#I'm just suddenly worse than I've been in years which is Not Good

[hamartia-grander]

Starting to slowly realise I'm really not doing well mentally and it's. concerning. I feel like I should take a break from tumblr bc it takes some of what little energy I have but it's also my source of joy with friends so idk what to do, like I'd miss y'all more than I'd feel good about being away. But if you notice me talking less/not responding in days it's bc I just cannot. I leave your message notifs up so I don't forget tho <3

[youngks-smile]

What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Two

This AU got a lot more attention than I expected actually hfjdks I'm so glad everyone likes it!

Anyway, here's part two! We get some concert, some peeks at how Robin helps Steve navigate social situations, and a little Eddie having an itsy-bitsy crisis over Steve's fashion choices.

Have fun! And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't (especially for this one since I wrote most of it on my phone actually lmao)

----

Steve stares at the shirts laid out on his bed, arms crossed over his chest. Choosing jeans had been easy, but choosing a shirt is giving him trouble. What do you wear to a metal show at the local dive bar for a small-town band in which the lead singer is a long-time and way-out-of-your-league crush that you've been holding a candle for since the first time you saw him laugh on top of a cafeteria table?

You definitely don't show up in a plain black shirt, that's for sure.

The lights in the hall outside Steve's room flicker, switching off and on three times. Steve just barely notices, which means he doesn't get his pants scared off when Robin appears in the doorway, grinning at him while pocketing the key to the front door he'd given her months ago into a messenger bag. "Hey, dingus," she says, striding into the room and flopping onto the bed.

Steve rolls his eyes, yanking the shirts out from under her and laying them once more over Robin's stomach and legs. "What shirt should I wear?" he asks.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to look from the shirts to Robin, and she patiently waits until he's staring at her to say, "Just pick one. Nobody's gonna care what you're wearing."

"I care," Steve says, frowning as he looks back at the shirts. For the aforementioned crush reason, Steve cares very much about the shirt he wears. "What says 'Hi, we've never talked before but your music is the only thing I can hear and I think your hair is in desperate need of quality shampoo and also I've been halfway in love with you since, like, sophomore year'?"

Robin considers the question for a long moment before picking up a red sweater. "This one says 'I'm horny'," she offers.

Steve blinks, staring at the sweater for a few beats before laughing. "But I'm not," he says.

Despite looking at Robin, she happens to angle her head toward the sweater, and her response is lost on Steve. He frowns, waits until her jaw has stopped moving, and says, "I didn't get that."

After Robin first learned about Steve's deafness, he'd been overly anxious about asking her to repeat things. Somehow, it was worse to constantly ask when the person knew he couldn't hear well, if at all. But Robin had never shown annoyance; she'd just adjust her posture, make sure Steve could see her lips, and repeat her words. She does all of this now, and Steve gets to read her joking response, "Yeah, but you will be."

And, yeah, she has him there. Steve huffs and collapses onto the bed beside her, sacrificing the shirts. "I'll need a jacket," he says, turning his head to look at Robin so he can read her response.

Instead of words, though, he sees her face light up, and she jumps off the bed. Steve sits up, watching as she digs in her messenger bag before pulling out a t-shirt. "Remember when I stayed over a few weeks ago? And you let me borrow a shirt? You should wear it!"

Thankfully, Robin waits until she's done talking to throw the shirt in Steve's face. Honestly, he only understood a few words ("remember," "borrow," and "wear") but he's gathered enough context clues to get the gist of things.

He spreads the shirt out, humming at the Iron Maiden design. It's not one he wears often; for the most part, it's a shirt he wears on lazy days at home because of how soft it is. But as he's studying the design, Steve is suddenly hit with a stroke of pure genius.

He quickly changes into the shirt and then grabs a varsity jacket (not his letterman, but one he'd seen at the mall and bought on a whim because it used a nice shade of yellow) off his desk, tugging it on over the shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. After a few more seconds of digging around, he finds sneakers under the bed and tugs them on.

"Okay," he says, turning so Robin can see the outfit from every angle. He comes to a stop when he's facing her once more, hands buried in his jacket pockets, and asks, "What do you think? How's it look?"

"I think you'll give Eddie a crisis," Robin replies, wrinkling her nose at the varsity jacket. "Not, like, a bad one. But he'll probably ask where you got the shirt from."

Steve grins, thinking that sounds about perfect, and turns to study himself in the mirror. It's a surprisingly solid blend of metal and jock, and it makes him feel oddly confident, the same way he felt the first time he did his hair just right and everyone complimented it.

"Perfect," he decides. "Let's go."

----

The ride to the Hideout isn't exactly quiet, but it's not like Steve can talk and drive at the same time. So it's filled with music blasted as high as it can go on his car stereo, causing the whole vehicle to vibrate with each beat. When he finally turns the car off after parking, Robin grimaces as she rubs her ears.

She waits for Steve to be in front of her before saying, "We're putting the windows down next time."

"Oh. Sorry," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly as Robin dismissively waves off his apology.

"No, it's fine, I'm just saying. Now, let's get inside before they start."

With that, she loops her arm through Steve's and drags him into the Hideout. They're hit with a wave of cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and sweat as they walk through the door, the combined smells making Steve dizzy. He frowns, leaning closer to Robin as she squeezes his arm. He feels her thumb tap him twice, their code for asking if the other is okay.

"I'm fine," he mumbles, nodding to a table in the corner. "Let's go sit. I just need to get used to...everything."

The lights are weird, too. Despite the place being dim, the few lights that are on are flickering, and Steve is having trouble processing all the new information his (working) senses are taking in.

Thankfully, Robin pulls him over to the table he pointed to, a small circle near a stage of dubious sturdiness. It looks like it can barely hold the instruments, much less those plus the people who will play them. There's an amp on the side of the stage near the table, which means they'll have the perfect spot to feel the music's vibrations. Steve slides into one of the chairs there and closes his eyes, resting his arms on a table that is surprisingly not sticky.

He feels Robin move the other chair next to him, slide in, and start pulling things out of her bag. When Steve opens his eyes again, there's a notebook between them and a variety of pens in all different colors spread out across the open pages. Robin has already picked up a red pen and is writing with it as Steve chooses a purple one.

When Robin is done writing, she taps the page so Steve can read, "Want something to drink?"

"I'm not sure we can trust the glasses here," he writes back.

"The fact you're calling them "glasses" tells me everything. Just sit tight."

With that, Robin drops her pen, winks at Steve, and heads over to the bar where a woman is wiping the counter. Steve watches her for a few seconds before looking around at the other people in the place. Most of them are sitting in groups, talking amongst themselves. Most of them also have mustaches or beards, making it downright impossible for Steve to read their lips.

Instead, Steve just gets a dull kind of rush in his ears, an ever-present background noise he can't escape. Soon enough, maybe because he's thinking about it too much, a high-pitched ringing starts up in his right ear, growing and growing in pitch until it's all he can focus on. Steve grimaces and looks down at the notebook, trying to keep his shoulders relaxed so he doesn't look as tense as he feels. The ringing persists, and he rubs his ear like that's going to help.

His ear is still ringing, though it has started to diminish, when a water bottle is placed in front of him. Steve jerks, forcing himself to calm down as Robin slides into her seat again with a mug of beer that's more foam than anything else. "They're about to start," she says, waiting until Steve has nodded once to show understanding before taking a sip.

Steve looks up at the stage and wonders how he missed Eddie and his friends arriving. As his friends are setting up behind him, Eddie is resting one hand on the neck of his guitar and using the other to hold the mic close to his mouth. Steve can't read his lips, but Eddie's grin is a little contagious as he says something to a guy by the bar. The guy must say something back, because Eddie bursts out laughing, his head thrown back to show off a neck Steve wants to bite.

A tap on his arm brings his attention away, and he looks at the notebook to see Robin has scrawled out a transcript:

"Eddie: Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone

Guy: Fuck off, Munson

Eddie: Love you, too, Jeremy"

Steve snorts, looking up to see Robin's equally amused smile as she continues to write on another page. When he glances at the stage, Steve sees Eddie still talking into the mic, his eyes roaming over the audience until they reach Steve and Robin. Eddie seems to grip the mic tighter, and he holds Steve's eyes for a few seconds, giving just enough time for Steve to wave awkwardly before Eddie looks away. But his smile seems a little bigger than before, and Steve is happy to let himself think he caused it.

When he looks down again, Robin has finished writing, and she nudges the notebook closer to him. Eddie must talk fast, because her writing is almost indistinguishable from chicken scratch in dirt that a cat got dragged through. Thankfully, Steve is an expert at this point.

"Eddie: Anyway, you know the drill. We'll start with some Metallica, treat you to Iron Maiden, throw in a dash of Black Sabbath, and then grace you with a Corroded Coffin original. If you don't like it, not my problem."

Steve feels the beginning of the set as he finishes reading. He sits a little straighter, planting his feet firmly on the floor and placing his palms on the table with his fingers spread. Robin is still writing next to him, most likely transcribing the bits and pieces of conversation she can hear for Steve to read later and laugh at. She doesn't try to get his attention while she does, already knowing it won't be worth it after Steve has shifted into Music Mode.

In the same way that people can tell what song is playing based simply on the first note, Steve can sometimes tell based on the strength and length of the first vibration. In the same way people know the lyrics of songs after listening to them enough times, Steve knows the vibration patterns like the back of his hand. In the same way people who hear their favorite songs played live can tell when a note is wrong or a lyric is sung too fast, Steve can tell when the drummer or bassist makes tiny mistakes that wouldn't be caught otherwise.

And Steve loves it. He loves how his entire body thrums with each vibration that travels from the amp. He loves how he can close his eyes and picture a story based on the music, one that probably doesn't match the lyrics but tends to replace them in his heart. He loves that this is something he can still share with his friends, even if most of them don't realize how different his experience with music is.

So, for all the little bumps and dips that occur in the vibrations as Corroded Coffin plays, for all the tiny slips that certainly go unnoticed by anyone else, and for all the fact that Steve doesn't get to hear Eddie's voice, he can confidently say he loves the show. He's never heard the songs played like this before, and it helps diminish the gut-deep desperation for new music.

And then Corroded Coffin starts a new song. It's one Steve doesn't recognize, one with vibrations that are completely foreign to him, and he jerks his head up to watch Eddie play his guitar in an opening solo. It thrums across the floor, climbing up his legs and spreading in waves from his palms on the table. Steve feels goosebumps chase after it, a new wave washing over him when the guitar solo ends with a particularly strong vibration that's immediately followed by the drums and bass.

Eddie throws himself into the music, moving and twisting and strutting around the stage like he's playing to Madison Square Garden. Steve can't look away, the lyrics incomprehensible but replaced by the jerk of Eddie's hips and the tilt of his head and the little half-spin he does on his heel.

It ends too quickly with one final, reverberating strum that lingers in Steve's bones, burrowing into his marrows as Eddie pushes his hair back and grins into the mic. He says something breathlessly, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, and Steve knows he's gone.

He's hopeless.

He's desperate.

He needs more Corroded Coffin, more Eddie, in whatever form he can get.

----

For the first time, Corroded Coffin gets genuine applause after playing. Usually, the patrons of the Hideout will politely clap (if they even notice the set is over) for about two seconds. Tonight, however, Eddie and his friends are graced with excited clapping, a few shouts, and one very strong whistle from a small table to the left of the stage. And it spreads because even rough biker dudes can fall to peer pressure when it's that enthusiastic.

So, yeah, genuine applause all because of Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley who, Eddie thinks, is surprising company for the former King of Hawkins High. No matter how unexpected, he should still thank them and ask what they thought of the set now that it's over. He carefully sets his guitar on a stand and glances over his shoulder, catching Jeff's gaze and flashing a grin. "I'll be right back," he says before jumping off the stage and heading over to Steve and Robin's table.

As he gets closer, he notices the notebook and pens spread out, colorful writing filling the pages and Steve grinning with amusement as he reads it. Robin is watching him like she's waiting for him to understand an inside joke already so they can laugh about it together. If Eddie didn't already know Robin was like him (band camp, summer after his junior year, during an unfortunate game of Seven Minutes in Heaven where they awkwardly stood in a closet together before Robin commented on his black bandana), he'd wonder if something was going on between them.

"How'd you like the set?" Eddie asks when he reaches the table, suddenly nervous enough to tug on a lock of his hair and pull it in front of his mouth.

Robin looks up, but Steve doesn't. He's still reading the notebook, snorting at whatever is written there like he didn't hear Eddie. It's not until Robin elbows him that he raises his head, eyes widening when he sees Eddie. "Sorry, could you repeat that?" Steve asks, his gaze dropping to Eddie's mouth (Eddie definitely isn't imagining that) and faltering some.

"I asked if you liked the set," Eddie says, frowning slightly as Robin grabs a pen and scribbles something on the notebook. It's too small for him to read, but he doesn't miss how Steve glances down for less than a second before his eyes light up with realization.

"Oh!" he says, looking back at Eddie and flashing a charming grin. "It was great. You guys are so loud, and I've never f-uh, heard anything like your original song before."

Eddie catches the way Steve fumbles, faltering like he wanted to say one word but forced himself to say another. Something is tugging at the back of Eddie's mind, but he can't quite grab onto it just yet. For now, he leans forward, placing both hands on the table so he can be closer to Steve. "You listen to metal often, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve stares at his mouth for a few seconds before nodding, and Eddie feels the thrill of learning something completely unexpected. "I like Black Sabbath best, but Judas Priest and Guns N' Roses are close seconds," Steve says.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, "What do you like most about it?" He wants to know. Does Steve Harrington (King Steve, Steve "The Hair" Harrington, Steve fucking Harrington) like metal for the same reasons he does? Does he like the stories and the passion and the heavy theatricality of it all?

Steve seems to hesitate, possibly thinking about how to answer, before finally saying, "I like how it's music I can feel. When I listen to metal, it digs into my bones. Other music doesn't."

Somehow, Eddie's grin gets impossibly wider, and his cheeks are hurting from the sheer force of it. He's about to say more when Robin glances at the clock and swears under her breath. "Shit, I promised Mom I'd be home ten minutes ago," she says, grabbing the pens and recklessly throwing them into her bag.

It's the movement that seems to catch Steve's attention, and he looks down at Robin's hands before looking up at the clock. "Oh, fuck, your curfew," he says, looking at Robin like she hadn't just said the same thing two seconds ago.

"Yeah, no shit, dingus," Robin says, pausing long enough to speak while looking straight at Steve before throwing the notebook into her bag, too. She jumps to her feet and hauls Steve out of the chair, making his varsity jacket fall open to reveal an Iron Maiden shirt.

And Eddie thinks his heart just about stops. He doesn't know why, but seeing Steve in a metal band shirt under an undeniably jock jacket makes him feel....something. This is, like, sacrilege, right? How dare Steve Harrington allow Metal and Jock to meet? Doesn't he know the two styles clash? Or, well, they're supposed to clash, but Steve somehow wears them well, and Eddie thinks he's upset and annoyed by the fact.

Before Eddie can analyze that feeling, Steve says, "Sorry to run, Eddie. You played really well. Let me know when the next show is."

There's a lot to unpack there, too. Steve Harrington wants to come to another Corroded Coffin gig. Steve Harrington is sorry he has to cut the conversation short. Steve Harrington thinks his band played really well. Before Eddie can say anything in response, Robin is dragging Steve away, throwing a goodbye over her shoulder.

Eddie doesn't want Steve to go without something, though, some kind of departing word, so he shouts, "See ya later, big boy!"

Steve doesn't look back, but Robin nearly trips over the doorway. She then pauses long enough to say something to Steve, watching with sheer delight as he splutters and glances at Eddie before dragging her through the door. Eddie couldn't stop the grin if he tried, and he didn't try.

Later, when Eddie is sprawled on the floor of his room, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Steve's stupid combination of Metal and Jock, he'll be struck by a sudden, consuming thought. What if Steve was wearing just the Iron Maiden shirt? What if he wore just the jacket?

Eddie swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his mouth going dry as he scrambles to his feet and gets ready to take a very, very cold shower.

----

Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

Please follow the tag "good vibrations Steddie" or put on notifications for my blog to see when new parts are posted :D)

@hallucinatedjosten, @queenie-ofthe-void, @r0binscript, @jewellthebooknerd, @paintgonewrong, @vacantwatchers, @newagemyth, @gutterflower77, @just-a-tiny-void, @littlebluejane

@whenindoubtb72, @different-tale-student, @sharingisntkaren, @current-steddie-brainrot, @willim-billiam-byerson, @nuggies4life

@lostgurl-12, @anomalygal, @synonym-for-strange, @sani-86, @missmagillicuddy, @ilikechocolatemilkh, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @harringrieve, @awesomeimportantfan, @fredtheemoplant, @warlordess, @therealscarletpumpernickel, @gsvshsjsbs, @mightbeasleep, @mollymawkwrites

@lil-gremlin-things, @honorarybrit81, @sonny-ray-of-goth, @potent-idiocy, @fandomcartographer, @heartsong18, @lingeringmirth, @ko0kyco0kies, @ccomandercody, @spiderman-stilinski, @l0st-strawberry, @xxsky-shockxx, @stilesstickitinme, @boxsam, @thepansexualsnake, @37-screamingfrogs, @yourmom-isgay, @brainsteddielyrotted, @plasticcrotches, @hannahhook7744

[spacebarbarianweird]

Oooh! Chronic depression Tav sounds right up your alley! I'm also chronically depressed and I have a similar living condition (messy room, not the horrific torture) to Astarion. Maybe a Tav who can empathize with his messy tent and his depression?

Oh yes, this hits my alley! I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and depression a while ago plus it seems like I had a severe depression when I was 12-19 years old (but I wasn't taken to any specialists back then).

TW: Anxiety and depression come in different forms, my therapists always told me that I have a weird skill to look absolutely normal meanwhile tests show signs of severe depression. I've based this headcanon on my own experience.

TW 2: A suicide attempt, depression.

Astarion x Depressed!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You feel off.

Something was utterly wrong with you for the last few years.

You barely eat, sleep too much

Decision-making is difficult as fuck, and you just do what you are told to.

The time is slipping through your fingers and you sometimes realize it's already winter when it was summer a day ago.

You feel like drowning in the dark void.

Maybe you should just end everything? Because life will never get better.

The tadpole suppresses your condition.

You suddenly feel good. You feel strong. You feel alive.

And the Emperor is particularly adamant that you embrace the tadpole potential.ccepting the tadpole potential.

"Remember how bad you felt before? It will get worse if you deny the tadpole. Once it's gone, your mind will drown in darkness again. But accept my offer, and you will never suffer again."

You recognize familiar patterns in Astarion's behavior.

His inability to make decisions.

The mess he made of his tent.

The way he sometimes sits and stares in the distance not moving at all.

That he doesn't really read, staring at the papers with mindless eyes.

Or quickly turning pages without understanding what is written there.

Or an extreme degree of anhedonia. He cannot taste wine or food, his senses are dulled, and nothing brings him joy except blood and sex (both of which have been unavailable to him for centuries).

You want to accept the tadpole. You don't want to go back to where you were. He doesn't want to either.

But when you take the astral tadpole, Astarion knocks it out of your hands and smashes it.

"You're in no condition to make decisions like that, dear," he says, grabbing your arm.

Neither is he.

You fear to have the tadpole removed.

When it is gone, it's worse than you expected.

You can't move. Can't think. The void is killing you.

You don't want to talk to anyone. You can't do anything. The only thing you are capable of is to crawl into the inn and lie there like in a coffin.

It will never get better.

Maybe, you should just off yourself?

And Astarion's absence only proves your thoughts. He isn't there, he's left. He doesn't need a burden like you.

The relapse is so bad you decide to find a way to end things.

You choose a lonely place and takes a dagger out.

You greet death like an old friend.

Only to wake up under a starry night sky.

With a familiar skeleton-like figure close to you.

Withers brought you back. But why? And how did he…

Before you manage to say anything coherent, you feel strong hands around your waist and a familiar scent.

Astarion cries holding you.

"I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have... I am so sorry..."

He was ashamed of himself. Of his own relapse.

But he could never thought you would kill yourself.

These six monthes were difficult for him.

Yes, he was free. He could do whatever he wanted.

But he was lonely. He had nightmares. Breakdowns.

He started looking for you only to realize you were dead.

Finding Withers was his only hope.

And you are back. Back to him.

Astarion takes you away from Baldur's Gate to the places you've never been before.

Basically making you run faster than your darkness.

Together you learn how to enjoy things.

You basically ask each other "What can we do rn to make ourselves feel better?"

A swim in the lake? A bath in the inn? A new piece of garment? Just staying together in the tent?

You hold each other from slipping into the void.

Eventually, you are advised to start taking some medicine made by clerics.

You take it once a day and you feel better, almost the same way you felt with the tadpole.

You take the double shot because Astairon drinks your blood to get this medicine for himself.

You both don't feel yourself that miserable anymore. You both cry less.

You sleep better, Astarion doesn't have nightmares.

You are good. Both of you.

It doesn't mean the darkness won't come back - but you are both ready to meet it.

--

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[retrocesosdestacion]

INSIDE EVERYTHING. | ingrid engen

ingrid engen x reader

genre: smut, minor disastrous.

warnings: +18 writting, semi-public sex, touching, fingering, r sub, maybe a bit realistic, did not reach the limit, half sex, almost caught.

notes: i'm not a big fan of writing smut but i tried to use all my neurons 🤷‍♀️ also i wrote this when i was sleepy so maybe there are some things that don't make much sense

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: It's shopping day, however you are very doubtful on which denim shorts you are going to acquire.

How to solve? Ask a certain norwegian woman for her impression.

“ You're on my mind, been there all the night. I've been missing my midnight queen. ”

Rosenfeld.

❝ No. ❞ You heard Ingrid disagree before you even got fully dressed.

Arms crossed with some shorts folded, back leaning against the cabin wall and beautiful grassy eyes staring at you.

Engen looked more like a fashion critic than your girlfriend. That was the bad side of being her girlfriend: always having an opinion in what you would wear.

❝ Why not?! ❞ You would need good justifications to ditch those shorts. You walked around completely to make sure it was comfortable. ❝ It's perfect. ❞

❝ Too short. ❞ Worse than having a critical girlfriend? Having a jealous and critical girlfriend.

You and Ingrid have been dating for a year. It are flowers, there is nothing to complain about apart from the midfielder's very few inconvenient attitudes.

After all, you were also a bit inconvenient with her.

Your optical orbs landed on the norwegian, indignant and not convinced that these would be the perfect shorts for your summer vacation.

❝ But isn't that the point of shorts? ❞ You argued, extending a hand to Engen, waiting for her to give you the next shorts you would try on.

❝ Yes, but this one is shorter than the normal ones. ❞ Ingrid claimed as she watched you from top to bottom, mainly focusing on the beginning of the curve of your buttock. ❝ And your ass shows. ❞

You rolled your eyes, unzipping your shorts inside the cabin; Just the two of you, there was nothing to worry about.

You wouldn't even need to face the norwegian in person to find out her reaction, as the mirror that almost completed the wall gave it away.

❝ And what’s the problem? ❞ At that point you were mocking with her, but it was these types of comments that touched the player's heart the most. Your eyes landed on your girlfriend's reflection.

Engen was not happy about this at all. ❝ Are you kidding me? ❞ Her perplexed tone was so noticeable that it brought a silly smile off your face.

The laughter on your face was there for a long time, and so was the silence. Not so much, in reality, the only thing that passed through your ears was the scattered sounds of the store's environment.

❝ Give me the next one, miss possessive. ❞ You whispered without receiving a response. Your brow furrowed in doubt, until you noticed Ingrid's sudden approach to you.

So, you turned your body towards the woman, who suddenly handed you one of the next shorts you were going to try on. ❝ We had agreed that you wouldn't call me that anymore. ❞

❝ How can I not call you that if you live up to your name? ❞ You played again, pulling down the shorts you were wearing while you felt her greenish eyes penetrate you.

Basically, it was completely fun to irritate and pay attention to the norwegian, mainly because she gave in very easily to this type of emotion.

It just wasn't expected that this time would be different. Really very different.

You threw the previous shorts on the armchair inside the dressing room and immediately put on the other one. Sincerely? That was the best.

❝ How about that? ❞ You questioned without looking back at Engen. It was comfortable, probably wouldn't be too short in your girlfriend's opinion, and it wasn't long either.

You gave the norwegian some time to formulate an impression about the shorts. And given how long it took, something positive would probably come out of those lips.

Or maybe because Engen's eyes were too busy staring at your thighs and part of your groin.

❝ Not short. And it's more practical. ❞ Gotcha. Ingrid murmured, immediately placing her index finger inside one of yours side waistbands.

Your eyes finally met the midfielder's, who had a very tempting look on her face. And you knew very well what that meant, but not for that moment.

❝ Practical? ❞ You slowly dissipated the word from your lips, confused by what was said.

❝ To take away. ❞

And gradually you discovered it. Your eyes widened, eyebrows rose in surprise and your head began to shake slowly in denial.

❝ No. ❞ You inhaled, shaking your head faster. ❝ No way. ❞ Your cheeks began to burn with tension.

❝ I didn't say anything. ❞ Ingrid smiled the stupid smile of someone who had the best idea in mind. Suddenly, you weren't the one playing with her anymore.

And yes, she is playing with you.

The finger on the waistband previously pulled you closer to Engen's body, who saw the opportunity to seal your lips quickly.

At first you forced yourself to give in, after all, who would deny a kiss from the woman of your life? Presupposedly, you moved your face inches away, before the norwegian started advancing.

❝ Shit, Ingrid. We are not doing it. ❞ You whispered, placing the palm of your hand on the woman's lips and gently pushing them. ❝ We are in public. ❞

❝ No, we are not. ❞ Engen played with the situation once again, moving your hand away. ❝ Please, it will be quick. ❞

Your optical orbs stared at the stupid malicious expression that the midfielder carried on her beautiful and angelic face.

The long silence without responding to the norwegian was the key for Ingrid to carefully seal her lips again. Slowly, your body was pushed against the mirror on the wall. ❝ The chances of them seeing us are low, Kjære. ❞ (darling.)

Your body was already warm from the closed and small place that was the cabin, and now with your girlfriend touching you? It was like adding gasoline in aflame.

Ingrid controlled her lips so well, being nice and slow until you got used to the situation. The taller girl's long, cold, left-handed fingers slid down your torso, looking for some treasure while the other hand delicately grabbed her jaw.

You grunted between the kiss, perhaps due to the tension, to the lack of breath that was present or owing to the fear of someone opening that door.

Your eyes closed, giving up on the situation you found yourself in. Your mind focused on the sweet flavor of Ingrid's lip flesh and creating scenarios of an employee opening that door.

The only thing that sounded inside that semi-dark room were the sticky lips mixing and the sound of the environment.

❝ Ingrid— ❞ You murmured between the kiss, which slowly broke from the moment Engen led them south.

The norwegian's lips found themselves on the skin of the curve of your neck. And that was the final step for you to finally give yourself to the woman.

Your fingers slipped between the black strands, combing and pressing them each time Ingrid gently nibbled or sucked your skin.

If you were looking at her correctly, you could easily see how the midfielder had a short and emphatic smile.

Lips half-open, echoing muffled sounds and your skin getting chills more and more. It was magnificent, incredible and crazy how a certain norwegian woman could make you ecstasy.

❝ That's a bad idea. ❞ The words slowly came out in a murmur between muffled grunts. Ingrid increasingly enhanced her lips on your skin.

The midfielder had the talent of always studying your body with tenor and affection, it was a gift to have Engen's delicate lips glued to your figure.

But despite this, your concern for the environment was the counter to affectionate touches. Even though every cabin had a door, they didn't lock.

And being inside for more than six minutes was also a danger, at some point someone would enter there.

❝ Trust me. ❞ Engen finally released her lips from your body, but it screamed, begged to have her back.

You hated Ingrid for always leaving you at ease in situations like this, always halfway. At this point, your legs were almost begging to open and let the Norwegian do whatever she wants with you.

It was a fight. You wanted to, but you also didn't.

But in reality, there was no turning back from this; Your needy and passionate side won.

Screw it. You're in public, people should see how much you love each other. People should watch how you loved being touched like that.

Ingrid finally reached her fingers at the beginning of your genitals through your shorts, gradually touching them with just her index finger.

Your body was sensitive, any touch was enough to make you grunt or arch. The norwegian's fingerprint did not rub, but slid, circularly.

Even though the fabric of the shorts is thick enough to not feel the outside touch, Engen had the capacity to do so.

It was the wet lips touching your skin and marking it, it was the slightest touch of the long finger in the region of your genitals; Ingrid wasn't even inside you and your breathing was so heavy.

Your lungs inflated and deflated as quickly as a marathon runner's, a strong struggle between containing the slightest groans and finding breath for the situation.

❝ Do you want me to stop? ❞ Engen murmured between her lips glued to your skin, slowly pulling away and resting her eyes on your face. ❝ We can do this at home. ❞

Despite all this attitude, Ingrid was a person with a strong personality, always putting your well-being first.

The norwegian's fingers, too. They stopped, but without leaving their place.

You took a second breath before confirming your answer. You shook your head negative, finally giving your answer.

❝ Please, no. ❞ Your lips wet with your own drool, hardly satiated because you were busier moaning.

Your body began to release drops of sweat, your sly eyes looked at Engen; carrying the stupid horny smile.

Her left hand slid down to the south of your thighs, pressing your fingers against the norwegian's wrist. You slowly guided her delicate hand into your shorts, unzipped.

Therefore, the midfielder's fingers were a tissue away from her clitoris. Your gaze stared into the greenish optical orbs, somewhat perplexed by his sudden attitude.

❝ Finish what you started. ❞ You brought your lips close to your girlfriend's ear area, enough to whisper.

You freed her wrist, intending to give Engen full consent to touch your body however she wanted. Your arms rose and wrapped around the player's neck.

Slowly, Ingrid wet her own fingers with her lips, lubricating them. The ring finger started the touching, even over the panties.

It was slow, but well done. The midfielder had a lot of experience when it came to creating elation in you.

The circular movements were enough to make you grunt and muffle the sounds on Engen's skin, indirectly begging her to do more and more.

Within seconds, the only thing you could feel was Ingrid's finger invade your clitoris, especially when you noticed your panties being dragged to the side.

Exposed to her and everything, your eyes refused to look at anything other than the cabin door. You had many missions: not to moan so loud, not to grunt and not to make any rough movements.

After all, you were one step away from being in public.

Ingrid's ring and middle fingers did not penetrate, but rubbed against your warm vaginal skin. From side to side, top to bottom.

And that was enough to make you act like she had two fingers inside you. It wasn't a lie when it was said that your skin is sensitive.

With each second it increased in intensity like a sports car starting up, Ingrid moved her fingers so well that you even wondered if that was the woman you knew.

Your face was buried in the midfielder's collarbone, muffling short, sly moans that left your lips.

❝ Damn, Ingrid. ❞ Even though you were busy blocking out the sounds coming out of you, there was still space to murmur your loved one's name.

Engen acted concentrated, rubbing her fingers on you, which inch by inch entered you. But also, the woman's cold lips touched your skin.

Body arched towards your girlfriend, fingers leading towards the long black strands of her. You bit your own lips with each long finger you received, stopping the moans from coming out.

Slowly, you could feel the sweat dripping down your entire body, especially on the inside of your thighs. A sweat so powerful that it was enough to slide.

The heat inside the dressing room was so intense that the mirror fogged up every minute, perhaps due to the control over your bodies.

❝ Relax. ❞ Engen murmured so low that it was difficult to decipher, even close to your ear.

You didn't know what to say and didn't even know what to think: you didn't know whether to moan the norwegian's name, order her to stop due to the tension or beg for more.

And down there, it was impossible to describe what was happening. Ingrid wrapped her fingers around it, took it out and put it back in several times and always increased the intensity as if she knew exactly what she was playing with.

Engen played with your body as if she knew every detail and secret of yours.

❝ Fuck. ❞ You repeated this once, twice, three times, almost increasing your intonation. Your mind surrendered to Engen, surrendering so much that you even forgot you were in public.

Your very long arms pressed more and more around the taller woman's neck, mainly as a bridge to sink your face even further into her neck.

The norwegian brought her lips back to your neck, carefully kissing your skin, but also biting it.

On your private part and now on your neck? This was the perfect combo, but at the same time crazy. It was at that moment that you were sure you were crazy about Ingrid Engen.

But you were so focused on praising her and moaning the norwegian's name that you completely forgot you were in public.

Especially on a Saturday night, where people go out to buy clothes and try them on. Which meant your time was limited.

At that moment, even though you were mentally occupied with Engen's face and fingers, it was very noticeable steps meters away heading towards you.

Your eyebrows arched, immediately pulling the player's hand away; even though she had noticed it too, since she had stopped moving her fingers.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

❝ Men hva i helvete. ❞ (what the fuck.) Ingrid murmured so swiftly that it didn't even sound norwegian. The woman's body reacted so quickly by moving towards the armchair, that Engen seemed experienced in being caught in act.

And you were no different. The only problem is that you only had the opportunity to stare at the door, praying that whoever opened it wouldn't notice anything.

The footsteps approached and stopped, knocking twice on the door and asking permission to open it just a crack.

❝ Yes? ❞ You responded to the touches with a fragile intonation, as you were trying to catch your breath.

❝ Sorry to interrupt, but I noticed that you've been in there for almost twenty-five minutes. ❞ A female voice came from outside. ❝ Is everything ok? ❞

You took a while to respond, as you were more concentrated and having difficulty taking off your shorts due to the sweat caused.

❝ Yes, everything fine. I am leaving soon! I just need... ❞ Your eyes fell on Engen, who carried a stupid smile of someone who was clearly holding back a laugh. ❝ ...Fold the clothes I wore. ❞

❝ No need, just leave the ones you won't use on the counter after you leave. ❞ The door gap has closed. ❝ Once again, sorry for the inconvenience. ❞

An uncomfortable silence remained inside the cabin, you wiped off the little sweat that remained on your own neck.

❝ I knew this would happen! ❞ You finally said something, looking at Ingrid.

❝ If you had known it was going to happen, you wouldn't have accepted it, miss moans loudly. ❞ Engen got back at you, expressing short laughs that were definitely meant to stress you out.

❝ But I— ❞

She got up and walked towards the door, carrying the other shorts you had already worn. ❝ Can we finish at home? ❞ At this point, Ingrid was making fun of you.

❝ ...Fuck you. ❞ That was the only thing you said before pushing the Norwegian; which barely moved. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment.

You put on your own pants, soon carrying the shorts you were previously wearing between your fingers. Now, you were forced to buy it.

❝ We will never do this again, you idiot. ❞

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

[vavandeveresfan]

Jenny Watson: "We can do it, so let's do it." Jenny outlines her plan for a female-only, lesbian space.

For my lesbian, bisexual women, and radfem Followers. Via Graham Linehan's Substack.

For many decades, London was considered the global capital for lesbian nightlife. But you’d never know it if you visited the UK today. It’s not for a lack of British lesbian culture: I’m a lesbian, I’m involved in our country’s lesbian social scene, and I can assure you, it’s alive and well. What we lack at the moment are our own dedicated spaces. I think the UK needs once more to have lesbian-run, female-only community spaces. 

I’ve got an idea about how to make one such space a reality. And I believe I'm in a position to make it happen.

Over the past seven years, I've had the privilege of organising a range of lesbian social events in London. Throughout this time, I've made many connections in our community, gained an increasing understanding of our needs, and created social spaces that I hope go some way to meeting them. 

And in those seven years working to coordinate part of the the UK’s lesbian social scene, I’ve come to see how badly we need a dedicated, strictly female-only event space — now more than ever. 

Men have been encroaching on the lesbian community, and the problem is only getting worse. There’s been a sense of inevitability, that this is just something we have to learn to live with.

But I’ve had it.

In June, I skipped London’s official Pride festivities and instead visited an alternative, independent event at the Hampstead Ponds. It was a female-only picnic. Hundreds of women of all ages were gathered, from their teens to their eighties. And the sublime joy that I felt that day led me to a eureka moment:

We need this. We deserve this. This is our right. As lesbians and bisexual women, we have a right to social spaces that are entirely our own.

So, earlier this year, I decided to implement a women-only policy at my events. Although this sparked controversy, we ultimately received recognition from the UK’s largest pub operator that it is legitimate to hold women-only lesbian events - a real victory!

And then it suddenly dawned on me: we need more and not only do we need this, I can do this. I feel I have a good sense of the UK market for lesbian social events. So I crunched some numbers and developed a business proposal. I gauged interest and studied feasibility. And I’m excited to tell you: I believe this can work.

My plan involves establishing a private members’ club and securing a prime physical space in London. By day, this space will operate as a versatile hybrid workspace, becoming a venue hosting various social events in the evenings and weekends. Alongside these, we'll provide online events, and collaborate with service providers for health and wellness advice, fitness guidance, group trips, and more. Revenue will come from the events, partnerships, as well as from membership dues.

To the lesbian and bisexual women reading this: you’re welcome to get in touch with me if you’d like to learn more. There's an opportunity to invest if you’re interested, too. I’ve got a pitch deck I would be happy to show you and a fully fleshed-out, 50-page business plan. And I’m happy to report that there are already investors who have given the thumbs up. 

Following my announcement and inspired by the community's heartwarming response, I decided to introduce an early-bird membership programme. This includes a personalised QR-coded membership card for exclusive updates and access to a members’ discussion space. Joining early also signifies your part in accelerating our community's launch. 

Which brings me to another issue, and it’s a big part of the reason I’m writing this now: online critics. There’s a small but vocal group of people online who’ve been saying some pretty nasty and completely unfounded things about me. This group of people have taken to personal insults, and accusations that I’m a fraudster and a grifter.

I’m not entirely surprised to encounter pushback, but at the same time, the level of vitriol has been eye-opening.

But I try to put it in a bigger context: Lesbians have faced so much abuse, and for so long we’ve had to settle for having social spaces conditionally, on terms set by men. There’s a climate of distrust and fear looming over the lesbian community as a result. So much so that today the idea of even having one single space fully dedicated to lesbian and bisexual women seems so radical, some people’s initial reaction is that there’s got to be a catch.

I completely understand that a good dose of scrutiny, of tempering optimism with some degree of caution, is reasonable. It’s healthy. And it’s entirely welcome.

But personal insults and unfounded accusations are not. I know that emotions are running high, and we as a community are feeling beleaguered right now. But that’s no excuse to target my Irishness in personal attacks, for example. Or to target my business supporters with lies about me.

I'm not here to push or persuade anyone who doesn't feel the spark for this project. However, for those who do, our project investors' safety and security are crucial — capital funds are securely placed in escrow and I've teamed up with a business consultant who's right here supporting us until opening day. We’ve put together a solid business plan.

If anything, the tenor of some of the criticism I’ve faced only hardens my resolve: it just highlights how badly women need a space to unite us, to heal us in this difficult time.

It’s been upsetting to endure the smear campaign that a small online group has thrown at me… but my mind keeps going back to that Edenic afternoon at the Hampstead Ponds, where hundreds of women were gathered in serenity and harmony.

This will heal us. This will unite us. And it will make us all stronger. Lesbian strength comes through unity.

There are various ways you can help, but the most crucial one is spreading the word - our message is the most important part of this project. 

Other than that, as I mentioned earlier, if you are a lesbian/bi woman, there is the option to join as an early-bird member (however, this is not compulsory; you can wait until our opening). Additionally, there's the opportunity for investment or donation. I've prepared a comprehensive 50-page business plan and pitch deck available for those who are interested.

For a deeper understanding of the project, feel free to visit our website or you can email me at contact@lcommunity.co.uk 

Any form of support you can offer is immensely appreciated as we work towards making this a reality.  

We can do this. So let’s do it!

[bunnliix]

Love Shot

Inspired by this dialogue prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting "You’re so adorable. I want to pick you up and never let you down."

word count: 1 260 warnings: drinking, alcohol, (not) unrequited crushes, reader getting drunk, reader wanting to get blackout drunk

I was never the type of person to go out clubbing and drinking. Any of my friends could tell you that. I normally stayed far away from clubs, they were far too loud for my taste, and yet here I was on a Friday night, by myself trying to get blackout drunk. There's a bit of a backstory on how I got here, and it all started earlier while I was on campus.

For a bit of backstory, most of my friends I met while in college, except for Felix. Felix and I have been friends since high school. We were both the nerdy type of kids, except that he had the advantage that puberty was nice to him. While I've had a crush on him since I met him, however I valued my friendship with him too much to ever say something. I'd rather an unrequited love, than to lose him over something simple like a crush. It ended up happening by pure coincidence that we attended the same college, but it worked out really well for me. I'm more of an introvert, while Felix is the extrovert who makes all of our friends, and that's more or less what happened.

Most of that isn't really important though, to be honest, except that I still have the biggest crush on Felix, six years later. He and the rest of our friend group, affectionately called "Stray Kids" for some reason or another, are the campus hotties. Which means I get to see girls upon girls try and shoot their shot with all of them, and for most of the boys, I don't give a shit who they date. I however get way too envious sometimes of the girls I see hanging around my best friend. Chan, the eldest of the friends, was sitting with me while we watched the boys have fun. 

"Are you ever going to say something to him? About your crush on him?" He questioned me. I turned to him like he was crazy. We've had this conversation a million times, and it was never going to happen. 

"I've told you Chan, he'd never like me that way, and I'm never gonna jeopardize my friendship with him over a stupid crush." 

"You'll never find out if he likes you though, if you never say anything." He retorts.

"I don't wanna find out if he doesn't like me. Besides, there's a good chance I could mess things up between him and I, and I'm not taking that chance." I stood up, and moved to leave the table, grabbing my things as I said goodbye to Chan. I really didn't want to deal with the guys nagging me to finally ask him out, it just made it worse. I headed home, before having the stupid idea that I should go out and drink instead of staying home, but impulsive decisions are a thing I do a lot.

I know it's kind of a shitty reason to be out trying to get blackout drunk at a bar, but honestly I couldn't think of anything better to help me deal with the pain of not being able to tell Felix I like him. I was about four drinks in, and already on my way to being wasted when I felt a hand land on my shoulder. I look back, my vision already blurring to see Felix behind me. "Hiii Lixieeee!" I giggled, waving at him. He grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the bar, while I took my drink with me. 

"Lixie, where are you taking me? I was having a good time at the bar~" I pouted at him, my words slightly slurring. He stopped suddenly and turned to face me, leaning down to cup my face in his hands. 

"Why are you out drinking? This isn't like you." He asked me, looking concerned. 

"Why are you so concerned, Lixie? I'm just having some fun and letting loose a bit. Aren't I allowed to have fun?" I shoot back at him, some frustration coming out in the process. I chug down the rest of whatever was in my glass, feeling the burn as it made its way down my throat. Felix reached to take the glass and put it somewhere out of my eyesight.

"Chan told me where you were. He was out with a couple of the other boys and they saw you here by yourself. You never go out to bars, why are you even here? If you wanted to drink, I would have brought over stuff, and we could've had fun at your apartment. Why are you doing this? Tell me, please?" He questioned me, begging me to answer him. 

I assume it was my lack of self control, but I blurted out, almost angrily at him, "I'm in love with you, okay! I've been in love with your cute face for the last six years, and I can't bear seeing you with other people. I want your eyes on me and only me. And I was never going to tell you because I didn't want to ruin our friendship." I couldn't bear to look at him after that. Felix went silent, and I started getting tears in my eyes, which started falling when the man started chuckling.

"You’re so adorable. I want to pick you up and never let you down." That made me look up at him in surprise. "Did you never think I wanted you too? I've wanted you so badly, wanted to call you mine. I was too scared that you wouldn't feel the same way. Oh baby, I think we've both been idiots for a little too long." He pulled me into a hug, resting his head on top of mine, before saying, "How about we head home now, yeah? We can talk about this more in the morning, when you're sober." I don't have it in me to do anything more than nod.

He takes me back to his car, opening the passenger door and helping me in, before going around to the driver's seat. He started the car and drove us the short ride to his apartment he shared with a couple of our friends. I was still a bit too intoxicated to walk by myself, so Felix assisted me up into his apartment, and then into his bedroom, having me sit down on his bed while he found clothes for me to wear. He set them out on the bed, pushing me to change into them while he went and found a spare toothbrush for me to use. By the time he returned, I had changed into the shirt he left me, but decided not to put on the shorts. He handed me the toothbrush, and since I had been here before, I knew my way to the bathroom. I quickly washed up, feeling a bit less wasted by the time I returned to his room. Felix was already waiting on his bed for me to get back, and ushered me into his bed and under the covers, while he laid down on top of them. 

I looked up at him, and softly asked, "Can you hold me while I fall asleep?" He nodded, blushing and moved under the covers with me, as I rested my head on his arm as his other one came around my waist. 

He softly kissed my cheek as he whispered, "Good night." It didn't take me long to fall asleep in his arms, feeling the happiest I had been in a while.

[dduane]

I just saw from your comment on the shrinkflation post that you’re also lactose intolerant with IBS. So listen. This weekend I made Nutella-stuffed chocolate chip cookies, and in doing so realised Nutella is a HUGE trigger for me. It’s been years since I ate it so it came as a total surprise. And the cookies were Amazing, so this is just crushing.

Anyway I see your post and I think, you’ve probably been doing this a while, I’ve seen on other posts that you like chocolate, perhaps you have also encountered this issue and have found a Nutella replacement that’s actually good?

Help me Obi Wan.

I wish I could be sure to be of some genuine help here, as IBS seems to be one of those Every Person Their Own Test Tube things. I may get good mileage out of a strategy, but yours may seriously vary.

Re: chocolate: I don't seem to be bothered by it as such. It's the associated milk content that seems to cause me the most problems, so I watch the package labeling closely for that—and fortunately EU package labeling as regards allergens and triggers is, by and large, very good.

I've been using the Monash University FODMAP method of helping to control IBS, but am surprised to find that its associated app doesn't seem to say anything about Nutella. (Which strikes me as a bit weird, but I may be searching incorrectly.) ...Casa de Sante (which is a third-party site that sells "gut supplements") suggests that Nutella is low-FODMAP due to containing fairly low amounts of known triggers. So, all right, that's nice.... but I'll still take that assessment with a grain of salt, as these are people who want to sell you IBS-adjacent supplements.

Here's where things get complicated, though. I do occasionally have a little Nutella (or the non-branded version of it that we get from our local supplier of baking goods, Kells Wholemeal.) And because I carefully restrain myself, I haven't as yet had any problems, because I always take a lactase supplement—a.k.a. Lactaid or similar—along with them. Because lactase is (relatively) cheap, and spending two or three days swollen up and in pain from having gotten careless with myself is not.

As regards the branded stuff, though, there's a problem. European Nutella and US Nutella are not the same animal... and the US version of Nutella is apparently disquietingly cagey about its labeling. It's apparently difficult to tell whether the portion size of the Nutella you're ingesting has enough skimmed milk powder and/or whey in it to set your lactose intolerance off.

My advice to you would be this (and as usual, you know what advice that costs you nothing tends to be worth... But anyway): don't eat Nutella without taking a Lactaid or similar first. Two reasons: (a) To cover your butt. (b) To help act in establishing a basis for any further diagnostics you need to do. If you have some Nutella after having taken lactase, and still have internal trouble afterwards, then it's a fair bet something else in the stuff is triggering the IBS side rather than the lactose-intolerance side of the equation. That soy-based lecithin, for example. I'd be a bit suspicious about that. (Soy, unfortunately, is one of my own triggers. I can still have tofu, but only so, so carefully.)

...And then, after that, act accordingly to what you've discovered. One thing about my intolerance that I do know: it's come and gone without warning* over many years—sometimes receding into the background completely, suddenly getting much worse without apparent rhyme or reason. So an amount of lactose that once wouldn't have troubled you very much might now be one that you have to watch out for. Or else you simply exceeded what is now a wise portion-control amount for you when you got into those cookies.

(sigh) It's the imponderables associated with handling this problem from day to day that are the most annoying aspect of it. I'm not wild about the wariness with which I have to approach a lot of foods these days—not least because this is Ireland, and in this historically heavily-dairy-based culture, food processors will sneak milk into any damn thing without warning. :) But you do what you've gotta do to get by... which means that, outside of the house, I don't put anything in my mouth without having the lactase pills nearby.

Anyway: hope this helps!

*It also doesn't help that my earliest attacks happened before lactose intolerance was widely recognized as being a problem for a significant portion of the planet's population.

[lis-likes-fics]

Kiss Me Through the Phone

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader Word Count: 2.1k words Kink: Phone Sex Warnings: NSFW, phone sex, masturbation (m and f), dirty talk, daddy kink, praise... A/N: This is late, ik. I swear I'm working on it but that ADHD and everything is hitting HARD. I can't promise I'll catch up but I can promise that these will get finished so I won't leave you hanging. Enjoy this (late) fic though and I'll hopefully see you again with a new one tomorrow!

"Don't you think you should probably be getting to bed, babe?"

Steve raises a brow as he speaks into the receiver holding the phone to his ear as he awaits your response. You called him hours ago to talk while you did homework. The first half hour consisted of him teasing you because you still had homework to do while he graduated the year before. He kept calling you a "literal child", to which you replied, "Then I'm dating a pervert." He promptly shut up.

But now it's midnight, and you ditched the remainder of your homework a couple hours ago. It's late, and you technically have school in the morning. You aren't ready to hang up but Steve is always trying to take care of you, and this is one of those times when he's trying to enforce that—even though he'd rather die than hang up the phone.

"And, you know, I would but…" you trail off on the other end, trying to come up with an excuse and falling short as you shrug, "I just don't want to."

He rolls his eyes and laughs. "Go to bed."

"You can't make me."

"I'm going to."

"How? You're not even here."

"I'm going to drive to your house and make you."

"If you drove to my house, I'd convince you to do something much better than sleeping…" Steve can hear the smirk in your voice, and he thinks he's going to die if you keep using your charm on him like this. He's already horny enough all the time as it is, you don't need to make it worse with suggestive comments you can currently live up to.

"You drive me crazy," he answers truthfully.

He hears you giggle and smiles. "That's good. Keeps you on your toes."

He shakes his head and hears you shuffle around. When you curse under your breath, he hums. "What?"

"Nothin'. Got the cord wrapped around my hand and it tangled a little." A pause. "There."

"Yeah, well, you probably like that shit, don't you? Fuckin' weirdo."

You laugh quietly, trying not to disturb the rest of the people sleeping in your house. "Don't kink shame me!"

He raises his brows, "What if kink shaming is my kink?"

You hum, "It's not. You like to be called Daddy. Which is admittedly weirder."

He scoffs, ignoring the heat in his cheeks when you say it. "No, it's not."

You giggle again. "Yeah, it is. Daddy."

He licks his lips. "You think so? Baby?"

He hopes you'll say no because, otherwise, his "baby" makes him sound like a creep.

"No," you say, an angel. You miss his little relieved breath. "You wanna know what I like?"

"What do you like, baby?" he asks, less joking this time and more fond.

"I like your hands..." Your voice is quieter now, speaking in a secret whisper between the two of you in the cover of the night.

We're doing this, Steve thinks, excited.

"Yeah?" he murmurs. "Where do you like them?"

"Well… I've been wanting a new necklace. I think that'd work just fine," you smile shyly.

He can see it, kissing you all nice with his hand wrapped around your throat. His pants suddenly feel really tight.

"Where else would you like it?" he wonders.

"I dunno," you mutter, shy suddenly. Steve thinks you're weird. You're almost always the one to start something like this, and then you get shy and quiet when he plays along with you. He thinks you're cute.

"You don't know?"

"Mm-mm," you say.

He smiles, licking his bottom lip. "You know where I'd like it?"

"Hm?"

"On your thigh," he breaths. His hand moves to rest on his own thigh. He hears your breath hitch. "I'd love to feel your thighs. I miss 'em."

It takes a moment for you to respond again. "Where else would you put them?"

"Where else do you want me to put them?" he counters. He knows you don't like when he does that—or, you don't favor it. He knows how it makes you squirm, when he makes you tell him what you want. You're never good at telling him.

Your voice becomes really small, really shy. "I dunno."

"You dunno?" he asks, smiling. "Where do you want me to put my hands?"

Steve can imagine you on your bed with the phone pressed to your ear, playing with the cord as you try to come up with a response that isn't "I dunno".

"Just tell me. Don't worry about soundin' weird," he says.

You take a breath. "I want your hand…"

You trail off and he has to contain his laugh. "Where?" he asks again. "On your hands? On your tits? Inside of you?"

A pause. "All of the above?"

He does laugh this time, clutching the phone. "Where do you want me the most?"

You clear your throat a little. "Inside me."

"I want 'em inside you, too."

He hears you moan lightly, and now he has to undo his belt.

"Would you like that, baby? For me to put my fingers inside you? I'd have you squirming like crazy."

"Yeah," you whisper back. "What do you want me to do?"

"What do I want you to do?" he repeats, smiling. "You don't needa do anything. I'll take care of you."

You chuckle lightly. "Yeah, but… what do you want me to do? Do you want me to touch you or…?"

He feels like teasing you. "You mean, like, jerk me off? Or did you wanna use your mouth, dirty girl?" He can imagine you biting your lip, trying to hide your face away from him.

"Did you want that?" you murmur.

"Did you?" he counters.

You laugh a little. "Answer my fucking question, dummy."

He laughs as well, "Yeah, I do." His amusement dies down a little, returning to little secret words. "I really want it, but I wanna spread you open and eat you up more."

He hears you moan again. And then you moan again, and his interest is piqued, along with something else…

"Are you touching yourself?" he asks, a smile in his voice as he calls you out.

You get shy again. "Maybe a little."

"How much is a little?" You don't respond. You just moan again.

He's too hard to ignore it anymore. He unbuckles his tight jeans and takes himself out of his boxers. He brushes his thumb over his tip, red and weeping as he closes his eyes and sighs shallowly.

Your voice grabs his attention again. “Are you touchin’ yourself now?”

He chuckles lightly, too breathy to be subtle. “Can you blame me when you’re makin’ those pretty sounds in my ear?” He strokes himself slowly. “God, what I’d do to be there right now. I’m so in love with you.”

Your laugh comes out as a tiny whimper, your voice just as breathy as his as you thrust your fingers inside of your and sigh. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not nice enough to you,” he disagrees. “You deserve the world, baby.”

“How about– Mmh– How about we just start with your voice in my ear, huh?” you mumble. “What would you do if you were here right now, Stevie?”

He makes you swear never to tell anyone but he loves that nickname. You only ever use it when you’re feeling really soft and shy, in the comfort of just his company when he’s being especially sweet and you’re a pile of mush. He wants you tucked under his arm, and he wants to kiss you stupid, but he has to settle for just a smile through the phone and a few words that don’t accurately describe how strongly he feels for you.

“If I were there right now, I would lay you on the bed and put your pretty thighs over my shoulder.” You shudder on a moan, presumably pushing your fingers deeper inside of yourself and curling. Steve keeps going. “I’d fucking devour you and then kiss you all over your body—which is just perfect, by the way—and then I’d fuck you dumb.”

You moan. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, taking his lotion from his drawer and smearing it in his hand. He strokes his cock a little faster, wrapping his fist around himself and squeezing as his head tips back and his lips part, a breathy moan slipping from them. “I’d fucking split you open on my cock.” He knows you love it when he says that. You always melt in his hands whenever he says things like this. “You’d be cryin’ f’me.”

You’re so lost in your mind, imagining him doing these things to you whilst thinking about his hands inside your pussy instead of your own. “Where would you put me?”

He’s happy to tell you. “We’d start out with you on top. I’d put you in my lap and let you ride me until your little legs got all weak and tired. Then I’d lay you down and fuck you with your legs around my neck. Have you screaming my name.”

Your voice is pitchier now, and he swears he can hear the faint sound of your pussy squelching with the rhythm of your insistent fingers. He pulses in his hand, his hips jerking up into his hand every so often as he grinds into his fist. He’s fucking his hand by now, so lost in thought that he can’t help but get a little carried away imagining his fist is your tight pussy.

“Which name?” you whimper. “Steve or Daddy?”

He verbally shudders. “Both.”

“Which one do you want the most?”

He chuckles darkly, aware of the way you turn his question around like he had done to you before. “Maybe you should call me Daddy.” He groans. “You’ve gotten a little out of line since we last did something like this…”

“Maybe I should, Daddy,” you reply back, immediately followed by a whine. He wants so badly to be there to watch you touch yourself, to watch you try to put your little fingers inside of you and hit all the spots he does. He can imagine so vividly you trying to replicate the way he makes you feel. "Need you to…remind me who I belong to."

He's so pent up as he listens to you. He can't help when a few stray groans make their way out of him. "You know who you belong to. You're mine, baby."

"'M yours," you moan, wet sounds reaching the phone and filling Steve's ears with sweet music as he fists himself faster. "I need you."

"Yeah?" he hums. "You need Daddy to fuck you nice and deep, baby?"

"Yes." A moan. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you, baby," he says, too fond and too affectionate and too far gone to fight his urge to get in his car and go to see you right now. But he would die before he left this call.

He's close, he can feel it creeping up on him as his hips jerk up into his hand. By the way you gasp and moan into the phone, he can tell you're reaching your breaking point as well.

"You gonna cum for me, babygirl?" Steve asks, listening closely.

"Yeah."

"You gonna cum all over those pretty fingers?"

"Yes."

"Fuck," he huffs. "Do it for me, baby. Cum for me."

He can hear you try to stay quiet, your muffled gasp as a deep breath fills your lung on a whimper. "Oh, fuck, Daddy!"

He curses under his breath, your little whimpers and whine as you cum and moan his name bringing him closer and closer until he can't hold it anymore.

His mouth falls open and his grunt melts into a rough whimper as he cums after you. He feels the warm, sticky release coat his chest. As his pleasure wanes and he feels like he can think straight again, he sighs deeply into the phone.

"Fuck." He hears you sigh heavily. "You okay, baby?"

A pause. And then.

"Yeah." You sigh, "Fuck, that's better."

He smiles. "Been thinking about it?"

"All day." Your voice is breathy, slurred together like you're going to pass out at any moment.

He runs a hand through his hair, "Well, when I see you tomorrow, we can reenact it." He grabs at the shirt he'd taken off a long time ago, wiping himself clean as he listens to your steady breath through the phone. "You want that?"

"Mmm," you agree.

He smiles fondly. "You still with me?" He can see you dozing off into your pillow, and he wishes he could feel your warmth against him.

"Mmm," you hum again.

He lowers his voice to accommodate for your sleepiness, "I'm gonna hang up, baby."

"Hmm-mm."

"I love you," he says, kissing into the phone and wishing he could kiss you.

"'ove you, t-mm," you mumble, barely coherent but trying for him.

He chuckles lightly. "Goodnight."

"Mmm."

Steve the Babysitter taglist: @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @param8re @anotherblackreader Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @hellfire1986baby @gublur @allofmari @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash Tag yourself here...

[brsb4hls]

Good Omens Spoilers:

I'm off work now and can sort my thoughts a bit.

So far I've seen only positive reactions and some posts complaining about criticism (which I have not seen in itself).

I very much feel there's something missing in the discussion.

I'm not gonna spoil people's fun and I certainly will enjoy fan stuff, but I cannot stop being pissed.

And it's not about wether Aziraphale reciprocates Crowley's feelings and if they are a canon romantic couple or not.

That's not the point. The point also isn't dolphins, it is that I feel that Gaiman perverted the original core of Good Omens.

He might have done it for angst and a dramatic build up and he might resolve it if there will be a third season (which cannot be guaranteed, so THAT ending could be what we have to live with), but whatever the reasons, he did it and it leaves a bad taste.

To me the point of Good Omens always was that heaven and hell as a strict and rigid concept were equally horrible.

The 'good place' so to say was always earth.

And being a human on earth was about being accepted with all one's quirks and also making one's own decisions.

If I remember correctly those points are mostly made by Adam (who actually is the main character of the book, it just has so many colourful supports you wouldn't notice).

So Aziraphale and Crowley fit way better on earth, because they're both too unique for a rigid corporate structure.

They already are their own little team even if Aziraphale sometimes displays a holier-than- thou attitude and needs Crowley to remind him what he would loose, if earth were gone.

So they both defy their respective bosses to keep the niche they carved.

The first season of the show manages to keep that core statement despite changing the characters up a bit.

And it ends like in the book, with Aziraphale and Crowley fighting the system and winning, being free.

And now it's all set back and actually made worse by Aziraphale willingly going back, as long as he's in charge.

In the show, Aziraphale was bullied by his superior and now takes his job. He thinks he can change the oppressive system from the inside instead of abolishing it altogether, or staying clear of it, because it is 'toxic'.

And yes, I did notice that tiny bit of blackmail from Metatron regarding Crowley, but after all that happened THAT should have given Aziraphale a clue about what he is getting into again.

He also doesn't seem to suddenly know his best friend of 6000 years anymore.

Crowley never had a problem with being a demon. He had a problem with how hell treated him.

And a problem with how heaven reacted to asking questions, which is a thing he loves, so why would he want to go back?

On earth, Crowley was completely ok with doing minor mischief and performing demonic magic.

And Aziraphale technically knows that, but he tries to drag Crowley along for purely selfish reasons. And on top he seems to think that as a demon Crowley is not good enough anymore.

And that completely goes against the point.

The point that has been made very clear before and made book and parts of the first season so great.

Gaiman let the system win.

(and pull Aziraphale back in after he successfully got out. That's like someone taking back their horrible job at the factory that pays minimum wages and pollutes the environment as long as they're forman).

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived | Five

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of drugs (weed) word count: 3.3k a/n: the italics are a flashback to allie and layla in their gym class btw! love you guys <3

pov: layla

I decided to stay home from school for the rest of the week, I just didn't have the energy to endure the looks people would give me. The whispering during my last two subjects after Matt and I came back at lunch was already too much and it was worse in gym when Allie stuck to her word and paired up with me.

She seemed nice, much nicer than Mia was to me. She talked my ear off the whole lesson but I didn't mind because then I didn't have to talk.

"Don't worry about Mia, by the way. She can be really bitchy at times but she just doesn't like change. I promise she is usually a lot nicer," Allie rambled as we walked around the gym as a warm-up, "It was kinda funny though. No one ever really stands up to her when she gets bitchy because everyone's scared that her dad will arrest them."

Oh, I've met her dad.

"Matt also stood up for you after you left. I trust Matt's opinion on people, he's kinda my scapegoat when it comes to talking to people. I told him to start talking to you like three weeks ago so I could ask you to hang out. I just get nervous talking to people I don't know sometimes."

You don't seem nervous now, motor mouth.

"Sorry if I'm rambling a lot. I'm just really glad you decided to pair up with me because I've been paired with Mia for like the past 2 years. It's nice to have a new friend. It's not like I don't like my friends but Mia is my only girl friend and the guys are such guys sometimes it drives me mad. You get your nails done?"

I shook my head no before she continued, "We should go get our nails done sometime. My shout of course, I'm not gonna force you to get your nails done as well as make you pay."

She was a ray of sunshine and I was sure people were confused as someone as sweet as her was talking to someone like me who looked like they had a constant rain cloud over their head. I found myself amused by her rambling and I decided that it wouldn't be the worst thing to talk to her every now and then.

I spent the rest of my week smoking weed when my father wasn't home and drawing on the last few pages of my sketchbook. The time passed quickly considering I slept for most of the days. Suddenly it was Friday afternoon and I heard a knock at my front door.

I paused my music, frowning when I looked at the clock to see it was 3:30. It was far too early for my dad to be home so I grabbed the metal bat that was lying on the bottom of my underwear drawer, sneaking towards the door silently. Another round of light knocks were placed on the door and I crept up to it before looking through the peephole.

My tense shoulders slumped as I looked at two people with the same face and their familiar brown hair. I unlocked the deadbolt on the door as well as the regular lock before I swung the door open.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, leaning my left hand on the handle of the bat now that the other end was placed on the floor.

"Hi to you too," Chris mumbled as he looked side to side, clearly tense to be in South End as Matt smiled at me.

"I figured you would forget about the game. Decided to come earlier in case you were ready which..." he looked down at my outfit which was my small sleep shorts and an old ratty t-shirt, "I don't think you are?"

"You didn't say it was this Friday!" I frowned and Chris looked down at the bat I was leaning on before shaking his head.

"Good thing I came early then," Matt smirked at me and I chewed at my lip. I tapped the bat on the ground as I thought making Chris look at me again.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna use it on you," I deadpanned to Chris and he just shrugged, looking back out at the street. I felt a nervousness in my chest because they were at my house but I knew if they stayed on the porch or in their car, someone would try something. So I reluctantly said, "Come in."

"We can wait in the ca-"

I cut off Matt quickly, "Get inside now." They looked at each other in surprise before shuffling past me and I closed the door behind them before saying, "Do you have anything valuable in your car? Phone, wallet, laptop?"

They both shook their heads and I locked both of the locks on the door before I spun around to face them again.

"Why?" Chris asked and I tilted my head, giving him an unimpressed look.

"I'll just say you're lucky you drive a fucking soccer mom car or it would be broken into within 15 minutes," I answered blandly and they seemed somewhat shocked but didn't talk, "Come on."

I walked down the hall towards my room, slipping inside and they followed shortly behind me.

"We could've waited on the couch," Matt said as I closed the door of my bedroom and raised my eyebrows.

"If my dad came home and you were sitting on the couch, say goodbye to hockey for the rest of your life," I replied dryly and he pursed his lips, "If he comes home, you will just have to go out my window and jump the fence around the side of the house."

"You don't know when he's coming home?" Chris asked as he leaned against the wall beside my mattress and I shook my head. I was suddenly very conscious that I had the two most loved boys in our school standing in my dirty bedroom. I looked around my room, realising that I looked like I lived in a trap house with my mattress on the floor, empty beer bottles in the corner of my room with cigarettes stuck in them and clothes all over the floor.

"Sorry about the mess. No one ever comes over," I mumbled as I moved a couple clothes off of my mattress, "Sit wherever. Just don't look over here because I'm gonna get changed."

I travelled to the corner of my room where my chest of drawers sat and I saw them both turn to face away from me quickly. After placing the bat beside the drawers, I pulled out black baggy jeans, took off my shorts quickly and slid them on. I then took off my old T-shirt and slid on a baby blue hoodie. I didn't bother putting on a shirt since it would be cold at the game and I wouldn't have to take my hoodie off at any point.

"I'm dressed," I let them know as I grabbed my boots off of the floor, sitting down next to my dresser so I could slide them on easily. I looked up to see both of them sitting on my mattress, looking around my room. Their expressions were unreadable as they looked around my room.

"I like your posters," Chris spoke up and I looked to the wall above my mattress where my Bob Marley, Frank Ocean and Kurt Cobain posters were hung.

"Thanks," I answered, a half-hearted smile being sent his way which he reciprocated, "When do we have to leave by?"

"Four," Matt answered and I nodded, checking the time to see it was 3:40. I hopped off of the floor, walked over to my desk and sat down on the old desk chair.

I scribbled some eyeliner on my eyes before smudging it with my finger and then putting mascara on. I grabbed my lip balm, placing it on my lips before I ran a hand through my curly hair. I grabbed the white beanie that was thrown onto the floor, sliding it onto my head. I jumped up from the seat, grabbed my leather jacket that was hanging over the back of the chair and slid it on.

"Do I need to bring anything?" I asked, having no clue what else to bring to a hockey game.

"Just your team spirit," Chris cheered sarcastically and I tilted my head with an amused look on my face.

"I'm not a cheerleader for a reason," I answered and he shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't cheer when we win," he retorted and I nodded in agreement.

"I'm good as long as I'm not expected to start screaming 'Go Bats go!' like an idiot," I did a small jump when I said the slogan that I heard all the cheerleaders say proudly and Matt laughed in response as Chris shook his head with a smile.

"You wanna get food on the way?" Matt asked and I shook my head in response.

"I'm good, I just ate," I explained and he nodded, quickly checking his phone.

"We should probably go," he said, turning his phone to me to see that it was 3:55. I couldn't believe another 15 minutes had passed so quickly but I nodded. Making sure I had my phone, cigarettes, lighter and keys in my pocket, I swung the bedroom door open as Matt and Chris followed behind me. I unlocked the front door swinging it open and motioning for Chris and Matt to go outside.

They walked past me and walked to their car as I turned around to lock the door with my keys. After triple-checking the door, I wandered down the driveway to the minivan. I noticed that Matt was always the one to drive and Chris was seated in the passenger seat, phone already plugged into the aux.

I slid the back door open, jumping inside before I closed the door behind me. As I buckled myself in, Matt started the car and Chris played a song by Lil Skies.

"We good?" Matt asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror and I nodded before he spun around to look at me, "I didn't even have to remind you about your seatbelt, so proud."

"Start driving before I change my mind and go back to the comfort of my bed," I smiled slightly and he beamed back at me before he spun around and we took off down the street.

Within 5 minutes, we were in the parking lot and Chris was wriggling his body along to the beat of the next Lil Skies song. I could take a wild guess as to who his favourite artist is.

Matt turned the music down, earning a glare from Chris but he turned around to look at me ignoring his brother for a moment, "You waiting in the car or coming in?"

"I'm gonna have a smoke first then I'll come in," I explained and he nodded before turning off the car.

"You head in. I'll be there in a sec," Matt told Chris who was clicking away on his phone. With a nod, he jumped out of the car and walked around to the back of the car.

"You want me to take your shit inside?" Chris called from the trunk as I turned around to see Chris lugging his huge duffle bag full of hockey shit.

"Nah I got it," Matt called back to him and Chris raised his eyebrows as he leaned into the trunk again.

"Don't start fuckin in the car or I swear to god," he deadpanned before slamming the trunk closed and I saw him start walking towards the building.

"Sorry about him," Matt mumbled apologetically and I shrugged as I turned to face him.

"It's fine. Wouldn't expect anything less," I told him with an amused smirk making him shake his head, a smile creeping onto his lips, "Are you gonna go inside?"

"I'll wait for you to finish and then I'll show you where to sit inside," he explained and I nodded before hopping out of the car. I closed the door behind me before leaning against the car, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between my lips before lighting it. I heard Matt's door open and close before he rounded the car to get to the trunk.

As I began smoking my cigarette, a car pulled into the space next to Matt's and a few moments passed before Nate and Allie appeared out of the car.

"Hey! Matt told me you were coming," Allie beamed at me and I observed her outfit, feeling strange to see her out of her usual cheer or gym attire. Instead, she had blue jeans, a black puffer jacket with a blue beanie on and black and white vans.

"He failed to mention the game was this Friday," I told her and she rolled her eyes as Nate waved at me. I sent him a wave back with the hand that held my cigarette before I took another puff.

"Is Nick coming?" Nate asked and Matt appeared beside me, duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Nah. He said something about doing homework tonight. Chris is already inside," Matt explained with a shrug as Nate rounded the back of his car and popped the trunk open, grabbing a duffle bag of his own hockey gear.

"You coming in?" Allie asked me and I held the cigarette up.

"When I finish this," I told her, a smile tugging at my lips at her beaming personality.

"See you guys in there!" Nate called as he started walking towards the building with Allie following behind him.

"Is Miss Cheer herself coming?" I asked Matt once Allie and Nate were out of earshot and he shrugged, moving to stand in front of me as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

"No clue. She usually shows up late if she comes though," he told me honestly and I nodded, noticing my cigarette almost being done. I quickly finished it before dropping it onto the ground and squishing it underneath my foot. I went to push away from the car but Matt stopped me by saying, "Hold up."

"What?" I asked, confusion written on my face. He held his hand up before he dropped his duffle bag to the ground and squatted down to rummage through one of the smaller pockets.

He pulled out a small pot of black face paint and a brush before standing back up, "Move your hair."

"What are you doing?" I squinted at him as he opened the pot of black face paint and he smiled at me.

"Just trust me," he shrugged and I squinted my eyes at him for a moment before I tucked my hair behind my ears. I tilted my head back as I peered up at him and he dipped the brush into the pot before he started painting my right cheek.

"If you're drawing a dick on my face I'll kill you with my bare hands, Matthew," I mumbled, trying not to move my mouth much as his tongue poked out between his lips in concentration.

"If I was gonna do that..." he trailed off before leaning back with a smile, "I'd use a sharpie."

"What did you do?" I asked and he just shrugged as he closed the pot again, sliding it back into his bag before swinging it over his shoulder again. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, opening the front camera to see he had painted the number 81 on my cheek, "What does this mean?"

"You'll see," he shrugged with a smirk and I frowned as he started to walk backwards before he tilted his head towards the building, "Come on. I gotta warm up."

I pushed away from the car, trailing behind him as we walked towards the entrance. He swung the door open, standing behind it as he let me walk in first. We walked through the front area, some of his teammates being gathered around to grab snacks or energy drinks.

"Matty B!" one of the guys called who I recognised as Daniel and he jogged over to us as Matt paused, dapping him up quickly, "Who's this?"

"Layla, Daniel. Daniel, Layla," Matt introduced us and I just nodded at Daniel, not surprised that he didn't know my name.

"No Mia?" he asked Matt and Matt just shrugged in response.

"She's being weird. I don't know dude," Matt answered before he looked towards the rest of their team, "You guys gotta hurry up. We have 45 to warm up."

"Sir, yes, sir," Daniel sent Matt a salute before he started walking backwards and looked at me, "Nice to meet you, princess."

I sent him another nod before Matt started walking towards the doors of the rink, "Ignore Dan. He'll try to fuck anything with legs."

"Don't worry, Captain. I don't do goalies," I smirked and he chuckled in response, holding the door open to the rink for me to enter first again. I walked in, the cold air hitting my cheeks making me shiver.

"Layla!" I heard Allie's chirpy voice call out from the bleachers and I looked to my left to see her sitting front and centre, I sent her a small wave as I started to walk over to her with Matt following behind me.

"I gotta go get ready but are you good to sit with Allie?" Matt asked me and I turned my head to look at him now that he was on my right and I nodded.

"Yeah. Go make sure your hair is nice before you play," I joked as he rolled his eyes, pushing my shoulder slightly before spinning around to walk backwards while I paused at the steps that led up to where Allie was seated, "Break a leg, pretty boy."

"Thanks, pretty girl," he smirked at me and I bit my lip to hide my smile as he spun back around and walked into the locker room at the end of the rink. I shook my head to get rid of my smile as I walked up a few steps before sitting down next to Allie.

She smirked at me and I gave her a confused expression, "What?"

"Nothing," she hummed, her smirk turning into a smile as she looked out onto the ice. She pulled a packet of Sour Patch Kids out from her small handbag that I hadn't even noticed before she pulled open the packet, "You want one?"

"Sure," I shrugged, picking out a couple before throwing them into my mouth and her actions followed mine.

"So you and Matt..." she trailed off and I looked back at her as she smiled at me.

"Me and Matt?" I questioned, waiting for her to continue.

"You guys are cute," she shrugged, a genuine joy spread across her face and I let my mouth fall open.

"Uh... I don't even know if we're friends let alone anything else," I told her honestly and she rolled her eyes playfully before she hummed.

"Matt doesn't talk to just anyone. If he's asking you to come to his games clearly he wants you around," she told me as if it were obvious and I shrugged as I chewed on my lip. A few players from the other team skated onto the ice with their full gear, doing laps around the ice lazily.

"I don't think Chris and Nick like me though. His brothers' opinions probably mean a lot to him," I answered, looking at the players skating in circles. A couple players from Matt's team slid onto the ice as they started doing the same as the opposition.

"Chris is just focused on other shit. Nick tends to stick to himself a lot so just give them both time," she tried to reassure me and I looked back to her before she continued, "Besides, I like you so they're not getting rid of you that easily while I'm around."

"What about Mia?" I asked, genuinely curious as to how heavily Mia's opinion influenced her friends.

Allie sighed as she looked out at the rink, "Mia will figure it out. I don't know why she's being so weird about it. I think it's because she's protective over us."

"Matt's the one that came to me. I don't know why she was acting like I'm tryna break up your entire friend group," I mumbled as I looked out onto the ice to see a couple more players.

Only then did I realise that number 81 with a small C on the chest of his blue and white jersey was skating around the rink and it was none other than Matthew Sturniolo.

[thebibliosphere]

Hey Joy, this isn't a question so much as a way for me to convince myself I'm not a hypochondriac, lol. Lately, I've been experiencing symptoms of fatigue, brain fog or memory issues, light-headedness, etc, that are uncommon for my age (30). I have related disorders such as anemia, anxiety, & ADHD that may be contributing to these symptoms, although they seem to have gotten worse or appear more frequently now than when I was initially diagnosed with those disorders. My work allows me to read & interact with disabled people with rare diseases, so I often find similarities with their medical issues. At first, I thought this was all just burnout or something related to the lockdown during COVID. I just saw my doctor and had blood work done to check my levels, and I may have a heart condition (tachycardia, mitral valve prolapse). I've fallen asleep at work before because I can't keep my eyes open, even after a full 8 hours of sleep. I can get dizzy from standing up too fast & can't seem to be on my feet for very long without discomfort & pain (I used to work retail, how did I ever do it?). I've researched some of my symptoms and found ME/CFS and POTS as possible conditions. Do you think it's a possibility I have these, or is it just my anxiety? Thank you! (P.s. Hunger Pangs is on my tbr!)

I obviously cannot tell you with any certainty what is wrong--and I am glad you are seeing doctors about it already and may have possible answers wrt tachycardia and the mitral valve.

What I will say is that there are many types of dysautonomia, of which POTS is one, and that what you are describing sounds very familiar to me as someone with two known types of dysautonomia.

The fact that this is hampering your quality of life to the point where you fall asleep at work, are unable to stand without getting dizzy, and are experiencing chronic pain, is enough of a reason to pursue further testing for things like dysautonomia and, yes, possibly even ME/CFS though given your history of anemia, I'm inclined more toward dysautonomia because the two often go hand in hand.

Also, it is normal to feel anxiety experiencing these types of symptoms. Even if it turns out to be a symptom of your anxiety, doesn't make the experiences any less real and debilitating, and you deserve treatment that will help improve your quality and comfort of life. And there is treatment and things you can do that will make you feel better. Getting your anemia under control should be a top priority if it isn't already. Mines was allowed to go untreated for years until we found out my iron anemia was being caused by pernicious anemia (b12 deficiency), and the iron anemia I'd been plagued with since birth suddenly cleared up.

Years and years of blood transfusions and infusion treatments, and the whole time I needed b12. Who knew? Certainly not my old doctors.

Anyway. If your symptoms are at the point where you are recognizing yourself in things like POTS? It's time to pursue that with your doctor. Don't put it off because you think it's not that bad or others have it worse. Everyone deserves to feel well.

Good luck.

[beanmachine69]

Restless- Lance Stroll

Lance Stroll fluffy blurb because I love him<3

As tired as you were, you just couldn't get yourself to sleep. The sheets felt weird, your shirt felt weird, the room was too cold one minute and too hot the other minute, everything felt weird. It didn't help that Lance was out late and wouldn't be coming home soon. It felt so strange sleeping without him, and it was far worse tonight. No amount of twisting and turning or white noise was helping you sleep tonight. Every possible attempt was turning to be futile and it was nearly impossible to not think of him at this moment.

You got up, huffing and resorting to the last bright idea you had. Pushing the sheets off of yourself, you got out of bed and brought your plushie from the corner of the room. You were going to cuddle something- Lance or no Lance.

You fell back on the bed with a thump, hugging your little friend. It was soft in your arms and felt significantly more reassuring than you expected. It eased you more than you had hoped, and you couldn't complain. Felt childish, but still comforting.

You had just gotten comfortable when the moods started again, the room felt too hot again and the sheets felt weird and the bed was empty and suddenly no plushie was big enough to take Lances' place. You let out a loud huff of frustration and got up, picking your plushie up and going to the kitchen. If you weren't going to sleep, might as well get a snack and watch something, clearly your body didn't want to co-operate tonight.

Grabbing a snack from the kitchen, you went to sit in the lounge, infront of the huge TV Lance had gotten installed a while back. Scrolling through Netflix, you landed on something you liked and began watching. Were you paying attention? no, absolutely not, you missed your boyfriend far more than usual, and all you wanted was for him to hug you as you went to sleep.

You'd known Lance for so long, and had liked him for even longer, there was no doubt in your mind when he asked you out. You both had dated for years now, and moved in together recently. You travelled with him every time you could, always supporting him whenever and wherever you could. You missed him more than usual tonight, not for any reason, but mostly when you couldn't sleep he'd always been around to help, he was great comfort, always.

Completely lost in thought, you hadn't heard Lance walk in, quietly closing the door behind himself to ensure you wouldn't wake up. He was obviously beyond surprised when he walked in to see you on the couch, zoned out infront of the TV, with a snack in one hand and a plushie in one. He chuckled a bit at the sight, it was cute, even cuter since you were in his shirt.

He crept up behind you, closing the gap as jumped the couch from behind, sitting next to you. You shrieked in surprise, getting pulled away from your thoughts by his sudden presence. He laughed as you registered the situation, pulling you in for a kiss.

"Hi." He smiled, as he pulled away, still mere inches away from you.

"I didn't hear you come in." You giggled at the proximity. You could feel his breath on your face.

He hummed as he pulled your waist closer to him, propping you in an awkward angle on his lap, which you readjusted so you could straddle him and see him better.

"Yeah, the TVs loud," He replied. You felt his hand wander around the couch for something, pulling your plushie up, "And I've clearly been replaced."

You laughed, pulling him in for a hug. He felt so warm, and smelled so good- despite the fact that he'd just gotten home. You finally felt the comfort creep it's way back into you.

"Yeah well, I missed you and I couldn't sleep." You pouted.

"Oh? Baby, I'm so sorry, I told you I'd be out late tonight..."

"Yeah, I know, I just couldn't sleep tonight, I'm not sure why."

"Are you tired? Because I sure am."

"Very."

He chuckled, patting your lower back to indicate he wanted you to move off of him, and so you did, scooching off of him and onto the couch again. He stood up, only to lean back down and scoop you up too.

"Come on, leave your snack here, I'm tired and I wanna cuddle with you."

You smiled, finally feeling like you could sleep again. His presence had an effect on you, it was comforting and practically intoxicating. He was so gentle with you, always prioritising you wherever he could. He always claimed that you meant more to him than racing on most days.

And so you both made your way under the sheets, hugging each other, with your head on his chest and his hand playing with your hair mindlessly. He seemed content and calm, like he always did with you.

.

.

.

.

A/N: sorry if this is short, been a bit swamped lol, anyways, Requests are open as usual! send some requests in and I'll write them asap!

Always open to criticism, lmk if I can improve my work, thanks!

[thealogie]

I'm sorry but I'm about to treat your ask box like a confessional.

You kind of deserve it, though, because due to your Sherlock rewatch posts I've been forced to remember that 1. Sherlock is a show that exists and 2. that I wrote Sherlock fanfic when I was 13... about SHERLOCK and MOLLY.

In my defence, I was a deeply deeply deeply repressed bisexual who hadn't realized it yet - so all of the obvious and insane gay stuff between Sherlock and John just completely sailed over my head. Also propaganda worked really well on me as a child - so basically I was the ideal viewer for Moftiss lol. There'd be scenes where people mistook Sherlock and John for a couple and I'd go 'huh that's kind of strange that keeps happening' but then it would be played off as a joke and I'd go 'oh yes of course, silly me! Gay people only exist as the punchline! Sherlock and John would NEVER be interested in each other that way. I can't believe anyone would ever think that haha.'

Flash forward to 2017. I'm 17 years old. I've kissed other women by now and have had my brain chemistry rewritten by copious amounts of slash fanfiction. Still young, but wiser to the ways of the world than I once was. The last time I watched Sherlock, I had been 14 years old. Sherlock season 4 airs. I watch it with my mom. It's so bad my brain immediately initiates a trauma response and wipes all memory of Sherlock away. This continues for years. The only times I remember Sherlock exists is whenever I joyfully watch hbomerguy's Sherlock Is Garbage video while I'm knitting or painting or something. Also whenever I have to type in a password for an account I made when I was 13 - because my go-to password was 'SHERLOCKED' back then, unfortunately.

Flash forward to now. I'm 24 years old. And I start seeing your posts about Sherlock. Like a sleeper agent, it awakens something in me. Yesterday, I spent a perfectly good Saturday - one I could have spent doing literally anything else - reading Johnlock fanfiction. I am suddenly re experiencing the show through new eyes, seeing all the queerbait I never did before. Getting hate-crimed on the daily. I'm thinking about Sherlock at work, at my adult fucking job. I'm watching scenes from the show on youtube in my office, quickly and guiltily clicking away whenever a coworker comes to chat. I am considering doing my own rewatch. I am realizing for the first time that John and Sherlock were literally in love. It's the only lens through which you can view the show and still have it be somewhat enjoyable. They literally put Mary in a wedding dress shooting Sherlock in his mind palace on TV. I feel like I'm having a religious experience, I feel like I'm insane, I feel like I'm 13 again. This is all vaguely November 5th-ish for me lol.

Anyway. I just thought you should know the impact your rewatch is having on the population. Sorry for the novel in your inbox. I've been desperately trying to find my old Sherlock x Molly fanfic to read for the lols but I think I deleted it off ffnet. I am both having the time of my life while also desperately hoping I forget Sherlock ever existed again soon. So, basically - thank you/curse you for this.

This is perhaps the best ask I’ve ever received?? I converted a sherlolly shipper in the year 2023? Listen I’d never wish a season 4 rewatch on anyone but I would highly recommend watching s1-2 and the wedding episode for a truly out of body experience. I felt more strongly about this show/ship than any other in my life and it was STILL worse than I remembered

[galaxythreads]

Something that really annoys the fuck out of me, is that it takes Thor and Hela being mistreated by Odin for people to believe that Loki was abused (and then, like that anon, "Loki doesn't have a right to resent poor abused Thor, bleh bleh"). Everyone kept insisting it was something "horny fangirls made up" for the longest time and that he was "crying fake tears" or being a "spoiled ungrateful brat".

I've seen too many people defend Odin's treatment of Loki. And it ignores the inherent power imbalance between a foundling from another realm that Odin pillaged and a biological son. Yet people insist Loki's just making shit up in Thor 1.

I think that there's been a lot more discussion over recent years about abuse so people are more aware of how to spot it which definitely helps, but regardless It is extremely irritating that it takes Hela and Thor also being victims before people are suddenly jumping on the train. i don't know. it's just weird. The way MCU is written leaves it very ambiguous about Loki and Thor's past because you CAN interpret it as Odin at best being distant, emotionally neglectful, their family a dysfunctional mess, and then go all the way to the other end of the spectrum where it's different types of abuse (emotional neglect IS still abuse) like emotional or physical. Not that one is worse than the other (it is not a competition. Abuse is never a competition. You don't "win" the fight if you got hit) it's just different.

I don't know. When I look at Thor 1, honestly I can see an argument for Odin struggling to reach out to his kids and him and Frigga just failing them instead of maliciously failing them. I once read an amazing fic where Odin finds Loki in the bifrost instead of Thor and he's beyond distressed that things got this point. I love reading these fics! I love the fics where Odin is trying to be a good father. I love him being able to repair his relationship and form a healthy bond with his kids. It's just... not really, canon?

I just think there's so many ways to look at what Odin and Frigga did, especially when it comes down to Loki, but one thing that irritates me the most is that these two defenses are thrown around ALL the time when it comes to Odin and Frigga being good parents to him and they're not even true:

1 - "we don't know that Loki was kidnapped vs abandoned. I know there's a part of the deleted script of Thor 1 where Laufey says Loki was the abandoned runt (or something to that effect), but it wasn't filmed and it was cut for a reason."

2 - "We don't know if Frigga and Odin made any effort into trying to change Asgard's views on Jotuns and they were unsuccessful, or if they just didn't care. We don't understand enough about Asgard's political system or educational system to say one way or the other."

3 - "Odin said that he didn't intend to use Loki to be the king of Jotunheim anymore."

And like okay! I've seen this argued so many times, but when you think about it more, you realize that it doesn't matter. Odin and Frigga had a responsibility to let Loki know Jotuns weren't monsters. They didn't. We know that. The first thing Loki describes Jotuns as is "monsters." he sees them as expendable animals that can be killed to stop Thor's coronation. in 95% of canon (I am looking at you eyeball scene), Loki doesn't kill for fun. He sees it as a necessity. So the fact that he looked at the Jotuns and didn't even think twice about leading them to their deaths just showcases how little he thinks about their lives.

The inherit "othering" of the Jotuns is a massive, massive racism problem that, even IF odin and frigga couldn't fix the educational system, they had a duty to explain to Loki that he wasn't a monster and to love himself for his true identity, even if they never intended to tell him. They failed him immensely in that regard.

And on the first thing - regardless of whether or not Loki was abandoned or kidnapped, Loki's first thought upon hearing that was not "i'm the prince of a different kingdom" it was "Odin took me for political purposes" and he was right.

And even IF odin was telling the truth and he dismissed those plans because he loved Loki more than his initial ambitions with him, why did he keep lying about it? And then we circle back to the second point:

look at me.

look at me.

Loki wasn't different. He wasn't. Loki as a Jotun wouldn't have been different from the Asgardians except visually and maybe some minor biological things, and that shouldn't have mattered. Because your visual appearance SHOULD NEVER be more important than who you are inside. The body is always a vessel for the brain.

Did they not tell him so he wouldn't have to face the racism? Because that's not a healthy way to deal with it and it was inevitable that he would learn eventually and they didn't prepare him to deal with that. They should have told him and then helped him build up his self-confidence to the point that MOST of the racist things wouldn't have bothered him, or he had someone to talk to when they did. If they gave Loki a support system for dealing with this rather than just trying to isolate it, Loki would have a much better viewpoint on himself.

anyway, sorry. my point with this long rant is that I believe loki. I believe when he said he was abused and hurt, regardless of whatever circles people can walk in that "justify" everything that Odin and Frigga did because at the end of the day Loki was still traumatized and hurt by what happened and he has the right to say that, heal, and move on. If Odin and Frigga want to change and repair their relationship with him into something healthy - amazing, good for them.