shifts, a notification from Yahoo, a request for a new layout tweak, a suggestion (“monetization strategy,” always said gently, like it’s a favor and not a threat), and Tumblr feels a chill. In the group chats, their friends whisper digitally:

“Are you okay?”

“Is Yahoo… cool?”

“Don’t let them kill memes please.”

Tumblr types and deletes a thousand replies. Finally, they settle on:

tumblr: everything’s fine! just a little bit, uh, adjusting.

Immediately, Pinterest messages Tumblr.

pinterest: bitch, you good? Don’t even try me with that "everything’s fine" nonsense.

Tumblr blinks at the screen. Then quickly responds.

tumblr: What? lol it’s chill, promise

Pinterest immediately responds.

pinterest: Bitch, please. You typed like 4 typos and didn’t even use an aesthetic emoji. You’re in distress and you know it. Spill.

tumblr: It’s just… things with Yahoo are weird. Everything’s "brand alignment." And unreachable goals. I feel like I can’t breathe.

pinterest: UGH. They did NOT just say "brand alignment" in your presence. Honey, you need to get OUT of that ad-filled relationship.

tumblr: I know, but like… where do I even go? Everyone expects me to be something else—cleaner, shinier, profitable.

pinterest: Don’t let ‘em dull your sparkle, bestie. You’re pure chaos and that’s your superpower...

tumblr: Yeah, but what if change is coming no matter what?

pinterest: Slay it, don’t fear it. Or better yet, find someone who GETS you. Someone who loves the mess. You know who I’m talking about…

tumblr: Umm?

pinterest: AO3. Archives, honey. Full of tags and every fic under the sun. Flexible, low-maintenance, lives for drama AND niche jokes.

tumblr: Wait, I mean… we don’t really talk. They’re so, like, composed and clever. What if they think I’m too much? Fanfiction.Net really seems to like them too.

pinterest: Bitch, you ARE too much, and that’s why the right ones live for you. AO3 is a fandom pro. They’ve read it ALL, babe.

tumblr: idk. I’d probably just spam ‘em with memes and too-long tags.

pinterest: Honey, that’s foreplay for them. Look, I’ll set it up.

tumblr: Wait, you’d do that?

pinterest: Already sliding in their DMs. Bring your best GIFs and your weirdest ships. Trust Auntie Pin, you’re about to slay.

tumblr: ...okay, I’m scared but also a little excited?

pinterest: That’s called anticipation, babe.

tumblr: Thanks. You’re the best.

pinterest: Duh, obviously. You owe me mood boards for a YEAR. Now get ready to meet your destiny. Not the horse.

Night falls, as much as night can fall when your days blend together in a screen’s blue light, and Tumblr finds themself outside, under a sky winking with distant satellites and disinterested stars. The city sprawls, pulsing with the bass of distant parties, the sweet-sour scent of melting cheap makeup and synthetic fabric in the air. Tumblr pulls their oversized sweater tighter.

Yahoo is waiting for them outside a pop-up gallery, the kind decorated with memes printed huge on canvas and glimmering, overpriced prints of astronaut cats. They’re networking, business cards like card-stock confetti in their pocket, laughing in a way that makes Tumblr remember every time they wished their head was empty of numbers and metrics and full only of warm, infinite possibility.

“Ready for the future?” Yahoo asks, slipping an arm around Tumblr. “We’re going to do great things, you and me. Optimize. Scale up. Think big! I want you to do something for me. I know you can do it..." Yahoo kisses Tumblr's neck slow. "$100 million...you know you're worth it," their hand grips Tumblr's wrist. Tumblr shivers. That's too hard. Tumblr gasps.

"Yahoo—I can't..." Tumblr whispers. Yahoo grabs Tumblr's face, sqwishing their cheek. "You will," they whisper. Yahoo lightly bites their lip. "You will for us, won't you baby," Yahoo hums. Tumblr swallows. Uncomfortable and frankly worried.

Tumblr tries to smile, but it comes out thin as a crop-top in February. Inside, they feel hollow. They think about their favourite posts, the ones that could never be monetized - that defy explanation, that matter only because the right person found them at the right time. They think about sh*tposts and fandom inside jokes and birthday threads, about fanart tagged #not my art but it’s beautiful.

They wonder what would happen if they stopped being what Yahoo wanted and just… were. Messy and honest. Tags unfiltered, ships unashamed, gifs and text posts and all the fragments of the internet that still feel wild and full of promise.

But tonight, Yahoo is still there, smiling with the assurance of a boardroom that’s never spent the night in tag soup. And Tumblr is just Tumblr: tired, hopeful; a little lonely, but still brimming with stories.

Outside, the city pulses. The owl necklaces gleam. Space leggings sparkle. The night carries on, and somewhere in the space between heat and hope, Tumblr waits for something, maybe someone...that feels like home. And that...could be them. A03..

----------

The hot air hung in the city like a careless blanket, thick and somehow personal, pressing into every pore. The sky was all faded denim and the pavement shimmered, mirage-like, swallowing whole the sandals and sneakers of the unwary. There was a hush around everything, tense and humming, as though the day itself was waiting for a download to finish or a fic to update. It was the kind of August Saturday where everything felt just at the edge of change; stories balanced right before a major plot twist.

On the blocks near campus, there was a café so spectacularly un-busy with business that it felt like a secret, one of those places you only find because someone with good taste (and four thousand followers on a “neutral-toned coffee setups” board) had recommended it. Tumblr’s nerves raced as they pushed the peeling glass door, stepping over a tiny bouquet of flyers (Open Mic Thursday! Retro Fandom Zine Swap! AO3’s Summer Remix Circle—Last Day to Sign Up!). Inside, the smell of espresso mingled with the sharp tang of cheap ink, glue from DIY crafts, and the nostalgia of so much painted wood.

Tumblr paused, sweating slightly under an oversized gray sweater and their ever-present space leggings, galaxies in blue and violet wrapping their legs like an old conspiracy theory. Their hands gripped a phone awkwardly, the screen clammy, with Pinterest’s message still glowing encouragement on it. For a moment, they hovered, unsure, the owl necklace swinging nervously at their throat.

At the farthest window table, half in the sun, sat AO3.

Tumblr took in everything at a glance: red-framed glasses, an ancient hoodie softened by too many late nights and perhaps a few existential code panics, pins and buttons jangling in a constellation across their chest. One pin showed an 8-bit archive box. Another was a tiny, crooked heart, ribbon-wrapped: “I used to write fic on LiveJournal.” Their hands were busy, one stirring tea in slow arcs, the other shuffling index cards scrawled with headers: WIP, BILLING, MOD CALL, FANDOM DRAMA.

Tumblr sucked in a breath, dropping into a practiced nonchalance, as if just arriving at the world’s chillest meme convention. “Um—hey. AO3?”

AO3 looked up. Their face was gently lined, from laughter and maybe a little server stress. Their eyes went wide behind the red frames, then softened. “Yeah. Tumblr?” Their accent was a swirl—mid-Atlantic with something distinctly fannish, a rhythm shaped by long emails and many late-night mod chats.

“Yep. Sorry. I always get lost coming down the HTML rabbit hole,” Tumblr confessed, opening their hands in a small shrug. “And then my phone wanted to update. And then I remembered every outfit I own needed to be at least 20% more ironic. But—uh, I made it!” They stifled an urge to add a self-deprecating tag.

AO3’s lips curved. “It’s alright. No one’s on time these days. The scheduling’s always a little wonky.” Their voice sparkled ironically dry, pleased to be making a joke just subtle enough to get a laugh.

The first awkwardness settled across the table like static. Tumblr closed their hands around the menu, mainly to stop them playing with the owl necklace again. Between them, the table was messy with evidence: AO3’s water glass, ringed with condensation; a battered e-reader; a rainbow array of page-marked zines. Above, a lazy ceiling fan wobbled, stirring up the faded scent of old poster glue.

After a moment’s silence, AO3 offered, “Pinterest told me you’d be wearing leggings. I was hoping for nebula, but this is good. Spacetime is always on trend.”

Tumblr blushed. “Was gonna go with cats-in-space, but my laundry’s a shipping disaster right now.”

“Shipping disasters are very on-brand for both of us.” AO3’s dry comment landed between them, and for the first time, Tumblr felt the weird, electric itch of finding someone who just got it. “I…um. I brought some stuff. Just in case we needed icebreakers…” AO3 motioned self-consciously to their stack of index cards and one battered paperback—Dog-Eared: Archive Treasures, Vol. 2.

Tumblr leaned in, curiosity piercing through their anxiety. “Are these…prompt cards? Oh my god, did you bring a fandom meme generator to a date?”

AO3 faked seriousness. “Well, should we discuss: 1) Most cursed tag you’ve ever spawned, 2) The weirdest update you had to roll back before a flame war, or 3) Your favorite meme of the last decade?”

Tumblr snorted, some of their tension loosening. “That’s a trap. I can’t pick one meme. They’re like kids. Or Pokemon evolutions. I live in perpetual meme regret.”

AO3 grinned, warming like a page set to ‘comfort fic.’ AO3 sets their mug down, folding their hands, interest plain as a carefully archived rec list. “You’re the best at crossovers. Sometimes I think about what it must be like in your notes at 1am—a thousand tags running together, arguing headcanons.”

Tumblr shrugged, half-proud, half-sorry. “It gets wild. People just…don’t filter. They post what they’re afraid to say anywhere else.”

AO3 nodded thoughtfully. “That’s how I want Archive to feel. Like there’s space enough for every story. No warnings required for just existing.”

For a brief moment, neither of them had words, the kind of soft silence that comes when something familiar is mapped onto a stranger, when two people realize they’ve been playing in the same digital sandbox for years, only separated by a fence they built themselves.

Tumblr fiddled with the edge of a cardboard coaster, trying to sound casual. “So, um, you ever get tired of tagging everything? Don’t you hate it sometimes, like people want everything to be organized and you’re just…more than a database?”

AO3 blew on their tea, thinking. “Sometimes. Tag wrangling can be exhausting. But it’s also… it’s how people find what matters to them, right? My favorite tags are the ones that make no sense unless you were part of that one 3am conversation. Or the ones that warn you about all possible triggers except, maybe, excessive use of the color purple. It's pretty cool seeing people look out for others.”

Tumblr giggled, releasing some of the pent-up static built from months of Yahoo emails and that constant, corporate hum. “Wish I could just be a tag sometimes. No branding required. Just: #softest-anxiety-mess, #memes-for-days, #the-vibe-is-chaos.”

AO3’s thumb flicked over the edge of a post-it, eyebrows raised kindly. “You are a whole tag cloud already. You know that?”

Suddenly hit by vulnerability, Tumblr glanced sidelong, pulling their knees up beneath the café table. “Yahoo keeps talking about audience segmentation like it’s my new fandom. All they want is more engagement—metrics, ads, ‘brand synergy’ or whatever.” They hesitated. “It’s hard to explain that everything good about my world can’t really be sold…”

AO3 looked pained, then understanding, as if seeing right through every doubt and self-effacing comment Tumblr had ever made. “I get it. I do. They want everything tidy. Fandom isn’t tidy. It isn’t meant to be. Sometimes ‘messy’ is what keeps people coming back.”

Tumblr’s breath caught, grateful and embarrassed, as their fingers absently traced circles on the tabletop. “I feel like you…like you get that, you know? Like you don’t want to clean up the weird bits.”

AO3 drew a deliberate line in invisible air with their finger, as if underlining the word ‘weird’. “Nope. Weird is the best part of archive. I mean, have you ever read the tag lists people come up with at 2am?” A lazy smile tugged at AO3’s lips. “‘Accidental Soul Bond Over Cursed IKEA Instructions’. That’s not marketable. That’s magic.”

Something about that the easy confidence in queerness and wit, settled Tumblr. They leaned forward, swaying with real curiosity now. “Is it hard, though? Like, being everyone’s soft landing spot?”

AO3 considered, sipping tea. “Sometimes. Sometimes I want it to be easier, cleaner, clear fields, no update drama, no three-month-long fan wars about which version of Sherlock Holmes had the best hair. But mostly… mostly, I’m glad there’s somewhere mess is welcome.”

A slow smile crept across Tumblr’s lips: shy, even a little bashful. “I wished for that so many times. Just… a nook in the internet where performance isn’t everything. Yahoo’s always pushing to scale up, optimize. I just want a space to be messy, and loved for it—not in spite of it.”

AO3’s eyes glinted, soft and conspiratorial. “You can be. You are.”

The words hovered. For a long moment, that was enough, a kind of electric suspense, the hovering second before a new chapter begins, before a risky post goes live or a reader hits ‘comment’ for something that matters. The hum of the coffee shop faded to background static: clink of mugs, a burst of laughter from a pair of zine kids in the corner, the buzz of an ancient espresso machine.

Finally finding a groove, the conversation unspooled, flowing in tangled, delicious streams between them. AO3 told stories about their earliest days—LiveJournal code disasters, the first time trolls had tried to bring their servers down, the odd joy of finding a new favorite fic when they’d just about given up hope. Tumblr countered with memes that had almost broken their platform, with the wild in-jokes that only 4am dashers would understand (“Remember Goncharov? That faux-mafia movie we ALL pretended existed?”).

Twilight slipped in through the high dirty windows, painting everything with that soft glow that happens only on some rare, lucky evenings: a bridge between the old world and whatever came next. The baristas rolled their eyes at each other but kept the place open, stacking plates noisily in the back, shooting the two digital oddballs a fond look that said 'You’re not bothering us, stay as long as you want'.

Tumblr took a risk, nudging AO3’s foot gently under the table. “Did you ever think about being… more public-facing? Like, wanting to be the next big app?”

AO3 laughed, surprised. “God, no. I love my little corner. The world wants an algorithm, but I’m just… an archive. A library catalog with a heart, maybe.”

Tumblr leaned their chin into their hand, shy smile playing at their lips. “I envy that. I wish I could hide sometimes. Not be everyone’s battleground.”

AO3 shook their head, sliding one of their little index cards across the table: a soft, silent offering. “Don’t hide. Not from the people who speak fluent tag. The right ones will always find you. That’s what the search bar’s for.”

Tumblr read the card. On it, in loose, blocky handwriting, was a single tag:

#here-for-the-slow-burn

And...slowly, beautifully—it began to click.

They spent hours, together but not rushed, the edges of awkwardness worn away by shared obsession and mutual recognition. They ordered two rounds of caffeine and split an enormous chocolate cookie the color of midnight, competing to see who could come up with the most excessive crossover scenario (AO3: “Filthy coffee shop AU meets dragonrider academy meets modern office romance—horns optional.” Tumblr: “Magical girl squad runs a TARDIS-themed froyo stand, falls in love with local cryptid, accidental time loop ensues.”). Both laughed, loud and unreserved, until they had to wipe tears from their eyes.

As the streetlamps finally blinked awake, soft yellow halos refracting on the glass, AO3 reached across the table and let their hand rest, palm-up, a quiet invitation. For the first time, Tumblr felt like they belonged, not as a spectacle, a brand, or a platform in desperate need of monetization, but as themselves, in all their hyperactive, anxious, meme-stuffed, deeply sincere glory.

“I had a good time,” AO3 said quietly. “Even if we just invented four more cursed AUs.”

Tumblr risked a real smile, the kind that stretched ear to ear. “Me too. Maybe next time, we could do this on neutral turf like a fandom zine release party, or a really bad movie night?”

AO3 grinned, broad and honest. “Or a midnight liveblog of the worst book ever written?”

Tumblr clapped in glee. “God, yes. If you promise not to judge my live-tagging skills.”

“Promise.” AO3’s voice was light, but their gaze held a promise of more. “I think your tags are art.”

Their laughter, low and warm, carried out into the street, rippling into the static city, into a hot world that for just a little while felt alive with possibility.

—

Long after the coffee shop closed, after the last memes had been shared and the sun was nothing but a memory, Tumblr and AO3 walked side by side beneath the sodium streetlights, awkward at first and then, so slowly, falling into an easy step. Tumblr rolled up their sleeves, showing off another layer of fandom bracelets. AO3 tucked their hands into their hoodie, every so often glancing sidelong with a look that was halfway between admiration and soft astonishment.

They swapped horror stories of DDoS attacks. They compared the merits of comment threads versus tags. They shared that guilty thrill of finding the right fic at the right hour, a comfort only the truly online could know. By the corner, where the street split and both would have to go their own way, AO3 looked up.

“You know… you can message me. Any time. If you ever want to talk. About memes, ships, or—just to be.”

Tumblr tried to play it cool, but their voice wobbled, betraying the hope blooming in their chest. “Yeah. I think… I think I will.”

AO3 hesitated, then leaned a little closer. “You’re more than a platform, you know. You’re—” They searched for the word, and in the end, use the only one that feels true. “You’re a fandom home, someone filled with community. I love that.”

Tumblr, blinking, felt quietly, fiercely, finally seen.

Pinterest was right, as always: this was a match only a fandom auntie could arrange.

When they finally said goodbye, their hands met in a brief, uncertain squeeze. The night carried on a little brighter, a little queerer, and infinitely, gloriously more open.

--------

[Post Credit Scene]

The conference room breathes in sterile hush, screens aglow but cold. YAHOO sits, their hands restless, lanyard askew, as if waiting for a message that won’t ever come. The stillness breaks: the door slides open with a hiss, and VERIZON glides inside, suit flawless, a chill trailing in their wake.

They pause at the threshold a moment too long, regarding Yahoo with a peculiar hunger—a gaze that flickers, caresses. Verizon’s phone glimmers in their fist, but their attention never wavers.

They move to the far chair, not taking it but leaning close, far into Yahoo’s space. Something in their smile glistens: adoration sharpened by control, obsession masked as opportunity.

“I’ve watched you for so long,” Verizon murmurs, voice slick and gloved. “Saw you burning, once—so bright, so reckless. You let yourself be touched by everyone, didn’t you? Marveled at, reblogged, adored... then tossed aside.”

Yahoo tries for a laugh. It’s thin and tremulous. “Tech moves fast. Nostalgia doesn’t pay the bills.”

Verizon’s fingers tap once, twice on the table, the gesture a caress. “But I remember you. I remember you before the world got messy. Before those... accidents and distractions. You don’t have to fade out into the dark, darling. I see the value. I always did.”

A beat.

Verizon’s voice lowers, too gentle, swollen with possessive intent. “I want you. All of you. The passwords, archives, the petabytes of memory you don’t dare show anyone else. Let everyone else forget. I’ll keep you. I’ll rebrand you. I’ll make you mine.”

A shadow ripples across their face...half longing, half devouring. “Doesn’t that sound nice? No more cold nights in empty inboxes, no partners running off with tags and memes. I’ll be everything you need. I promise, Yahoo, I won’t ever let you go.”

Yahoo presses back, unease crawling up their neck, but Verizon just smiles wider, somehow colder for all their warmth.

Outside, the world glitches. A distant neon sign flickers, a purple Y in the dark...unheeded.

Verizon draws closer, whisper-spun, inescapable.

“We’re going to be together for a very, very long time.”

Me, having a blast posting nonsense: Oh my goodness, a platform where I can be my honest self about my interest without worrying about Instagram trying to steal my soul.

Me, happy on Tumblr: I feel so uncooly cool here. Like a old cat on catnip. *follows and likes everything like a crazy rat*

Have a blurry void cat in a box. That's her favourite box :)

*camera 180°'s it and starts playing some sultry jazz nimber*

Tumblr, sexy, winks: Wassup?

I convinced my dad to play stardew valley when I got it. He's not good with controllers so I played for him. Him pointing at what to do and me moving and doing it. Absolutely fun bonding experience, we played a whole month straight.

This is what I witnessed:

This man joined the wishlist for Robin.

Instead, he vibed with Linus.

Cried sad because why no Linus live together.

Cried happy because became BFFs with Linus.

Went for Harvey because everyone else is too young. Says more older bachelors should be a thing. He's straight and has a wife. Said gaming was for everyone and if he could romance Astarion in Baulders Gate, he can romance Harvey.

Wasn't keen on Shane, then changed his mind on Shane and has an entire arc.

Became so happy with his two dinos Spike and Ducky (if u know you know).

Last minute switched to living with Krobus, when discovered he could live with an entity.

He loves potatoes.

Cheered when community centre was finished and got me cake for it.

Gus became his next favourite person.

He gets excited when I come and set up the switch to play. Probably explains where my neurospice came from. He gets a blanket and sits on the couch like a snug bug.

When we got rich from mayonnaise, had a brief desire to switch careers but realised he probably wouldn't get that much irl and blames the government for this. Man wanted a mayonnaise buisness for 4 hours.

Ducks.

'Omg I'm dealing maple syrup with a bear again' ...what does he mean by again o.o'

He said the drug scenes were accurate...I raise brow. He responds with 'life is short but not that short. Don't do drugs kiddo'.

He does dad lore dropping the entire month. I learn more about him through Stardew Valley in a month.

I haven't seen him this happy since I introduced him to Minecraft.