#theproblemwithindecision

[wewerenotthefirst]

theproblemwithindecision replied to your post: Your problem with snake!Arthur makes me giggle because I used to have the same problem with mermaids like HOW DOES IT WORK WHY ARE YOU ALL SO COMPLICATED?! And then I stopped wondering but your problem brought it up again. Bless you for trying so hard to make it accurate even if it traumatizes you a little. If you ever do get it though-wow. You must be a god of some sort.

wait is sexytimes with mermaids a thing because if so then I need to know because I want sexytimes with mermaids like duh

sexytimes with mermaids would totally be a thing if I could figure out how the sexytimes work because I want it so hard

but as I understand it one person squirting out eggs and the other spritzing semen on a million little caviar balls is not sexy

i will sell my soul to someone who will write sexytimes with mermaids

/falls over and cries

[shachaai]

Hello, Shacha! Please tell me a bed time story. Preferably one about the massive alternative universes in your head and the characters and stories and stuff OwO (you don't really have to, I just wanted to drop by and say hello)

Sorry, I was away making pancakes.

...Hm. I had an AU dream last night, where the Kirklands were a family with magic in their blood, who had always been born with the second sight. It was less of a blessing and more of a curse, though - all the Kirklands born of the line were male, for generation upon generation, because the women who married into the family were deliberately fed a potion so that  any children they bore would be sons.

'Why?' generation upon generation of wives to the family asked, and their husbands would ask the same thing of their parents, and their grandparents. 'We have plenty of sons; why are we not allowed daughters to brighten our halls?'

'Because it's dangerous,' their parents and grandparents would say, and then say no more than that.

There came a time when a particular Kirkland son was to be married - his parents had found him a wife, from a family who understood the magical ways, and the new couple had taken to each other well. They were wed, and, about half a year later, the lady announced she was pregnant. Dutifully, her husband gave her the potion to drink, and the following year she gave birth to a strong baby boy.

A few years later they did the same thing again. And again. Until the pair had three sons, children that seemed to take on the best qualities of their parents and make both families proud.

The boys grew up - they were loud children, prone to rough tumbling with each other and childish squabbles, but they defended each other from all the other children at school, from the children from the nearby village.

Their mother announced she was pregnant again, and the three of them looked forward to welcoming another baby brother. Only - only this time, unknown to the children, when the lady's huband went to give her the traditional potion, he tripped, and spilt the liquid all over the floor.

He could've easily gotten more. He could've, but the Kirkland son was weary of the traditions, of the secrecy, and his wife was too. What was the point of some old strange potion? His lady had borne three healthy sons; it was likely she would bear a fourth son too. And, if she didn't - what did it matter? They would love a little girl just as much as a boy.

And so the lady did not take the potion, and she gave birth to a little girl some months later. They called her Elaine, and she was as strong and as healthy as all her brothers before her. The midwife attending reported the news - and the Kirkland family came down upon the parents like a storm.

'Fools,' they called the parents. 'Idiots. Murderers.'

The parents did not understand.

'You've damned the child,' they told the parents.

The parents did not understand.

'You will lose the baby,' they told the parents, 'because the fae will come for her. They will sneak past your wards and steal the girl-child from her crib.'

'Nonsense,' said the parents. 'We do not believe -'

'You would believe in magic, but not the fae?' the parents quietened. 'Whether you believe in them or not, they will come for your daughter all the same. We always lost our daughters to the fae, for our girls are strong in both body and magic - they are good brides, and good mothers. We always lost our daughters, so we stopped making daughters to lose. The fae will come for your daughter.'

'...We have no daughter,' the father said, and took his daughter from his wife's protesting hands. 'This is our son, Arthur.'

'You think that will work?'

'This is our son,' the father repeated, and looked to his wife. 'If it will keep her with us, this is our son.'

'...Our son,' his wife agreed, quiet. 'Arthur.'

And so it was Elaine was born as a little girl, and raised as Arthur, as a little boy. Her brothers gained a new baby brother, and treated 'him' the same as they treat each other.

But whether they're little girls or little boys all children grow up, and however they bound her chest and cut her hair no-one could hide how delicate Arthur was in comparison to her brothers, nor how, once every five weeks, when she reached pubescence, she began to bleed. Arthur smelled of blood, of iron - and so her family kept her indoors for one week out of every five, away from the sun and the breeze and anything fae that could be looking in, and told everyone who questioned them that the child was ill. Most believed them - for a boy, Arthur always had looked like a sickly child.

For one week out of every five, Arthur was incredibly bored. There is only so many times one can read the same books in such quick succession, and she had little else to do, confined to her rooms with the curtains tightly shut. She drew a little, painted - she could not play her violin, for what sick child wastes their strength drawing a bow? She was fast outgrowing her toys, and her schoolwork did nothing to alleviate boredom.

At 13, Arthur broke out. One week, towards the end of her bleeding, she pulled back her curtains and opened her window, climbing down one of the ivy-strewn trellises that covered much of the walls on the garden's side of the house. Her brothers were at school, her parents occupied, and the servants all busy making lunch - no-one saw Arthur climb down the trellis (or indeed, break it), and no-one saw her haring off into the deeper undergrowth of the garden, heading towards the fields and woods that lived on the other side of the Kirkland wall.

No-one human, anyway.

[evilponds]

Francey, have I asked you about your feelings about fem!France and England lately? Because I like when you talk about those feelings. Could you tell me some more about those feelings?

are you surecos i have a whole fucking lot of feelings

ok

get ready uh

right so i tend to think theres a certain difference in dynamics when it comes to fruk and england/femfrance, mostly because femfrance is a very different person. actually things between her and england are quite warm; they stopped hating each other quite gradually and quite naturally such that one day when they cut with words it felt more like praise. and what it comes down to is that france likes to be affectionate, needs to be, really, and england is willing to indulge her. it's come down to a sort of attitude that there's some kind of old guard, and that they're part of it, and though there is everyone else there is also just Them and that sort of shield they've created. and, idk, it's just warm and they like it and they joke and tease and are ridiculous together and they love each other, truly and really, because they've known each other so long and what else can you do when you live so close and speak so much

England likes her hair long and tells her so often, and France grows it out just because she likes to hear him say it; sometimes they make late-night calls just to hear each other talk, or to tell one something the other had just thought of and wanted to say before forgetting. and France thinks England is a true and proper idiot, the romantic sort that can't quite get his head out from the clouds, and in a way she's right but perhaps she underestimates his ability to do just that when it needs done and idk

they just. THEYRE IN LOVE but it's not quite love, it's something entirely different and entirely unique to them because they really don't quite think of themselves as completely human; they're not something better, per se, but they're different and he is France's "lovely" and they are very physical but not in such a way as to make passersby uncomfortable. it's all perfectly natural and i lVOE THEM?????????

i have too many feelings oh my god im sorry

[smieska]

theproblemwithindecision replied to your post: I’VE JUST BEEN CRAVING TOMATO SOUP LIKE CRAZY???? ...

if I provide grilled cheese sandwiches, can we have a soup and sandwich party?

yessss someone who speaks my language

hi5

[sirenmouths]

theproblemwithindecision replied to your post: I’m missing the slam on Monday, the last chance...

oh gosh let me hug you

It's alright. It's just me accepting that I'm not going to become the slam poet I want to be overnight, I guess? I mean, there are a bunch of great slam poets at my school or that have graduated from my school, and I'm just not on their level. And I don't know if I'll ever get there because ha, slam is one of the only places where I feel like I have a voice. I mean, are people going to want to listen to someone who can't even take control of her own life?

[wewerenotthefirst]

angsty FrUS with a side of age difference pls

Matthew introduces them with a grimace, barely looking at his brother and disappearing barely a breath after introductions. He grabs a flute of champagne while leaving and downs it and Francis would be more concerned if he wasn’t suddenly left with Matthew’s strange friend.

He’s beautiful and golden, with windswept hair and a devastatingly charming smile.

Francis, of course, takes him to bed, thinking that the sour glances Matthew gives him the next morning after a rumpled and bruised Alfred pads out of Francis’s bedroom to the breakfast table are worth it.

After that, it’s long summer nights and shared cigarettes on the balcony, fingers touching mouths and ignoring the streaking cars and burning lights of the world below then. And, then, it’s long, lazy mornings in bed; of Francis laying Alfred back against the mattress and fucking him hard, fucking him until his smiling mouth turns to a circle and the sweet farm boy is gasping, cum splattering his and Francis’s belly.

“And Matthew said you were old.” Alfred laughs breathlessly, kissing him hard, hooking his leg around Francis’s hip and grinding up.

After these moments, Francis has Alfred ride him. And Alfred rides him, drags his nails down Francis’s chest and messes with the greying curls there.

It goes on and Alfred stays out longer than Francis. Francis goes to bed in a cold bed, thinks about the warmth of Alfred’s thighs, and then locks the door around 3 am because the thought of kissing Alfred leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Alfred doesn’t say anything after those nights, just meets Francis for a late breakfast. He chatters on and prattles continuously and Francis realizes Alfred still can’t speak a proper bit of French.

But he’s pretty and eager and Francis knows he still has a few tricks to ruin Alfred even long after this affection has passed.

[shachaai]

theproblemwithindecision replied to your post: I’m really thirsty but I’m determined to finish...

Same problems

It's trying to fit these beautiful 18th century fashions alongside chirpy pop music? And I - I almost get the use of it, if the music was used to subtly point out the ridiculousness of the Versailles Court, but. It didn't really come off that way? *lost as to whether she should be taking the situation seriously at all*

pale-jonquil replied to your post: I’m really thirsty but I’m determined to finish...

Ooh, I love that movie! Very much a style over substance kinda film, though, in my opinion.

It's pretty to watch, but. Yeah. I don't get it. I'm just waiting to see how they fit the revolution into this in such a short space of time, and if they don't, I shall footstomp. I sat through montages of strawberries and macarons for this.

rechive replied to your post: I’m really thirsty but I’m determined to finish...

and it’s making you want cake, Shacha you should be ashamed.

They keep showing shots of delicious food - I can't help it.

[souslelys]

theproblemswithindecision said:

OwO

I think you were the first one who realized I started listening to WtNV hun :P

OwO

[ominousapples]

Wow, tumblr is tearing this family apart. But yes, hello Mr. Apples! I thought that I would introduce myself to you since my maman Sous isn't doing it for me. I'm your little chickie of an adopted daughter and my name is Izzybeth. You are now Papa Pommes. Congratulations, it's a girl!

this is so not my division

[evilponds]

4 and 15 (and also your theme is awesome)

four's been done!! uwu;

lyrics that apply to my current situation/mood

!!!

and im glad you like my theme!!! hehehe

[shachaai]

Is that Gods AU tag there because of the Kraken or...?

It's there for the kraken. And generally the whole 'inappropriate things to do at weddings' idea, really. The gods have some problems with human social conventions, and an overfondness for their particular pets. ;;; They should have...interesting weddings.

[souslelys]

I'm a nineteen year old baby called Elizabeth. My url comes from my being so indecisive and not from something poetic like Mo or Jen. I live in SoCal, which is much different from NorCal, and I follow you because you are a wonderful, sweet, talented person who is very supportive and friendly. Might I ask what some of the rituals you partake in are when you are in a bad mood?

EZBETH :'D

Gosh, you know I always read your url two different ways: "the problem with indecision" and "the problem within decision". It's lovely dahlin.

And thank you thank you thank you! I'm happy you still think so Q_Q

Ahh when I'm in a bad mood, nobody hears from me - I usually avoid my friends and go for complete alone - iPod, book - the works. This helps because this way I'm not taking it out on other people. It's not fair of me to expect them to comfort me when they don't even know what's going on. I'm usually able to get myself out of a mood but if it gets really bad, I open up to someone D:

Thank you for telling me aboot yourself beautiful Ezbeth <3

[wewerenotthefirst]

http://wewerenotthefirst.tumblr.com/post/53982531271/france-canada-england-engcan-youre-a-coward-til He isn’t really jealous but he does watch when Matthew and Arthur lean close, heads tilted together, during the summit. Their chairs bend towards each other and by the way Matthew colors, maybe Arthur has a hand on his thigh under the table. Francis wonders why Arthur can get away with it. — “While your concern is oddly touching, I am not doing anything Matthew does not want.” Arthur mockingly holds up his whisky, the glass clinking at the bottom. “Also, we both could be alcoholics so don’t use that argument.” After a pause, he adds, “You twat.” “Are you forgetting he drew blood the first time?” He points to the crook of his elbow where he can still almost feel Matthew’s nails shredding the skin there even before Arthur’s fingers pressed in alongside Francis’s cock. “Maybe he just wanted something to remember you by.” Arthur snorts. “Before you left.” There is no again unspoken but Francis thinks there are echoes of it. — There is no next time because Francis waits too long before leaving and by the time he gets there, Matthew is on his back with Arthur between his thighs and they’re kissing and there’s shades of tenderness in the way Arthur touches Matthew and there’s something in the way Matthew’s arms slide around his shoulders that makes Francis quietly leave. (now tell me about these three and please be sure to break my heart while doing so)

— theproblemswithindecision

(shhh liz i only break hearts bc i love so much *smooch*)

*cracks knuckles, getting down to busy*

Okie doke. First off all, Francis is a filthy fucking liar because he is hella jealous. In the first one, he wonders why Arthur can get away with being so touchy-feeling with Matthew, why Arthur can get so close (literally, physically) when if it were Francis, Matthew would turn into a hissing cat move away. Francis is a bit of a masochist, because he spends a lot of time wondering why he and Matthew can't have the same relationship (because, god, Francis wants it more than he thinks he should).

Which leads me to that second passage, Francis doesn't think Arthur is good enough. In the cut scene, Francis calls Arthur an alcoholic who probably manipulated Matthew into bed. Arthur finds that funny (also he's a little tipsy), but part of him also gets where Francis is coming from (that line, at the end, about Matthew wanting a piece of him--speaking of which, that Arthur being dark and asshole-ish about the fact that he knows Francis is a piece of shit who left Matthew with so much as a goodbye). So, Arthur knows Matthew is a source of contention between him and Francis, and Arthur also knows (intimately) that Matthew still has issues about Francis. 

Oh, hold up, on a second reading, I remember that Francis also criticized Arthur for being so rough (rough enough that Matthew scratched Francis that hard) and Arthur is just like 'i don't think you understand, he wants it rough' (like its all pre-negotiated, Matthew likes it rough. like. scary rough.). Yeah, so Francis is being overprotective and Arthur is rolling his eyes and not appreciating Francis being so nagging, especially when he doesn't have the ground to stand on.

(Side note: They DP'd Matthew. Francis thinks Arthur bullied Matthew into doing it, Matthew suggested it over tea. I assume Arthur did a spit take.)

That last bit, Francis has been getting progressively more upset, realizing that he can't really have Matthew and what they do have (the sex) is a pale substitute. So, Francis angsts. But, then he realizes that its better than nothing. But he walks in just as he sees what he really wants (which is what Matthew and Arthur have, love and tenderness that you can't really replicate if you don't actually feel that way. Like, Francis realizes that he can't give Matthew what Arthur can give him, and he realizes that that's what Matthew wants and deserves.). So Francis realizes that…Matthew doesn't need him, not in bed, not in love. And Francis…accepts that. He has no choice. So he leaves.

But its good that he leaves! Because he's only hurting himself. Like, Matthew can try all he wants, but he can't reciprocate what Francis wants, just as Francis can't just start over. Like they can keep fucking, but Francis doesn't want that and Matthew struggles with Francis wanting something more than just fucking.

(Like, Matthew doesn't know how to be with Francis the way he is with Arthur. It would be…foreign and unfamiliar and probably really uncomfortable.)

I think that's it...

Basically, Francis was a mismatched puzzle piece. He didn't fit, no matter how hard he tried or any compromises. It just wasn't going to work out.

[optaisamme]

theproblemwithindecision a ragi votre billet : i just want to write smile-y makeouts but so bad...

what if I wanna write smile-y makeouts four you???

i would cry a lot????

[shachaai]

rechive replied to your post: rechive replied to your post: rechive replied to...

...that one was actually unintentional. I've simply been writing too much porn lately so my mind goes to weird places. But at least youre a happy dick?

So you admit the rest was intentional?

frostinflandersfield replied to your post: rechive replied to your post: rechive replied to...

You know, you should call her out on her lack of understanding of anatomy. Really, if any kind of cock is actually ‘huffing’… We have a problem.

We do indeed.

theproblemwithindecision replied to your post: rechive replied to your post: rechive replied to...

A dick that is being sucked, yes.

It sucks for the dick, yes.