#There's always advice for adjacent stuff

[adhdo5]

Why is it so hard to decide what characters are Actually Doing and why is there no advice on the topic

[italiansteebie]

The first time Steve is exposed to subculture, it changes his life. The sneer his mother gives ins't surprising, but Steve can't help but be entranced by the glinting silver on this random man's body.

They're everywhere, in his nose, lips, and when he flicks his tongue out, Steve even catches sight of the shining jewelry in his tongue. And maybe Steve was already 13, practically grown up at this point, but he sees this man and thinks, that's who he wants to be when he grows up.

Unfortunately, that is not how things go.

His mother sees him studying the style of the delinquent in front of them and smacks his lightly on the head. "You have a reputation to uphold, Steven," She mutters through gritted teeth. So Steve hangs his head, and his dreams of looking like the colored haired boy he saw in the grocery store.

So years later, he's still adorned in polo shirts and light washed jeans. He's snuck in some goofy hair, but it's no where near what he'd want it to be ideally.

And here's the thing, he knew his family's reputation was important, but now that he's been denied from every college he applied to, including tech, and he's been lowered to serving ice cream in a sailor uniform, he wonders just how important the reputation was.

--

He can't help but wonder if he's going to die like this.

Covered in vomit and blood, in a sailor outfit on a dirty bathroom floor curled up to a lesbian, who he thinks maybe his soulmate. Platonically, of course.

"I've always wanted, like- colored hair. 'Nd piercings 'nd stuff. Y'know." Steve said, letting his head fall against Robin's shoulder. "Why haven't you?" Robin asked, resting her head on his. Steve shrugged, "Reputation, I guess. I think my parents would commit homicide."

Robin snorted, "If only they could see you now," she giggles. Steve shifts to retaliate, but can only laugh along with her. Steve nods, laughing harder when an angry looking Dustin and Erica barge into the bathroom.

--

They make it out alive.

Somehow. But they do.

And that's how they ended up here.

"Rob, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is! Look, Eddie is probably the only punk adjacent guy for miles, and he probably knows about all those records you think you hide in your closet."

"You've seen those?"

Robin shrugs, "When there's a box labeled 'do not open' in King Steve's closet, you take a look. It doesn't matter! I'm sure he knows who Iron Maiden is!"

The door swings open, "Of course I do."

Eddie Munson stands in front of them in all his glory.

"Told ya." Robin says, a light sneer on her face. Steve shoves her over, before looking back at Eddie, about to speak before he cuts him off. "I know Iron Maiden, what I don't know, is why King Steve is on my front porch with Robin from band. And why he's asking about Iron Maiden of all things." Eddie looks a bit like he want's to turn them away, but he steps back and opens the door wider, motioning for them to come in.

Once they're all milling about Eddie's tiny living room, Steve starts. "I know you've got this whole," Steve gestures at Eddie, "Metal head look going on and, well. I need some advice. Guidance, if you will." Robin nods along with him. "Yeah, a lot of guidance. He want's to get his nose pierced, but he only has polos."

Steve scoffs at this. "I have band shirts, Buckley. I'm just not allowed to wear them. But no more! I'm fully embracing this side of me."

Eddie watches, slightly amused, "So what do you need my help for?" He asks, eyebrow arching. "I need you to pierce my nose. Or at least tall me where to go," Steve rambles, shifting from foot to foot.

He watches as the metal head mulls this over. Eddie sighs, and shakes his head, Steve's shoulders dropping. "C'mon, Rob. He's not gonna do it, let's just go." He says quietly. "Woah, hey! I never said I wouldn't do it. I just don't uh- Why me?"

"You're the only person I thought could be helpful." Steve admits, watching as a smirk spreads across Eddie's face. "Alright then, big boy. Step into my office."

Steve follows Eddie into the bathroom, Robin hot on his heels, watching in some combination of awe and fear as Eddie pulls out. needle from the medicine cabinet. "Oh shit," Steve breathes. Eddie raises an eyebrow, but moves on. "Stay here while I get the jewelry."

"You okay, Steve? Oh my god, you're shaking." Robin frets, "Do you wanna back out? We don't have to do this." She says, grabbing Steve's hand. Steve swallows thickly, "I- I want to. I just. The needle is really freaking me out. I keep seeing that fucking syringe." Robin nods, rubbing Steve's shoulder, laying her head on his shoulder.

Eddie comes bounding back into the bathroom, "Hey- woah. Am I interrupting? No PDA in the trailer, please." He laughs. Steve and Robin jump away from each other, "Oh ew. He is so not my type," Robin groans.

"Whatever, let's do this Stevie. We're doing your septum, right?"

Steve tilts his head, and Eddie sighs "The one right here," Eddie places his hands on his own septum. "Oh, yeah. That one." Eddie nods, getting to work.

Eddie lies the needle up with Steve's nose, "Okay, breath in," Steve follows, "And breath out," Eddie instructs, and slides the needle through. In a fluid motion, Eddie slides the jewelry in, screwing on the ball and checking his work.

"Alright, we're all done, Steve-o." Eddie says, patting his cheek, before looking up at the boy. He looked a bit pale. "Steve?" He asked, before Steve promptly passed out, flopping to the floor in a boneless heap. "Oh, shit. Steve!" Robin cries, bending down. Eddie freezes for a second, "Oh shit. Okay. He probably just fainted, it happens sometimes. Lemme get him some water." He practically leaps through the trailer to grab some water.

He's back in the bathroom right as Steve comes to, "Scoops! I work for scoops, please!" He's shouting, there's tearing streaming down his face and Robin is there next to him, holding him close. "Shh, Steve. We're in the trailer, remember? Eddie's trailer? He pierced your nose." Robin soothes.

Eddie moves in closer, "yeah, I uh. I got you some water," he says, handing him the water. Steve grabs it with a shakey hand, "Thanks, Munson." He breathes, tears slowing. "Uh. Sorry. I had a long month. Y'know," Steve shrugs, and it leaves Eddie reeling. Was he just going to pretend this didn't just happen? The guy was still sitting on his bathroom floor. "Steve, seriously? Look, just sit here, I'm gonna go call someone to pick us up." Robin sighs, before making her way out of the small space.

"Are you okay," Eddie asks, sincerely, "No." Steve answers, voice cracking as he does so. "I was in that mall fire last month, and the hospital trip involved a lot of needles. I guess I didn't realize they still kind of freak me out." Eddie nodded in understanding. "I get that. I couldn't look at a blue chevy for the longest time cause it reminded me of my dad."

Steve sighed, "Thanks for doing this, Eddie. Hey, uh. How much do I owe you?" Eddie waved his hand, "It's all good, Harrington." He dismissed. Steve shook his head, "No way man, I gotta pay you back somehow." He insisted.

Eddie mulled it over, "take me to dinner?" He asked, before realizing what the fuck he just said, "I mean- fuck. Not- I didn't" He scrambled to his feet. Steve grabbed his hand, "Eddie, wait. It's fine."

"Fine? I asked you on a date. If you hadn't just passed out in my bathroom, I'm positive you would've decked me by now!" Eddie squealed. Steve shook his head, "I- I like both, Eddie. Y'know, boys and girls. And honestly. I'd love to go on a date with you," Steve said, smiling up at him.

"Steve! Joyce's here to pick us up since you died!" Robin called from the living room. Eddie helped Steve stand, and walked him to the living room. Steve leaned a little heavier into his side, "I'll call you when I'm a little less weak in the knees, okay?" Steve said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek before following Robin outside.

"Thanks again, Eds!" Steve called once he was in the car.

Eddie couldn't wait for that phone call.

[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.

[etherealspacejelly]

INTRO POST!

Hi there! I'm EtherealSpaceJelly, aka the Ethereal Space Dad. Welcome to my blog. Feel free to take a look around!

If you're interested in seeing my fandom and fanfic posts, check out @spacejellywrites!

About Me

Name: Robin

Pronouns: he/they/it

Nationality: English

Age: 20 years old

Sexuality: gay oriented aroace

Gender: transmasc, nonbinary, genderqueer, and a demiboy. i consider my gender to essentially be "boy-type-creature", if that helps. man-adjacent, even.

Neurodivergence: i am diagnosed with adhd, and currently working on my autism diagnosis

AO3: EtherealSpaceJelly

My Interests

Doctor Who

Queen (the rock band)

MCU

FNAF

Hannibal

Good Omens

Supernatural

Star Trek

Godzilla (mostly monsterverse)

and more!

Ethereal Space Dad

I have many, many internet children (but no real life ones!!) who i adore very much. if you want to be part of the jellyfrog family feel free to send me an ask! i give pretty decent life advice, especially about lgbtq or autism/adhd stuff. i like listening to you talk about your day, your interests or achievements, or we can just be silly together! check the '#ethereal space dad' tag for all of my internet dad posts!

all i ask is that you please keep things light, dont send asks about self harm, suicide, or eating disorders (unless recovery focussed!), you need to talk to someone in real life about those things, or call a hotline.

My Tags

#inbox and #ask - answering my asks/inboxes

#ethereal space dad - answering an ask from one of my internet kids, or occasionally a post/reblog that i think embodies the space dad vibes!

#queue - posts that came from my queue

#life updates with jelly - posts where i just vent or ramble about stuff going on in my life rn

#fanfic and #fanfiction - links to my fanfics

#robin rambles about his hyperfixations - self explanatory

#space dad showcase - art that my followers/mutuals have made!

#advice - giving advice either straight from my brain or in response to an ask

#space jelly writes - my fics!

Other Stuff

No DNI, if I don't like you I'll just block you!

DMs and asks are always open, feel free to send me stuff or just pop in for a chat!

[capnhanbers]

hi hi!! do you have any advice on writing naturally flowing dialogue? istg every time i re-read JOAT the dialogue feels so natural and smooth and i can’t get enough

fuahfanahda how sweet 🥺 i love writing dialogue!! I'll just list some non specific advice lol

i try to be realistic. like can i actually imagine someone saying this? I'll say things out loud and think, does this flow? forget the thesaurus, what word do i instinctually want to say here, even if it's not the prettiest most accurate word? would i throw in an um or a like? would i laugh? etc etc

i say this a lot but i have a director approach to writing, so I'm always watching the characters in my head like they're actors performing this stuff. that said, drawing from scripted shows/movies is helpful, but my weird deeper recommendation is to pay attention to REALITY TV SHOW DIALOGUE. it's unscripted yet most contestants are pretty actor-adjacent so you'll find great lines scattered into more organic convos.

then it's not just the words. to me, gestures and pauses are huge. huge huge huge. don't be afraid to interrupt a line of dialogue to say what's going on with their hands, or where they're looking, or what's going on in their expression. again, this is all very visual for me, these are actors.

try to be true to your character's individual voices. this is pretty easy with utdr fanfiction since every voice is soooo distinct, but i keep my rules pretty simple. tori doesn't use contractions. simone doesn't cuss. em cusses A LOT. naya rambles, lots of likes and uhs. chara's an edgelord. and so on. voice comes naturally the more you write, but just give one or two simple rules to each character from the start.

[leavingautumn13]

a tutorial-adjacent thing about how i make comics

this is just a general guide on how i personally do things, and i'm gonna keep it pretty simple. let's get into it!

for this tutorial i'm gonna be drawing some trainers trying to find a particular pokémon.

i'm gonna jump ahead a little here and show my finished sketch for the full page, so we can see the end goal.

the best advice i have is to treat panels as part of the composition. make them work for you. reading a bunch of comics will help inspire you--there are so many creative things you can do with panels.

next, placing dialogue bubbles! these are a bit more complex than they seem at first glance.

once you've got all that sorted, you can move onto the fun stuff, like lining and coloring. keep in mind that you can partially cover dialogue bubbles, break panel lines, etc. do whatever gets your message across. like so:

you can also apply these guidelines to much simpler comics, too. really, flow is the most important thing, in my opinion. it's like a line of action when you're drawing poses. here's a comic i did that's basically just talking heads, but the bubbles and art still flow together to draw the reader's eye along a path. here's a jokey little scribble comic that does something similar. making a good comic is not about polish at all. it's more about readability, composition, and making your dialogue and art work together.

scott mccloud's book making comics has a lot more useful information than what i can fit on one post. it's been a hot minute since i read it (and by that i mean like. twelve years) but it's a solid resource. you can also just read comics or webcomics that you like and see how those illustrators do it. one of my personal favorites is cucumber quest. it starts off very simple, but by chapter 3 (especially near the end) the artwork, panel choices, effects, etc all work together to make every page a stunning work of art.

anyway, as always please feel free to reach out if there's any part of this that you'd like elaborated on, clarified, if you just have questions, etc. i'm not a teacher by any stretch of the imagination but i love helping people with this sort of thing, so please don't hesitate!

[this post is for @tanlotts <3]

[mueritos]

Hey! Asking about your experience with being punk/punk adjacent and also in academia. How do you handle the two? Punk action and activism is grassroots, which I try to be involved in, but I feel like I’m just speaking big words and writing into an echo-chamber about gender. Like the only good I do is explaining to a group of cis people terminology. What are your experiences on this, if you have any?

Hmm. Yea this was difficult for me to balance too. I'll insert a readmore cuz this got kinda long.

I enjoy academia and research and being able to have more advanced conversations with people, but I was also sick of being in classes or circles of people who I knew would speak "woke" for the sheer fact of looking like good people, but on the down low were incredibly racist, classist, queerphobic, and just down right nasty carceral people. It was difficult trying to sift through who was safe to open up to and who wasn't, because many people were actually liberals in disguise (even if they called themselves leftists or leftist aligned). I also was never shy about being an anarchist/punk, I was the only person who wore my spiked jackets and boots to class, my outfits were loud, but I also began seeing some other queer people I knew wear their own jackets because they were encouraged by me (so that was nice).

I was doing activism on campus while in undergrad alongside the usual academic theory/research stuff, and it turns out that people actually will hate your guts the moment you start pointing out problems. The usual "YOU become the problem the second you point out THE problems", so I faced a lot of social backlash, even from other marginalized people who I had confided in about problems. My advice is that unless you're willing to become one of the most hated people on campus, don't do your activism on campus. It's a surefire way of making enemies, even enemies in people you have never met in your life. There are plenty of local orgs, food banks, and churches with programming that you could be way more productive in than trying to combat institutionalized oppression like that of an academic institution. You can try, believe me because I did, and while I learned a lot about organizing, I also learned when to give up and focus on my community instead of changing systems.

You pointed out that you're getting sick of explaining to cis people. This is definitely something you can stop doing, if you'd like. I stopped giving up my labor to educate other people (within reason) because I was one of the few trans people on campus. But I also have this value that I am not about to let some person walk around with the wrong idea about marginalized communities, so I always speak up when people say incorrect things (this has also caused some yt people to avoid me lol). Of course, you do this with compassion and with the goal of making sure their future interactions with marginalized people go better, but after a certain point, you need to be able to hold your energy for where you want to put it. Put more pressure on your institution or adjacent orgs to have things like safezone training (or bring in queer orgs for trainings/lectures). You can also just tell people some websites to check out instead of answering their questions, because surprise to them, their questions can in fact be solved by a simple search, they just are far too lazy to do that.

I dunno tho. I still struggle with growing so much in terms of punk/anarchist theory and ideas, but i have a serious lacking in actual community organizing. I'm introverted, don't like big noisy crowds, and I am quite socially anxious. Being punk is like my armor in a world that doesn't like me, because I find people fuck with me less when Im in spikes and boots. I find theory and academia so fulfilling for my virgo brain, but I also don't shame myself for not being active in local community. I know there will be a time I will be, but I also know that everyone is helping in the movement in the ways they can. It doesn't matter if that is at the food bank, in protest, on the computer, or by reading theory. All of it is equally important, and some of us aren't going to be good at everything.

I found myself feeling far more productive and alive when I was working with communities I knew would keep me safe. Started surrounding myself with more BIPOC queer people who were also working against carceral thinking, and I found my life to be way more enjoyable. connecting authentically with people who you feel safe with is just as important as organizing or protesting. You can organize or protest, but if you don't have a community to turn to, you'll burn out and won't be able to sustainably stay in the movement. Focus on energies, peoples, and love, connect authentically and have difficult conversations about love and politics and theory. You can be an academic, but still maintain the punk values you love in your daily life. Humans are made of contradicting values and experiences, we shouldn't shame each other for that and instead hold the multiple and contradicting truths in us all.

I can go on and on, but ill leave it at that. feel free to ask anything else in specific tho.

[the-wip-project]

SloMo WriNo: Instantly Improve Your Writing With One Simple Trick

Want to make your writing instantly better?

Don’t we all?

Promising instant improvement is an easy way to hook eyes, (I’m sort of sorry for click-baiting you— but not too much.) so a lot of writing advice is framed that way.

But is it actually possible?

Generally the advice on those types of posts isn’t anything revolutionary. You’re told to eliminate adverbs/filter words/telling. Or perhaps the advice is additive. You should start using all 5 (or even 6?) senses in every description, do or don’t use certain tenses or povs, change up sentence lengths, use more paragraph breaks, and so it goes.

It’s (usually) all useful advice, especially when applied in moderation. (No one will come and shoot you for occasionally using suddenly or summarizing a scene instead of showing every detail.)

The issues is that a lot of writers (especially beginner writers) are seeking some sort of magic bullet. That one trick that will change everything and magically make you good. (never mind that ‘good’ is far more nebulous and subjective than anyone wants to admit.)

Sadly, once you get beyond learning things like punctuation and when to insert paragraph breaks, there’s not really any single technique that you can quickly apply and immediately lift the quality of your writing.

For the rest, it really takes time. Even if the advice is good, you need to learn when and how to apply it.

As such, there’s only one technique that will definitely make your writing better.

Practice.

Yeah. So boring. The least sexy piece of writing advice. Write more.

But it’s also the simplest. (Not always the easiest, but definitely the simplest!) Writing is not mystic or singular. It’s just like any other art or craft. The only way you get good is by spending time at it. And just like anything else, you’re going to be bad before you can start to get good.

You would never expect to become an accomplished guitarist by spending lots of time listening to and thinking about music, while almost never picking up your instrument to practice. And you will not become a good writer without practicing the action of writing.

It’s a comforting idea that gets bandied around at times, that writing isn’t just fingers on the keys or pen on paper. That it’s thinking and daydreaming and making mood boards etc. While those writing adjacent things are fun and undoubtedly can help you write, they are not writing. They are not practice.

Spending your time doing those things instead of writing do not make you a better writer, and obviously they don’t finish your novel or writing project.

Which is my goal here. To help you finish your project. As such I spend very little time on dispensing advice on plot or prose, and focus mostly on the process of writing.

That’s not to say that I don’t think you should spend time on learning how to write better prose, or how to create compelling characters and plot, those things are important! But if attempting to learn that stuff gets in the way of practice, then it’s counterproductive.

So don’t let the writing advice become the focus of your writing. Apply advice slowly, and don’t overwhelm yourself with trying to fix all your perceived faults at once. (I still have a difficult relationship with punctuation, but I’m learning. Slowly.) If you can, focus on techniques that interest you. Keep things low pressure— fun even?

Yes you want your work to be as good as possible, but also, you’re doing this writing thing because you enjoy it, right? So don’t allow the pressure to be good to stop you from having fun. If trying to apply a certain piece of writing advice is making you miserable, toss it aside. It’s either bad advice, or it’s not the right time for you to worry about it. Above all, avoid anything that kills your joy and makes writing a miserable chore.

So I guess this is my one piece of advice that will improve your writing (process) instantly.

Enjoy yourself, and ditch anything that ruins that joy. You’ll get better at your own pace, as long as you keep writing.

—Maree

Subscribe to my substack to make sure you don't miss a post, chat with me on the WIP Project discord, and tag any posts you make about the challenge with #slomowrino if you want me to see them!

[upthewitchypunx]

Hi Alex!

I am very secular but I feel that magic is very helpful in meditation, and a way to honor my ancestors (Irish and Baltic). I do not know why but when I do have dreams/magic adjacent things happen to me, they are almost always Egyptian (which is very strange because Im incredibly white and I don't know a single Egyptian person). I want to begin with simple rituals with secular roots but I want to practice ETHICALLY (ecologically sustainable, multicultural appreciation/non appropriative) and SAFELY (I am largely agnostic on these things but I don't want to do something to piss off a spirit or other metaphysical being/endanger myself or others). My goal is to start with work on rituals for healing/cleansing, but my end game is for work around Justice and balance (NOT revenge). Can you help direct me to practitioners/literature or any respectable material on this? I know how to look stuff up on my own but the waters of New Age are deep and full of pseudohistory and racism and bad advice and I dont know how to tell the good from the bad

How about your bypass New Age and Kemetic reconstruction entirely and study history first. You can study things respectfully and not have to practice it. Also, studying history will be a great bullshit detector if you do find that you want to wade into it spiritually. Egyptian history is very very long and has a lot of moving parts and influences from lots of different cultures so sometimes "Egyptian" isn't a good descriptor for a starting point.

it's also not an area I am very well versed in so if anyone reading this has a better idea of where to start, please help. For me, I generally try to understand a history and a culture before I even try to wrap my head around the spiritual meaning of something.

[not-a-space-alien]

Tinytopia Chapter 8: Endless Rebirth (Part 4)

Story Masterpost

On AO3

Thanks to my beta/sensitivity reader @appelsiinilight!

In this chapter: Thistle forces Moon into the horrors of personal growth.

***

“So how's it going?” Sierra's voice came from the tinny phone speaker.

Thistle groaned and rolled on the floor.

“That good, huh?”

“I feel like shit.”  Thistle put his hands to his face.  “Moon left the house, and he knows how to not be found when he doesn’t want to be.  So I can’t even chase after him to make up.”

Marcy, whose job had recently become mainly Sit nearby whatever Thistle is doing, was at the desk.  She tapped him with her foot.  “I’m sure he’ll come back.”

“He can’t stand that I’m paying more attention to someone else,” Thistle said.  “I’ve never had to deal with this before.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anything you can really do about it,” Sierra said.  “It’s a, like…him problem.  Right?”

As much as Thistle loved Sierra, she wasn’t always good at giving advice.  He sighed.  “Yeah, maybe.  It’s just–there’s been so much going on, with Marigold, and Jax is–He’s so interesting, but I don’t know if I should–if he’s–and now Moon is mad at me, and the stupid dryad still won’t even come out!”

“And prom is tomorrow!” Sierra added.

“What?”

“It’s–nevermind, stupid joke.”

He sighed again.  “I told Jax we could talk about more pixie stuff later.  I think his first body is still in the walls with Violet.”

“Well, you should get Marcy to help,” Sierra said.  “Isn’t that what you were trying to do?  Have Marcy’s job be to manage everything at home?  That could include settling conflicts.”

“Oh, ah…” Marcy said.

“Come on, you’re super smart, I bet you’d be great at it!”

Marcy tapped her fingers.  “I could…try, I guess.  But I don’t know where Moon is, either.  Maybe we should just wait for him to come to us in his own time.  Pushing probably won’t make it any better.”  Right?

***

Marcy took Thistle around to look for Moon in and outside of the house.  It felt a lot safer now that they had the chain link fence up, but they didn’t find him.

They didn’t find him until he wanted to be found, which was later that day.  Thistle heard him shouting from the window by Colin’s desk.

Marcy took Thistle and rushed up there.  Moon’s magic wardrobe was set out on the roof adjacent to the window, along with a little stool, as though he’d been using the roof as a place to get dressed.  Borrower-Jax was on the desk, and Moon was dragging him by an iron grip on his wrist.  Moon was uncharacteristically frumpled and steaming mad.

“What are you doing!”  Thistle jumped down onto the desk and pulled Jax out of Moon’s grip.  Jax cowered, looking chastised.  

“I caught that ruffian going through my things!” Moon said hotly.  “I-I, you know, I set up my wardrobe to, well, for my apology–I was going to apologize to you, so I was just in the process of making myself beautiful for that.  And I turn my back for one second and this–this–this–hooligan helps himself to my hairbrush!”

“I wasn’t going to steal it,” Jax insisted.  “Honest, I wasn’t.  I’m sorry.  Please don’t yell at me.  I was just touching it.”

“I don’t care if you weren’t going to steal it!  Don’t touch my things!”

“All right,” Marcy said.  She held her hands out placatingly–but she knew better than to touch Moon when he was upset.  “Just calm down.  We can talk about it.”  Despite Sierra’s confidence in her, Marcy figured that was… probably the full extent of how she could actually help, otherwise being relegated to watching and hoping she didn’t have to grab anyone.

“Moon!” Thistle said, flabbergasted.  “You’re mad at Jax for touching your hairbrush?  Not even stealing it, but touching it?”

“He had no right!”

Thistle sat Jax down behind him, then crossed his arms.  “Moon.  Stop acting like this.”

“Acting jealous?” he sneered.

“Yes!”

“Tell Jax not to touch my things!”

“Moon, I will, but–Look, it was just a hairbrush!  It’s not a big deal!  Stop being a drama queen!”

Moon burst into tears and fluttered away.  Thistle’s heart sunk into his stomach.  This was bad.  His friendship with Moon was getting worse, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Marcy watched Moon fly out the window and dive out of sight, not even bothering to pack up his wardrobe.  She felt horrible about how this was going, and cradled Thistle and Jax in her palms.

Thistle sighed and turned around, helping Jax back up.  “I’m sorry he yelled at you.  He shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I touched his hairbrush,” Jax said.  “I won’t do it again.”

“I don’t even see why it’s a big deal,” Thistle said.  “It’s not like you were going to do anything with a hairbrush.”

Jax bit his lip and looked away.  “Uh.  Yeah.”

Thistle stared at him.  “Unless… Jax… is there a reason why it would be a big deal?”

Jax’s ears pinned back to his head.  “Um… I…”

“Jax?!”

“I just wanted some of his hair!” Jax burst out.  “I wanted to make a third body and have it be like his!  It would have just been a few hairs!  He wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t spotted me!  I want to sit in the moonlight and make magic, too!”

Thistle stared at him.

Jax scuffed his foot.  “Sorry.”

“His hair?” Marcy echoed.  “For wh….Oh.  Ooooh.  For his DNA?  Right?”

Thistle turned from Marcy to Jax.  “Jax…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that what you meant by copying me?  Did you clone me?  Did you take some of my hair when I wasn’t looking?”

Jax’s face went bright red.  “I’m sorry.”

Thistle let out a deep breath.  “Jax, you understand that cloning someone without their permission is a lot less of not a big deal than just touching someone’s hairbrush?  Right?”

Jax bit his lip.

“Right?!”

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal!  It’s not like it affects either of you at all!”

“Jax!” Thistle chastised.  “You can’t just steal someone’s hair and use it to clone them without asking and expect them to not be upset!”

“But you were happy to see me incarnated as a pixie!  It’s not like it’s a bad thing–right?”

Right.  They were dealing not only with a completely alien creature, with completely different ideas of morality–but a baby one at that, who still had to be taught how to interact with other people.

Thistle massaged his temples.  “This is–where to even begin.  This is a lot.”

“Go find Moon,” Marcy said, scooting Jax into her palm.  “I’ll stay here and try to explain this to Jax.”

Jax looked up at him through his eyebrows.  “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m–Maybe.  I don’t know.  Just… just stay here with Marcy for now, okay?”

***

He found Moon under a bush in the front yard, sitting with his knees to his chest, crying into his arms.

Thistle could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Moon cry.  “Hey,” he said softly, ducking under the branches, bare feet padding in the dirt. 

Moon looked up, then away, ashamed.  He sniffled and wiped his face.  “I don’t want you to see me like this.  I’m too proud.”

“Well, that’s too bad.  I’ve already seen you, Mr. Pride.”  Thistle sat down next to him.  “Hey…  I think we both know this isn’t actually about the hairbrush.  Do you want to talk about it?  I’ll listen this time, instead of brushing you off.”

Moon kneaded his handkerchief.  His eyes were puffy–but he still managed to cry beautifully.  “It isn’t fair,” he whined.  “It’s not fair that he gets to be so carefree and make friends like it’s second nature!  I’ve been working so, so hard to–to… I don’t know.  Be more genuine.  Be a friend, instead of hiding behind lies.  But it’s so hard.  And then this guy comes along.”  He gestures to the house.  “And he’s just, apparently he’s just a better version of me.”

“Moon,” Thistle said sadly.  “No, come on.  Jax isn’t a better version of you.  That’s–it’s just not true.”

Moon sniffed loudly.  “That’s not–I mean, just look at him.  He can do everything I can do and then some.  He’s young and impressionable, enthusiastic and open and wholesome and energetic.  I’m none of those things.  He’s just more interesting than I am, now.  What am I going to do if you get bored of me?”

“I’m not going to get bored of you.  I’m sorry if I ever did anything to make you feel that way.  It wasn’t on purpose.  You’re great, Moon.  I like having you around.”

Moon gave a pained smile, looking at the ground and gently bumping Thistle with his shoulder.  “Probably a lot more when I’m not throwing little piss-fits, I imagine.”

Thistle giggled and bumped him back.  “A little, yeah.  I’m sorry, Moon.  Even if it didn’t seem like a big deal to me, it was obviously a big deal to you, and I should have seen that.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect, darling.  Except me of course.”  Moon wiped his eyes, smearing his eye makeup even further.  “I guess I felt… territorial, because I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing here if I’m not your favorite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve just…spent so long pretending to be whatever someone else likes best that I don’t really know who I am when I’m just by myself.  And I had the worst introduction out of everyone here, so I guess I feel… like I have to prove that it’s worth letting me hang around.”

Thistle snickered.  “I don’t know about the worst introduction.  Severa tried to kill me.”

“Well…”

“Jewel hid for months and months and then had to be picked up out of the dust.”

“...Point taken.”  Moon groaned.  “Oh no, I’ve just done introspection.  The depths you force me to.”

Thistle smiled, took Moon’s hands, and pulled him up.  “But look, it didn’t kill you.  And I bet you feel better now.”

“I do sometimes forget things can get better instead of worse.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”  Thistle flickered his wings.  “We found out something about Jax, too.  Are you ready to go back and talk about what happened with them?”

“Only if you come with me.”

“Always.”

***

Marcy, meanwhile, had been prying Jax with questions to learn more.

Apparently Jax’s species picked up detritus leftover from other species to copy them–absorbing their DNA and, as far as she could tell based on his wording–residual magic that granted the hivemind access to some of the creature’s knowledge.  Which would explain how Jax had received a shotgun blast of information to learn a language and some basic details without even meeting a borrower.

She couldn’t figure out what sort of larval form he’d had, if any, that could have picked up some borrower hair to get him started.  He didn’t remember, of course, so maybe they’d never know.

It was incredibly difficult to pull her train of thought back on track to try and explain to Jax why being cloned would upset someone.  He obviously had no instinctual feeling of it being wrong or creepy, but in the end he seemed to accept Marcy’s explanation that it would make others feel bad, and he agreed that he didn’t want to make others feel bad.

“So from now on, no cloning anyone else without permission, okay?”

“Okay,” Jax said, scuffing his foot.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll ask next time.”

Thistle and Moon made their way back upstairs.

“Thistle,” Jax called nervously.  “Um, since I cloned you without permission, is it OK if I keep the pixie body, or do you want me to, um…”

Thistle stopped in his tracks.  “Um.  I don’t want you to kill my clone, if that’s what you’re asking.”  His clone would be sort of like family, wouldn’t it?  Either way, the thought of it dying upset him.

“Are you sure?” Jax offered.  “It wouldn’t be hard.  I could just-”

“I’m sure,” Thistle said quickly.  “Just–just don’t do it again, okay?”

Jax nodded.  “I will.  Won’t.  Thank you.  Sorry.”

Moon flew himself and Thistle back up onto the desk.  “You know, if you wanted to clone me, I might have let you if you’d just asked." Moon tossed his hair. "Who wouldn’t want to copy me?”

Jax swished his tail.

“...You can’t now, though.  You need to prove you’re trustworthy.  All you did by your approach was make me think you were up to something nefarious and get me all suspicious.”

“Sorry,” Jax said.  “I’m still learning.”

Moon smiled gently.  “I suppose I am, too.  I’m sorry for getting upset with you.  You’re very special, and I was afraid that would make people think me less special.  But it doesn’t have to be a competition.”

Jax beamed and clung to Moon’s arm.

“All right, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”  Moon shook him off.

When they were done with their conversation, Thistle beckoned them to come into the living room.  Among the lineup with Thistle’s house and Severa’s, there were two new small wooden houses, blank and ready to be painted.

“So, Jax, you’re going to need a big place to sleep if you’re going to have, er… multiple people sleeping.  And Moon.  Well, you never got a house.”

“You offered, if you recall.  I’d said no.”  He looked chagrin.

“Well, tough.”  Thistle held out one of his very small paintbrushes.  “Give it a try.  If you don’t like it when we’re finished, you don’t have to keep it.  But I bet having a place to call your own, physically here in the house, will make you feel a lot less insecure about your place here.”

Moon looked from Thistle’s house, to Severa’s beside it, to the hole in the wall beyond that Thistle had decorated for the borrowers with a small welcome mat, to Jewel in the fishtank above.

“And who knows?  Maybe if you stop pretending you’re too cool to do the arts and crafts with us, you’ll find something you like that isn’t just Being Thistle’s favorite.”

Moon’s wings wilted.

“Come on, Moon.  I like you, and I like having you around.  But I want you to be happy outside of me, too.  I don’t want your self-worth to depend entirely on my opinion of you.  I don’t want you to get hurt like that.”

Moon thought for a moment, then smiled again.  “Well, when you put it that way…  All right.  I’ll give it a try.  Give me the brush.”

***

***

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[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

BETA READING OF: Eros

Prompt:

Ancient Greece hoe dream is feeding my slutty mind plus I love time travel trope, so here goes my horny plot bunny:  Reader has got married to Dream and becomes Queen of the Dreaming. One day she mysteriously gets transported back to, as you mentioned before, it's probably post Orpheus' death, divorced Morpheus era when said dilf was looking for some good fuck to drown his pain.

Unsurprisingly he was instantly taken by this human girl, and Reader figures out this is Morpheus grieving for his greatest loss. So after some seduction from both sides they had the most intense rough sex ever. Reader's like, "Take all your anger and pain on me, my lord."  This might have lasted for a while and one night after they had rounds of lovemaking, Dream left because of some business in the dreaming and Reader just disappeared from this era without a trace. Dream's sad that this mysterious girl's gone, but over time their love affair fades into obscurity as if it'd never happened.

Cue the present time, Dream's worried about his Queen getting trapped by some idiot mortal, and then Reader suddenly appears in front of him, in her naked glory, and the memory hits him like a tidal wave. He notices that there's glaring evidence of passion on his wifey, as hoe Dream gifted many love bites on her and his cum is trailing down her legs. Needlessly to say, Dream gets both uncontrollably jealous of his younger self and turned on by reclaiming his love, and Reader, despite her soreness, gets incredibly wet at the idea of taking her Dream, this Dream inside of her while she's full of hoe Dream's seed.

This is in its rawest form (minus the spicy stuff cause I haven't gotten there yet), I don't really like it, but maybe you will? IDEK.

What I have so far:

You spent a lot of time staring at the throne adjacent to the intricately carved marble one depicting the helm of Dream of the Endless. It was more feminine, carved out of the same marble as the Morpheus’, but designed with a softer touch. It was a marble forest, twisting branches and flowers that were inspired by Fiddler’s Green, your fingers always ended up tracing little grooves and bumps absentmindedly.

“Hey boss lady,” You turned your head in time to see Matthew fluttering his way up to your shoulder. His feet clutched the fabric of your sweater and he shuffled his wings, looking at the two thrones. “You know you’ve been married for like, two months… right?”

“Distinctly,” You answered dryly, having very vivid memories of your wedding night. You hadn’t left the bed for three days, and then couldn’t walk right for three weeks. Morpheus had been very smug with the way you hobbled around, while you felt like crawling into a hole in embarrassed. You’d married a voracious Endless that aspired to paint every millimeter of your body with his love. “But it’s not like I was born knowing I was going to marry an Endless and become the queen of a realm.”

“True, true,” Matthew echoed with a bob of his head. “But ma’am, has anything actually changed in your life? Ignoring the fact that you live here now…”

You thought about Matthew’s words. Not much had changed in your life save your happiness. You had only ever really felt happy when visiting the Dreaming, so there wasn’t much you missed in the Waking. The people in the Dreaming themselves had always gone to you for advice now that you thought about it. They felt confident speaking to you about their problems… so you had been their queen long before you became their official one.

“No, nothings really changed… and it’s just a title,” You mused softly walking towards your throne and running your fingers along the warm marble. Warm and cool, just like you and Morpheus. You were an unusual pairing and not one that you’d think would work in the first place. “Alright, I’ve stared at the thrones for long enough, it’s time to go outside and touch some grass.”

“Ya know I think Lord Dream could touch some grass time to time,” Matthew muttered from your shoulder. “He’s been kinda uptight lately.”

“Probably cause of all the changes, you know he likes things certain ways,” You said dryly, thinking back to all the arguments you’d gotten into with him just because he was being a giant dunderhead who didn’t want to listen to you and pretended that your option and decision didn’t matter.

“Yeah you might be onto something,” Matthew chirped in agreement. Exiting the palace, you wandered through the gardens while letting your fingers brush along the flowers and bushes of the garden. “But at least he’s trying!” Matthew added, trying to be positive about his boss.

“He got pissy with me because I wanted to take a walk in London by myself after we had lunch with Hob,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It was London, in the middle of the day when families were having picnics!”

“And we both know humans can be assholes,” Matthew reminded you. “The boss doesn’t have a lot of good experience with mortals to go off of.”

“Pretty sure I have more experience in the human department than he does?”

“Point,” The raven agreed, taking off and swooping through the limp branches of the weeping willow in front of you. You passed beneath the little tunnel of gnarled branches carefully grown and kicked out your foot. You’d been feeling antsy lately, cooped up and in need of stretching your limbs. Maybe you’d go for a swim? Morpheus didn’t exactly like you swimming in the Ocean of Dreams, but you and the entity had a pretty good relationship and she didn’t try to drown you when you went swimming. “He’s still gonna throw a tantrum.”

“And I dare you to say that to his face,”

“I’ll pass I like having feathers… and living in general...” Matthew shuddered to think what Morpheus’ reaction would be of learning he’d said that.

“It would be funny though,” You giggled to yourself, imaging the initial confusion that would cross Morpheus’ face… then perhaps just a hint of an eye tick, then the whole: you dare… Your husband was entirely too predictable at times and you found it very amusing. You were deaf to Matthew’s disgruntled grumbles and continued walking, not realizing that your feet were carrying you towards the beaches of the Ocean of Dreams.

“Holy shit,” Matthew’s curse behind you jarred you from your thoughts. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had caused him to curse, the Ocean of Dreams was churning in unhappiness. High above violent waters were storm clouds, flickering with lightning and letting out echoed of thunder. “Uh, you ever seen this before ma’am?”

“No,” You informed the raven, trying to see if you could feel what was wrong to have the Ocean of Dreams so agitated. “Matthew return to Lucienne, speak with her about this matter. Surely she has a clue.”

“Right on it, boss lady,” Matthew called before surging into the air and flying back to the palace as fast s he could. While Matthew was doing as you asked, you quickly hurried up to the waters edge. Oh yes, something had agitated the Ocean of Dreams, she was not happy. Without hesitation, you strode into the cold water, determined to figure this out. Morpheus was away on business, you could handle this, you could handle this.

When you were waist deep, you dove deeper, fully submerging yourself. The water, while a usual chilly cold, seemed to be colder than normal. Even the currents were stronger, more aggressive. You tried to look around for the physical manifestation of the Ocean in the form of your shadow figure, but you couldn’t see her anywhere. A smattering of bubbles escaped your lips as you sighed in frustration and swam further towards the depths. In your efforts to hunt down the physical manifestation of the Ocean of Dreams, you failed to notice that the currents were getting far too strong for you to swim through.

Now, you didn’t need to breath oxygen thank to Morpheus making you immortal… but it wasn’t exactly comfortable holding your breath, or accidentally inhaling the salty water. So when your body began getting tossed and turned like you were in a hamster ball and it was being shaken, you started panicking. Floundering, the water around you began shifting from chilly cold to warm… and then back again. Your arms cartwheeled through the salt water until the temperature stayed warm and a bright light appeared. The storm must have finally disappeared!

You kicked your way towards the surface, hoping that Lucienne would know why the Ocean of Dreams had gotten so upset and the weather so irritable. The moment your face broke the surface you knew that something was very wrong.

First, it was way to hot for you to be in the dreaming. Second, it didn’t sound like you were in the dreaming. Third? When you opened your eyes you were most definitely not in the Dreaming!

“Oh shit,”

————————————————

You spent a solid five minutes panicking about the fact that you were most definitely not in the Dreaming anymore. Morpheus was going to go ballistic when he found out. Then your panic increased because you didn’t know where you were, and you were in the middle of an ocean! At least you could see land, but it was a distance away from you. Still coming to grips with what you were dealing with because hello, some magic fuckery had just occurred and you were not kosher with it, you paddled towards a weird looking boat in the distance.

As you grew closer, you could hear shouting in a language you didn’t quite understand, and the sounds of screaming. Focusing on the words, the power Morpheus imbued within you shifted the stage words until you could understand them. Greek. A child had fallen overboard. Your eyes dropped to the water and you spotted a dark haired child splashing around violently. You didn’t think twice about quickly swimming towards the child as they disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Dipping back below the oceans surface, you swam your way over to the squirming child, a girl. She was wrapped up in a beautiful white cloth that was currently hindering her ability to swim. You made to her and wrapped your arms around her thin body before looking up and kicking your way back to the surface. When your head broke the surface, you made sure you pulled the child up so her head too, was above the chops waters.

She was clutching your forearm in a death grip, nails digging into your flesh. You were glad that she wasn’t trying to claw her way on top of you. Spitting out ocean water you’d accidentally swallowed, you began carefully side stroking your way over to the odd boat. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, given that people didn’t just appear it the middle of the ocean. As it turned out, luck was on your side and the greeks who hauled you and the little girl up onto the ship were entirely convinced that you were some lost noble… all because of of the clothes you wore.

Apparently only the rich and noble people of Greece could afford to wear purple clothing.

The boat was taking the little girl, a daughter of one of the nobles in Athens (how the hell did you end up in Ancient Greece?), home after visiting her aunt in Crete. She’d accidentally tumbled over the side and now refused to let you go for fear of a repeated event. So you were awkwardly standing around in your ‘strange clothes’ while the little girl held onto you like a baby monkey. At least when the boat docked at the harbor to the ancient city of Athens, in all its blazing glory, you were offered a cloak to cover your strange clothing.

Clearly the little girl you’d rescued came from a very rich family, because the carriage that you’d been herded into was lavish. You sat inside it while there were warriors on horses surrounding, and spent a good twenty minutes trying to think of what the hell you were going to do because this was way out of your realm of expertise.

“What is your name?” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Well, they already thought you were some lost noble or princess… might as well play it off as some greek god blessing or something… hopefully the gods wouldn’t be too upset with you. Not that they would be able to raise hand towards an Endless’ wife…

“You may call me Elpis,” You told the little girl. “What is yours?”

“Kynna, are you the great spirit Elpis mama told me about?” Soft brown eyes gazed at you with such reverence, you wanted to say yes and make her dreams come true. But you couldn’t exactly claim to be someone you were not. You stroked your hand over her still damp hair.

“I’m afraid it is only a name sake,” You replied, lifting your gaze to see several grand buildings pass by as the carriage rattled and shook. “I was lost at sea but the gods brought me to you.”

“Well if you’re lost… you can just live with us!” Kynna exclaimed with a wide beaming smile. “Panathenaia is starting tomorrow, they’ll be lots of parties and pretty dresses, and we get to give a new peplos to Athena!”

“I don’t think that will be up to me,” Your words didn’t hinder the excited babbles of Kynna, and while she continued to talk animatedly, you mulled over what you were going to say when you got to your destination.

———————————

You didn’t have to say much, the greek noble woman of Kinna’s family, along with the other aristocratic women from surrounding families living in the housing surrounding the communal living space and baths, were entirely convinced you were an aristocrat who had some how fallen overboard and lost her most of her memory. You were fine playing amnesiac as it meant less questions. You just had to get used to a different lifestyle while you tried to figure out what the hell had happened to you.

A circle of woman around your age, Merope, Agapia, and Helike, had taken you under their wing while servants scurried about in preparation for the Panathenaia. Your modern clothes had been ditched for a silk peplum that draped around your body and showed skin in several places, and you’d been adorned with a multitude of jewelry by Kynna’s father for saving his little girl. In essence, you looked exactly like the woman everyone thought you to be: Elpis, a greek aristocrat with amnesia.

You’d spent the first couple of days hiding out in Kynna’s household, not sure of yourself and not wanting to make trouble for the family, but your trio of new friends had convinced you to come out to the communal space on the promise of seeing several handsome men and enjoyable drink and food. Eye candy and snacks, you were down for that. So you were walking with your gaggle of friends and contributing to the objectification of several fine greek men who had arrived home for the Panathenaia, when Merope had wanted to visit the sun room to see what special guests had arrived.

“Oh I heard Theos returned from Sparta looking for a wife.” Agapia gushed as she combed her fingers through her hair.

“Forgive me for not immediately fawning over this Theos… who is he?” You asked as Merope and Helike giggled.

“He’s Athen’s most prized warrior, competed in the last Olympic Games and won several games.” Agapia explained to you as the four of you walked beneath a trellis tunnel of roses. She went on to explain, in detail, every millimeter of the specimen known as Theos and by the time Helike was telling Agapia to stop drooling, you were very interested in seeing this this Greek was as handsome and strong as he sounded.

“Oh don’t stop now, you’ve gotten me interested,” You mused with a soft laugh while passing a group of men who eyed each and everyone one of you. Helike rolled her eyes, Agapia was oblivious, and Merope fluttered her eyelashes but stayed silent.

“I am sure there shall be a man at the festival who willwin your hand, Elpis,” Agapia said while holding her hands to her chest. “Because while we all know that you’ve got heads turning, you appear to have very little interest in those we have crossed paths with. Mark my words, you shall find someone you desire by the end of Panathenaia.”

You rolled your eyes, you’d humor the woman, they’d been so kind and generous to you despite you being a total stranger… but it wasn’t like you could admit that you were already married, and didn’t even belong in this era.

“As you say, Pia,”

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Merope gasped quietly the moment your group entered a large room with many lounging chairs and dozens of greeks lounging around. You hummed in question and looked at her. “Lord Oneiros has decided to be in attendance!”

Something perked up within you at the mention of Oneiros, and your head snapped to the dark haired beauty in confusion.

“Sorry, did you say Oneiros?” You asked, your voice coming out in an odd tone. You’d heard that name before, when Morpheus had assisted Calliope upon hearing her call. She referred to him as Oneiros. Morpheus was Oneiros. How could he be here. The girls gathered around you and gestured to a corner of the room. Your eyes followed and you felt your heart freeze your chest. This wasn’t possible, was it?

How could it be that your dark and broody husband, was sitting in the corner of the room dressed in robes of black, complete with a laurel crown perched upon his midnight curls. You trembled in place, fighting against the urge to charge forwards and throw yourself at him because you really missed your husband and wanted to go home. But as you gazed at the Dream Lord, you began picking up on his mood, his temperament. He was surrounded by a cloud of pain that you could feel in your heart, deep within his beautiful blue eyes was a raw hurt that nearly pulsated from his being. Oh. Oh fuck. Orpheus. As if feeling your stare, sharp blue eyes shifted and met yours. No recognition could be found within their depths. He didn’t know you. But he was intrigued.  

“I wonder who the lucky women will be this year,” Agapia softly wondered, the other two agreeing with her sentiments. “They say he is a voracious lover.”

A dark eyebrow rose ever so slightly accompanied by the smallest of smirks, and something within you cracked. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and quickly tore your eyes away from those of the Dream Lord.

“We should fill our bellies before the rest of the men arrive, the gods know they’ll eat it all,” You rushed out, your heart pounding in your chest painfully. Herding your friends in the opposite direction of Morpheus, desperate to get away from the being that you, one day, would marry.

———————————

Your friends were gossiping while lounging at a table, they were gushing about all the men and woman that had arrived through out the day. Apparently in the celebrations, orgies were a common occurrence among the aristocrats and it was always a guessing game of who would be getting with who, or more importantly, who would get the golden invitations to the orgies with the most powerful people of Athens. You didn’t mind the open sexuality of Athens, it was actually a freeing thought… but you’d spent the afternoon and night in a state of hurt with a very agonized heart.

Why did it pain you so much to see Morpheus in pain? It was clear that he was hurting. Hurting and drowning himself in wine and debauchery to take his mind and being off the fact that his son had died and he’d gone through a divorce. You hated seeing him like that. You hated it so much.

“Elpis?” You blinked and glanced at Merope, she and the other girls were looking at you with concerned looks. “You’ve been rather demure since luncheon, is all well?” It wasn’t like you could just unload all your troubles on the three woman, no matter how much you wanted to.

“Just a headache,” You informed her before unfolding yourself from your curled position and rising to your feet. “I think I need some fresh air and to cool down.” Your fingers tugged at your clothes until the pins held up the silken fabric just enough to keep it on your body. “I’ll be out for a walk, don’t let me keep you up waiting.”

It was clear that they weren’t convinced by your words, you strode past them with your peplum fluttering behind you. It was a hot night in Athens, but the breeze from the Aegean Sea cooled you down as you took a garden path that led straight to the beautiful water. Standing at the waters edge, you crouched down and brushed your fingers through the slightly warm water. This wouldn’t last forever, surely, your Morpheus was probably ripping through realms and universes trying to find you… you just had to deal with his past self until you went home.

Which you didn’t know when that would happen.

And you didn’t like the idea of leaving this Morpheus in pain.

But could you actually do anything about that?

You didn’t exactly have a handbook on what to do when you time travel.

Destiny will be up your ass if you screw this up…

Then again maybe this was supposed to happen?

You growled and dropped your face into your hand with a more than exaggerated groan. You didn’t sign up for this time travel bull shit when you married Morpheus! Just as you sighed and dragged your fingers down your face, pulling your eyelids as you went, you felt a tingle in your being and a shiver run up your spine. You rose to your feet and turned around.

Ah.

High above on one of the balconies overseeing the Aegean Sea, lounged Morpheus in all his glory. His tunic was half on his body, revealing a great expanse of his physique and his hair was ruffled since you had last seen him. Right. Lucienne reluctantly mentioned that Morpheus had a few hoe eras. This was one of them. Even though he wasn’t your Morpheus, you could still feel his inherent desire and lust. That both scared and excited you.

“Elpis?” Kynna’s sweet voice broke your stare down with Morpheus. “What are you doing outside all alone? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Kynna!” You softly exclaimed, striding up to the girl and plucking her from the ground. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“You’re not in bed,” The little girl pointed out like it would make a difference, making your eyebrow pop up.

“That’s because I was out for a walk, come on little one, back to bed, you have great things to do tomorrow.” Continuing to carry Kynna, you entered the joined stone building and walked towards her families wing.

————————

There was another luncheon in which most aristocratic families were attending, yourself included. You had been hesitant to go because you weren’t familiar with the politics of the noble class, but the food was enjoyable and there were several men determined to entertain you. They did. At least until a certain someone arrived. Your attention was drawn to Morpheus like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t help it. Not when he was the love of your life and the very being you promised to spend the rest of eternity together. But he wasn’t yours. At least not yet. That didn’t stop the smoldering looks he sent your way. You ate your grapes, one by one, all the while staring directly at him.

—————————

You knew you were playing with fire. The Endless could see it. He also knew that you knew you were playing as such. You fascinated him, hypnotized him with your eyes, demanded his heart and love with but a glance. Yet you never drew close enough to indulge. It was maddening, for Oneiros wanted no other but you. You’d drown out the sharp sting of loss he felt. He was sure of it. He enjoyed the way heat bloomed beneath your skin when he picked the flower you’d been reaching for and held it out for you to take. You hadn’t uttered a word, but your silence spoke a million things.

—————————

It was getting harder and harder to avoid interacting with Morpheus. You didn’t know if it was because you naturally gravitated towards him, or if it was because he clearly wanted you. Nothing you did rid you of the pain you felt from his. So you had gone to the baths to try and soak out the stress you felt. It was nearing midnight, so most of the nobles were either indulging in bodily delights, drinking, or sleeping off the alcohol. That meant you could enjoy the public bath house in privacy.

So you slowly made your way into the steamy room and carefully unwound the belt around your waist. Then your fingers plucked the pins from your shoulders and you carefully folded the silk cloth that hung around your body. The steaming water looked inviting as you tipped down into one of the pools, and you sighed at the nostalgia that filled your mind. The bath house pools were much like the large bath you had in the Dreaming, and made memories of relaxing in it cradled within Morpheus’ arms as he told you stories of past dreams.

You wanted to go home so bad.

“Are tonights revelries not to your appetite?” You jerked in place at the sound of his voice, your head snapping around to see Morpheus lounging in a corner of the bath. Shit. Shit. Shit. It took everything you had not to stare at his naked body leisurely sprawled across the sitting ledge without care. His black messy curls made your fingers twitch for they ached to run through them. It took you a solid minute to find the courage to reply.

“I do not usually partake in such festivities, my lord,” You replied, a slight tremble in your words. A black eyebrow arched and you forced your gaze to the carved statues of spites mounted at the end of the room. “I am more reserved with my affections.”

“But not entirely opposed as your skin paints a different story,” Morpheus pointed out, his eyes lingering on the faded marks of someones apparent love. Oh yes, someone had the pleasure of indulging in your body. The Endless watched as you flushed beneath his scrutiny, and took great enjoyment in knowing that he did have an effect on you. “Who would leave a creature as lovely and delicate as you, by yourself during such festivities?”

“He’s away on business and I do not seek to control his travels,” You told him, carefully unfolding your self from your tight ball. Instantly the Endless was drinking in the view of your gorgeous curves and faintly loved skin. He wanted to devour you. You wanted him to stop hurting. So you rose to your feet in the water and slowly sloshed over to him. “Why are you here?”

Clearly he didn’t expect you to ask him such a question, but nonetheless he humored you after taking a sip of his wine.

“I am enjoying the festivities, the same as you,”

“No you’re not,” Now that was a bold statement to say directly to his face, and you could see his eyes darken.

“You dare think to know my intentions better than I?” He questioned back.

“I know enough to wonder why you are here, rather than with the men and women desperately throwing themselves at you.” You informed him before turning to the side and moving back towards your folded dress. You left the bathhouse and a very hungry Endless behind.

———————

You’d stayed behind as the girls headed off to enjoy some time with the men than had charmed them. Most of the festivities had moved to the Parthenon, so you were surrounded by quietness and the sounds of waves. Finding yourself among halls that were usually filled with chattering people, beautiful people, you found yourself missing the Dreaming and your friends there. You needed a drink.

Striding to a table with a jug of wine, you poured yourself a health cup before guzzling it it one go. The alcohol wouldn’t go to your head, you could drink all the wine in Greece and you wouldn’t get drunk. A sobering thought. There was nothing to take the edge off your emotions. Just as you poured your second cup, you felt his presence behind you.

“You are missing the festivities, my lord,” You softly spoke, putting the jug of wine to the side. Then you turned around, only to find Morpheus standing directly behind you, now in front of you. He stared down at you, amusement within his eyes.

“And still you dare to think you know myself better than I,”

“Have you considered the possibility that I might?” You challenged. His eyes flashed a silver glow.

“You dare—” Your hands rising to cradle his face cut the Endless off.

“You are hurting,” You said straight to his face, your fingers lightly stroking his jaw line. “You are hurting, you are angry, but you haven’t let those emotions out.”

“And what do you propose I do, since you are so bold to tell me what I feel,” Morpheus coldly questioned, already very much in love with your touch. Yet you were testing his tolerance in this moment. “If you are so bold, tell me what will remedy my troubles.”

“Take all your anger and pain out on me," You offered with a glimmer within your eyes. “It’d be a shame for me to miss out on the true delights of this festival, yes?” The glow within Morpheus’ eyes shifted from warning to lustful, and you caressed his cheek once more. “Or do you wish to resume your sulking—”

and that's it, I'm bashing my head against the wall cause I hate it but I need some sort of build up/tension

[theshippirate22]

Lyn was having a shitty day as it was.  

There’s something neither glamorous nor sustainable about whatever sort of endless cycle she was in of getting up before 6, going to school all day, working at Willablues until 10, and then doing homework until passing out at 2 or 3, only to repeat it all the next day. Not to mention all the regular high school bullshit she was putting up with, and the stuff with fucking Brandon... at least she could count on Willablues to be exactly the way Willablues always was. 

She downed some Advil in the parking lot and hoped desperately that Hunter would be in a good enough mood to buy her a Monster.

The fluorescent lights were insufferable. Her boots squeaked on the grimy tiles all the way back to the pharmacy. She paused to see if she could see Livy, but there was no sign of her.  

Kelly opened the door at her knock and mumbled quickly, “Keep your head down,” which was enough to get a sudden assessment of whatever was going on behind the counter.  

Lyn set her stuff on the counter, acknowledging Caleb and Rich with half-hearted congeniality. She adjusted her bow, taking extra care before she faced Hunter. 

He was standing in the back with the phone pinned against his shoulder, counting metformin- or at least trying to but instead just sort of waving the spatula around with the inflection of what he was saying- stretching the cord out halfway across the filling counter.  

He had the voice, the detached, empty sort of voice Hunter got when his temper was particularly volatile, and she was quite sure whoever he was talking to would at least need to hesitate before getting the courage to ever call a Willablues again.  

She stepped over to the stack of leaflets on the counter and silently went to start filling, startling when Hunter’s spatula slapped audibly against the back of her hand. She looked over in vexed shock, rubbing at the spot where it struck, although it didn’t hurt more than surprise her. 

Hunter didn’t look at her, instead tapping the tip of the spatula against a different stack of leaflets. 

She reached for the top one tentatively, almost afraid she’d get hit again, but he let her take it. She made a frustrated noise deep enough in her throat that he wouldn’t hear it and went to get the Warfarin requested on the bottom corner.  

Caleb noticed the exchange and smiled sadly in solidarity as she brushed past him. She shrugged.  

Kelly’s advice proved the best of the evening. Keep your head down, Lyn repeated to herself over and over again. Hunter’s ever-present aura had gone toxic, filling up the whole store with some Agent Orange Adjacent feeling that couldn’t be escaped.  

Keep your head down. 

Lyn didn’t ask for help. She didn’t try to make small talk. She didn’t let a lull in customers giver the opportunity to fuck around with Kelly. For the most part, if she had questions, she would bug Caleb and Rich, and they were all the happier to answer, sans the time Hunter had gotten to her first and yanked the card from her hand to get it in the system before she’d even finished her sentence. It made her stomach hurt. 

She was halfway through emptying Rich’s bins of verified and bagged prescriptions when a man came up to the register. “Give me just a sec,” she murmured absently, finishing sorting the bags into their assigned bins the exact way Hunter did it and no one else. When she finally finished, she nodded satisfactorily and turned back to the register. 

“Hey! How can I-“ Lyn looked up from the keyboard and into the barrel of a gun. “Oh God.” 

It was concealed inside his jacket, so no one could see it but her. The man didn’t give his name but smiled congenially, as if he wasn’t actively threatening to blow her brain out. “Hi. I’m here to pick up some oxycodone.” 

“Right,” she mumbled, oxygen to her head cutting out suddenly and every bit of it expelled from her lungs. “I’m… I’m just an intern. Let me… let me get someone who can help you.” 

She took a shaky step back, horrified that she might trip over her own feet.  

“Stay where I can see you,” he amended, smiling still.  

 “Right,” She looked to the back desperately, hoping that someone might notice the shakiness in her voice. She didn’t even know what to do in this sort of thing. It was like her brain had shut off entirely and the only solution she could come up with was the one she wanted the least. 

“Hunter…?” 

She couldn’t see him from where he stood, back at the filling counter, but he didn’t answer.  

“Hunter,” she tried again, just a bit louder. “Hunter.” 

Rich looked up but seemed to acknowledge that it was Hunter’s attention she wanted and called his name another time for her.  

“HUNTER!” Lyn gasped.  

“FUCK!” Hunter threw his spatula to the counter with a loud clatter. “What, Lyn? What the fuck do you need?” 

“Come here please,” she mumbled.  

Hunter came to her, rubbing his face beneath his glasses in exasperation. “What?” 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured earnestly.  

He must’ve noticed the distress in her demeanor because the annoyance shifted to something else negative but unreadable. He looked toward the patient, eyes getting helplessly wide at the weapon now pointed right at him.  

“Oh,” he mumbled dumbly. There was a moment as he looked around, clearly thinking of some solution.  

“Lyn, get behind me,” he said finally.  

It happened naturally. She stepped back at the same moment he stepped around her so they could properly switch places.  

“What do you want?” Hunter asked levelly.  

“Oxycodone.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Lyn, there’s some on the shelves over by the file drawers. On the other side of the sink. Do you know where I mean?” 

Lyn looked where he directed, to the place that Oxycodone very much was not. “Yeah,” she said softly.  

“It’s in the safe, isn’t it?” asked the man. “It will take a minute to fill, won’t it?” 

Hunter nodded quickly, understanding the significance. “Rich already got it out. I just filled some. It’s on the counter.” 

“Should I get it?” 

“Yes. It’s just where I told you. Other side of the sink.” 

Lyn was trembling. She walked carefully, so she didn’t positively faint, and she didn’t think, so the positively didn’t cry. There was no Oxycodone by the sink. There had never been Oxycodone by the sink. When she looked over to the filling counter, she could see a bottle of Oxycodone that was out.  

Regardless, Hunter had been too insistent in his instructions, especially wrong instructions, to ignore them. Clearly, he knew something that she didn’t.  

She climbed over a warfarin bucket and pushed some cardboard boxes out of the way to look around the cabinet by the sink, exactly as Hunter had said. At first, she couldn’t see anything. The only thing they kept back there was the boxes of files required by the DEA. She never had any reason to go over there or to touch any of it; hardly anyone did, not even Missy. 

Still, she looked for what he might be talking about. She didn’t dare risk a glance back at him, although she wasn’t sure if that was because it would harm her courage or his.  

She didn’t find anything, and in a last-ditch effort to not get shot, she groped blindly along the edge of the cabinet until she caught something. 

Oh! Oh! There was something there. A little metal circle, and right in the middle of it, a smaller, quarter-sized plastic circle. A button. 

She pressed it. 

Nothing happened immediately. There were no sirens that went off or red lights flashing, like she thought might happen.  

Hunter, who had been babbling nervously, paused only a second, then continued on. Caleb, turned from the window to look at her, then looked back over his shoulder at the man at the counter, and immediately hit the monitor off. 

Rich’s computer- the one she could see from her place behind the shelves and unfortunately, the slowest and most lag-prone computer in the pharmacy- finally reacted. A red ribbon danced along the top of the screen, and everything locked suddenly to a sad gray screen with a warning she couldn’t read presented upon it. 

And right above it, was a five-minute countdown that had only made it to 4:53. 

She climbed out of the storage pile, walking deliberately to the filling counter and looked where the Oxycodone was meant to be. It was better to give it up than get shot, her teachers had said. Give them what they want. She checked the bottles on the counter. The Adderall was out, and some pentobarbital, but no Oxycodone. She swallowed thickly. 

“I can’t find it,” Lyn called to Hunter. “Are you sure you didn’t use the whole bottle?” 

She kept her voice as level as she could and going over to him. It was bad enough that she’d gotten him right there stalling at gunpoint, she wasn’t going to make him suffer it alone. 

The countdown on Hunter’s computer was at 4:17. 

“You’re right,” he nodded again. “The bottle was almost out, wasn’t it? I did use the rest of it. What would I do without you? Rich, can you get me some Percocet 10’s from the safe?” 

“Oxycodone,” the gunman interrupted. 

“Same thing,” Hunter mumbled absently. 

3:38. 

“Yeah,” Rich said, not really moving. He just stood there.  

Kelly came up from the back. She peered around Rich, the same white shade that Lyn was sure she herself was. Her hands were shaking, and she looked desperately like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.  

She startled Rich, when he realized she was there, and shocked him back into moving, quickly getting to the safe and punching in the code. The noise of the keypad was deafening in the eerie stillness of everyone present. 

2:57. 

“The safe won’t open for five minutes,” Rich said. 

Hunter relayed this. 

“I’ll wait,” said the gunman. 

The drive through chime chirped angrily. Caleb reached for the phone slowly, resting it back on the cradle, like that would help them somehow.  

2:26. 

“What does that mean?” Lyn wanted to ask. “Two minutes, twenty seconds until what?” Instead, she did whatever she could not to breathe. She was pretty sure she knew anyway. Or at least hoped. Let it be two minutes until the cops show up. 

The next minute was the longest minute of her life. Her arms ached from where she held them, too afraid to rest them at her sides and draw attention back onto her. 

The chime went off again and again, seemingly getting more and more impatient, the way it does when a big truck rests on the sensor. With each one, it seemed to get deeper and more macabre, like haunted some prelude to dies irae.  

A woman came up to the counter just behind the gunman. It was clear she hadn’t noticed what was happening, trying to get a show to work for her sticky toddler.  

“Fuck,” Hunter mumbled.  

“Ma’am,” Lyn dared. “We’re about to go on break. We can’t help you right now, you’ll have to come back.” 

She looked up, shoulders huffing in exasperation. “What?! Your lunch is at 1:30! I checked the website.” 

“We have some extenuating circumstances,” Caleb offered.  

The countdown was at 0:59.  

“Ma’am,” Hunter persisted. “You really want to come back later.” 

She groaned in frustration, spitting back an “Okay, fine,” before taking her son by the hand and heading back through the store.  

0:43.  

Lyn was just behind Hunter, so the gunman couldn’t really see her, but knew where she was. She used the blind spot to get Kelly’s attention, glancing deliberately at the countdown to get across her question.  

Kelly held the answer up on her fingers.  

911 

0:28.  

Lyn could hear sirens. The wailing was getting closer and louder with every second, and Hunter twitched impatiently.  

They were so close. No one had been shot, nothing had been handed over the counter, if they could just... 

The gunman could hear the sirens too. He looked away for just a minute, and back toward the front doors of the stores and the wall of windows lit up with flashing blue and red. 

Hunter moved before anyone. He shifted to grab Lyn by the shoulders, daring to turn his back on the shooter long enough to throw her to the ground.  

In a matter of milliseconds, the gunman whipped back around, pulling the gun from the confines of his shirt and firing it off against where the pair had been standing just seconds before.  

Lyn’s head hit the floor and bounced, so hard her sight flashed white with pain. Hunter’s whole hulking frame landed right on top of her and knocked every bit of air from her chest so she couldn’t so much as scream. Kelly screamed instead and leapt beneath the counter and Caleb dropped to his knees.  

The bullet ricocheted off the bins and burrowed into the wood of the cabinet just next to the till. Plastic shattered at the impact and went flying off in shards. The prescription at the front of the bin was cracked and little white pills came spilling from the torn bag and clattered silently against the floor.  

Lyn closed her eyes as tight as she could, tears finally making it to her, and tried to remember to breathe, overly aware of every inch of Hunter’s shaking body holding her down.  

There was screaming, and fighting, and more roaring sirens, and an overall ridiculous amount of noise that Lyn could barely hear through her pounding pulse. The cops had gotten in, it seemed, and things were getting sorted, and she was going to leave that up to them.  

Hunter lifted his head from her stomach, elbows braced on either side of her hips so his hands could link behind his neck. He asked, “Are you okay?” but the chaos stole the sound. 

“I’m scared,” Lyn whispered.  

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” 

Lyn blinked heavily. Her head lolled to the side exhaustedly and rested against Hunter’s warm shoulder. 

He tipped his head against hers.  

She crossed her ankles and watched her feet swing over the asphalt, disappear under the ambulance, and come back again. The pattern was good; easy to watch and low energy.  

The EMTs said she had a concussion. She really wasn’t prepared to get body-slammed, and her head had taken most of the fall. Hunter, thank God, hadn’t seemed to torn up about it. Surely, he recognized a concussion was better than a gunshot wound. 

He was okay, for the most part. The EMT had joked that Lyn had been a good landing. 

Kelly and Caleb and Rich were in different ambulance bays, so she didn’t know what was happening with them. They had tried to take Hunter with them but something, whether it was her doing or his, had convinced them to keep them together, and she was immensely glad of it. 

Hunter was a jerk, nine times out of ten, but it could be counted on. He was constant. Consistent. Stable. The world was spinning around her, and she could grab Hunter and find some sort of balance.  

“Don’t go to sleep,” he whispered. “’s bad for your head.” 

“That’s a myth,” she mumbled back. “’s fine.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“It is. I write about concussions all the time; I would know this.” 

“Okay.” 

He must’ve been tired, not to keep arguing that he was right. Instead, he muttered, “I should go check on Kelly.” 

Part of Lyn wanted desperately to protest, afraid that without him to lean on, she’d fall right out of the ambulance and face-down on the road, but the other piece of her knew he would never be satisfied until he had talked to Kelly, and probably Caleb while he was at it, and the two of them deserved a little bit of Hunter’s composure too. 

She sighed and lifted her head. “Please come back.” 

“I will.” 

He wadded up the shock blanket at he pushed himself to his feet and it slipped from his shoulders and set it next to her. He patted it awkwardly, then her leg, forcing a meant-to-seem reassuring smile. She returned it weakly. 

Hunter may have been gone for minutes, or hours, or just seconds, and she would never be sure. She swung her ankles and hummed to herself and tried very hard not to think about the way her hands shook at the sight of a gun. 

“Dylan!” 

She blinked slowly again, trying to find the caller. She knew who it was, would know the voice in death especially paired with her full name, and leaned forward a little to find her. 

“Mom!”  

Her mother took hold of her, pulling her face into her chest and holding it there like it would protect her from everything, sobbing all the while about “How worried she’d been!” and “Thank heavens, you’re alive!” and “You’re never going back!” among other things. Lyn nodded softly, nearly falling asleep against the softness of her shirt and the familiarity of the smell. She felt very much like a small child again and wanted someone to carry her to bed.  

“Are you okay?” Her dad asked, somehow appearing behind her mom, and all Lyn could think of for a moment was how different the question looked on his mouth than it had on Hunter’s. 

Eventually, she realized it was a question and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. ‘m sleepy.” 

“I just can’t believe... of all the pharmacies in the world!”  

“I think I need to talk to the police,” Lyn said, the thought having just occurred to her because she couldn’t follow her mother’s train of thought. “They’re gonna interrogate me, right?” 

“No, you’re not the criminal,” Her dad corrected. “You’ll have to give a statement. I’ll ask about it.” 

“Okay,” she agreed, not comprehending what it meant, except that she didn’t need to worry about it anymore. 

“What did the EMTs say? What’s hurt? What have you taken?” 

“Concussion,” she echoed absently. “Tylenol. No NSAIDs.” 

“Concussion! How did you get a concussion?! Did he hit you?!” 

“Hunter did it,” she said simply. 

“What?!” 

Lyn didn’t recognize what was wrong until she realized the context- or lack thereof- of the statement. She relayed what happened, in very short, very simple sentences.  

“I told you he was a good friend,” she concluded after a minute, even though her mother had never doubted the fact. It felt nice to confirm it aloud anyway. 

She blinked some more, all sluggish and robotic, until finally she opened her eyes, and Hunter was back. 

“Hi!” 

“Hey,” he muttered, smoothing back her hair. “How’s it going?” 

She shrugged. “Basic day in the shitshow. At least I didn’t have to put Select Health on something.” 

He smiled despite himself.  

“Mom, this is... this is Hunter.” 

“Oh!” She cried, instantly grabbing him and nearly crushing him in a hug. “Oh, thank you!” 

He looked at Lyn, eyes all wide with panic, and she giggled that he was more expressive about that than the actual firearm.  

“I really can’t thank you enough. If something had happened to her! Oh, I can’t even think about it.” 

“She’s a little bruised up,” he admitted sheepishly. “I, uh, didn’t think that one through completely.” 

“’s okay,” Lyn mumbled. “I’m okay.” 

“They said you can go home. I’ll throw you a bone and let you leave early.” 

She giggled again- that was the only way to explain the strange, giddy sound that came from her mouth. “What about... everybody else? Who’s gonna finish deletes?” 

“We’re closing the pharmacy for the rest of the day. Everybody’s going home. But I’ll leave the deletes out until you can come back and finish them.” It was clear that he was teasing, but she found comfort in it anyway. 

“Okay.”  

Kelly, accompanied by her parents, was getting into a car. Caleb’s wife came running through the parking lot for him. No one came for Hunter. 

“What are you gonna do? Is your sister coming?” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my sister’s coming.” 

“I can’t tell if you're lying.” 

He chuckled. “I’ll be fine, Lyn.” 

She frowned; eyebrows knit together. “My head hurts really bad, which is the only reason I don’t argue with you about it. Just promise me you won’t drive home.” 

“I won’t. Promise,” He mumbled earnestly. 

She examined his face for any trace of a lie, finally reaching over to pat his cheek in confirmation. “Okay. Be safe.” 

Lyn jumped from the ambulance bay and started walking, somewhat shakily toward her father, who was deep in conversation with an officer. She still had to give her statement, which must’ve been why she ended up standing there a good deal longer.  

Hunter watched for just a minute, finally ducking out between ambulances to where his car was still sitting. It was cold when he got in, even though it wasn’t that cold at all, and it sounded strange when he turned it on. His hand rested against the gearshift, as if he was ready to shift it to Drive, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it. 

He promised. 

The phone was heavy in his hand, and his head was heavy in exhaustion. He leaned his head against the steering wheel and called. 

“Hunter...? 

“Hey, yeah, it’s me. I’m... can you...” he sighed. “I’m at Willablues. Can you come get me?” 

“Yeah... did something happen? Are you okay?” 

“There was... an incident. I’m not clear to drive.” 

“Yeah, I’ll come. You sure you’re okay?” 

Hunter hung up before she could hound him to answer. 

[i-need-some-advice-on]

I need some advice on if I should encourage my partner to transition.

Okay, so I'm in a longterm, committed relationship with my partner. My partner can be best described as a closeted trans woman, but they have essentially decided that its "too late" for them to transition, they can never pass as a woman, etc, so they might as well live as a man. (As a side note they are comfortable with they/them atm)

Reasons why I feel like "closeted trans woman" is the best label for them:

1. They bring up their disphoria frequently, usually they have at least one depressive episode per month lasting around a week. The episodes are focused around "I would be happier with myself as a woman".

2. All of their OCs are women, every time they have a chance to express themselves via a character, it's a woman, and it makes them really happy.

3. Doing some traditionally femme stuff makes them temporarily happy, but is usually soon dashed against the rocks of disappointment when they start feeling like they look too masculine while doing it. (E.g. wearing femme clothes)

When I discovered this facet of theirs, I was essentially immediately encouraging of experimenting with femininity and accepting of them. However, all experiments ended with Point #3 where they thought they looked too masculine by the end of the experiment and got really disappointed and hurt.

After years of these swings between trying to "perform" as a man and experimenting with femininity, they came to a conclusion they could never be a woman who passes, and they should stop trying. I unfortunately see where they're coming from - they're extremely tall, very strongly built, masculine facial structure, receding hairline, and a LOT of body hair. Just to be clear, I find my partner extremely attractive and would continue finding them attractive if they would start transitioning. However, it seems their ideal vision of self is relatively traditionally feminine, and I do see how it would be challenging for them to achieve it with what they have to work with.

I never voiced it out loud, and was always openly supportive of them transitioning, reassuring them I would be attracted to them if they don't pass/look androgynous/look any way whatsoever, and so on.

Rn they seem to have settled on performing as a guy. They seem to be fairly stable emotionally for the last year or so and found an outlet through RP with me and OC development.

Would it be wrong of me if I keep nudging them toward transition thoughts, trying feminine things that make them happy, and so on? Or would I just be reopening a wound?

They say they're okay with being a guy and just living out fantasies, but I don't entierly believe them. Most of our sex life is built on various femininity-adjacent kinks and our OC fiction we work on together revolves around their character who transitions and builds a happier life for herself.

Some additional context:

They were raised very religious and are still dealing with unresolved religious trauma regarding other aspects of themselves.

We are currently in a very queer friendly state.

It's very likely both of our families would cut support to both of us and go no-contact if they transition. However, we plan to become entierly self sufficient within a year, which is when I plan to start bringing up transitioning again IF the general consensus is that it's something I could do without being a massive dick.

Thank you for reading!

.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

hey i followed u for archaeology but since you seem to be open to sex ed questions i thought i'd shoot haha.

so i'm a trans guy, i don't have bottom dysphoria, i would like to use my vagina during sex for bottoming. but i have vaginismus. real bad. and possible vaginal atrophy. not looking to treat it with advice from this blog, not coming here for medical assistance, but to put it simply there is no way i can use that thang. hole is closed for business. even to pinky fingers. that shit hurted.

i can and have topped, and bottomed for anal sex. so that's not an issue. i'm open to doing those things. but damn it i would like to use my pussy once in a while and just can't. and i have virgin-adjacent prowess / confidence / experience in sex so i'm bad at communicating my needs and wants.

you got any.. i dont know.. tips? advice? for telling a potential partner that the front hole's off limits without making them think im unsexy? the anxiety's so bad i've fully rejected people i really liked for serious relationships, and turned down hookups, because some part of my brain thinks i'm not worth having sex with if my partner can't use my vagina. especially since testosterone has given me "abnormal" anatomy that i only trust other trans people with and being t4t means i get a lot of people who expect vagina from me, who i then have to disappoint.

this is a stupid specific question so i apologise it isn't really general sex ed but i guess i just need some communication tips because i dont even know where to start.

Okay, first off, I'm sorry that it's taken me a while to respond to this, but I wanted to really think about my answer. Also, for the record: this is always the kind of sex ed question that I am willing to answer. I think more people need to be willing to talk about this sort of stuff.

The primary thing I want to address is wherever you're getting your definition of normal, both in terms of anatomy and sexual function. Because the circumstances you describe are wholly within the realm of 'normal experiences' for people who have a vagina. Vaginismus, vulvodynia, and vaginal atrophy are not relegated to trans men. You are not abnormal. There is nothing wrong with you.

A lot of the porn out there featuring trans men does have them receiving vaginal penetration. Porn is not a representative sample of the population. Do not let porn define what sex is for you.

Personally, my advice would be to treat this as a litmus test for potential sexual partners. If someone wants something and doesn't care/is put off that it hurts you, that is not a person you want to be having sex with. If someone is "disappointed" because you won't receive vaginal penetration, that is their fucking problem, not yours. There are so many things you can do that do not involve vaginal penetration—be excited about those!

As for bringing this up with potential partners, I'm a big advocate for early and honest communication. If it looks like you might be getting down and dirty with someone, you can just say something along the lines of "hey, heads up, but I don't do vaginal penetration/front hole is closed for business/etc." If you really want to get ahead of the issue, you could even put this in your bio on various apps.* *You don't owe anyone an explanation, but you can choose to elaborate as to why.

I'll also point out that there's a halfway option here. It is totally valid to say "look, I am into this thing (vaginal penetration) in concept, but not in physicality." You can talk about it. You can text about it. You can do these things while you're doing other stuff! It doesn't have to be all or nothing.

To me, it sounds like you have 100% of the necessary components for having sex: the desire to have sex in the first place, activities that you can/do enjoy, and a willing partner. That's it. That's all you need.

You are worth so much more than what a single part of your body can/can't offer. Sex does not equal any sort of penetration, vaginal or otherwise. Find someone you trust, get creative, and don't be afraid to enjoy yourself.

-Reid

[halowritesthings]

i love learning about things a week late through youtube recommendations from random channels i've never seen before

(bad grammar and typos cause i'm shooting my shot as fast as possible so I can get back to Important Adult Stuff(TM))

i suppose i can't really gripe because i'm still largely logged out and wouldn't have heard otherwise so maybe I should take it for what it is

i know i'm a random person who writes as a hobby so I don't necessarily "owe" anything to people online, but y'all have been so sweet to me and I feel it would be unfair to keep dropping off the face of the planet like I have been, plus, I have been stewing over quite a bit of my thoughts these past few months and making a large "get all my thoughts out in a word vomit" post is a good way to A.) sort out my shit and B.) to procrastinate homework

college is BEATING MY ASS and i'm not even at the harder junior/senior year type stuff so even if my writer's block wasn't the worst it's ever been I highly doubt I would be writing anything anyway. i cannot say for certain when I'll be able to get back (it seems the universe is tailored specifically to punch me in the face whenever I have the slightest inclination to do so) but i will say it is always on my mind. i don't ever want to give up writing fully because of how many good things it's brought me but i want to be mature and say that it has taken a backseat in my life.

i still don't regret the things I've created and i will always be thankful for the experiences I've had + the friends I've made (even if we haven't talked in a while :') sorry guys) BUT this situation has just become the nail in the coffin for me in terms of what i want to do with my ds/mp and other adjacent fics. i can't say for certain what I'll go through and orphan/keep or just outright delete (WIPS/unfinished series will probably get deleted is what I've decided so far) so this is a BIG WARNING sign right here and now: if there are any ds/mp fics of mine you are fond of, please go and save them now. even if you think the one you really love is "safe" it's better to be cautious and have it yourself than hope for the best outcome.

now's a good time to mention that i have been feeling similar feelings toward my fl0wer husb4nds fics (gonna come out and be honest: i don't particularly care for sc0tt anymore, sorry) so if you like those you should also search them out. i think a hard majority if not all of them will be orphaned, so they'll still be up, but it never hurts to be able to read something while offline anyway

however, due to the aforementioned Important Adult Stuff(TM), i won't be able to get to the whole Properly deleting/orphaning process for a hot minute. that does not mean you should put off saving my fics because my brain could decide one night that i HAVE to do it IMMEDIATELY, but i can promise that it's not happening tonight (might hold off for at least a week just to give people time to see this post).

TSALP, my pride and joy, is perfectly safe and fine. when i think about whenever ill be able to write again, this series is the First thing to pop up in my mind. i have so many things i want to do with that series (and h3rmitcr4ft as a whole) that make me smile despite all that has happened surrounding mc/yt. someone will need to threaten me with death to make me even consider giving that up. hell, even taking a step back, i can say that i will never fully let go of mc/yt. i straight-up have tickets to go see tommy's america show later this month (send my dad well wishes as he's the one taking me LMAO) .

remember to drink water, take breaks, tell your friends you love them etc. I'm terrible at giving advice since I'm a bonafide mess of a person, but i will say that the best thing you can do for each other is support one another. i've always been a bigger fan of giving support to those who are hurt than trying to go and cause more pain to the people that you can argue "deserve" it. the people you care about are going to be with you much longer than the assholes, so be sure to put more energy into focusing on them than the ones that don't even deserve your scorn.

[astriiformes]

Poking and prodding at my brain now that I have another potential dose of context for why it melts down and spirals over things so often and like. Putting everything in a list there really is a pattern I should have been paying more attention to probably, but have always just identified as bad anxiety or neurodivergent quirks

That said, it is also making me feel immensely lonely because I have lots of neurodivergent and anxious friends I've gone to for advice over the years, but I'm realizing that my possible pure-obsessive OCD and scrupulosity tendencies may be why I've often responded poorly to their attempts at help. Which is good to understand, and ultimately may help me tell them what I do need but. Also means I am suddenly hyper aware of how irrational the stuff I can't help but meltdown over is, and feel really stupid for it and also like the people I'm closest to aren't going to have much advice for me.

Anyways. For my own connecting-the-dots purposes. Some very normal thoughts I have had breakdowns over before:

As a kid who was raised Evangelical, had a pretty classic case of the religious/blasphemous intrusive thoughts often associated with OCD that caused me an immense amount of distress. This one has calmed down entirely now that I have extricated myself from that environment, but also for a couple years after leaving the church I would have similar thought spirals literally any time someone mentioned the concept of the afterlife/hell.

Adjacently, the second part contributed to me having a fear of death so intense for a while that I once broke down crying in my mom's car during the 7-minute drive from my dad's place to hers on a night where there were no other cars on the road because I was so convinced we were going to die in a car crash.

Unfortunate fact: I was trying to get into Discworld at the time and read Mort while all this was going on and my opinion of the series has never quite recovered.

.......Have multiple friends very into Discworld and used to spiral any time it got mentioned because it felt like a moral flaw that it stressed me out so much because I shouldn't feel that way about something to important to my friends, and additionally felt like it would be, essentially, thoughtcrime to blacklist it.

(This is better now and I am probably going to give the books another try, but for a while I was very stupid about it)

Spent actual years searching for a place to buy gatorade powder that wasn't Walmart or Amazon even though I need it for actual health reasons, because they were the only places I could find it and I have an obsessive avoidance of both companies and couldn't bear the thought of buying from them for the first time in years. Over something I needed. For my health.

Opposite of the Discworld problem: some of my friends have problems with a TV show I like which means I have spent entire evenings crying myself to sleep with guilt because obviously I cannot like things that the people in my life are bothered by

I am not joking I missed class regularly as a result of the last one for several weeks, I was so distraught.

And like I also have dealt with a lot of other things over the years, including really upsetting intrusive thoughts (usually of the "what if something violent and gory happened to you and/or your loved ones," variety, with a side of self-harming and suicidal thoughts -- being a really visual thinker makes this particularly terrible) and constant spiraling over perceived social/moral missteps.

And I guess I'm feeling kind of frustrated because so many people have latched onto the more... hm... relatable I guess aspects of my anxiety in ways that have made me think the above are like. Normal for someone with really bad anxiety (and trauma too, I guess, though I think that really is the source of some of them) and I've fallen into beating myself up over not being able to overcome mine the way everybody else seems to. And now I still don't even entirely feel like I'm allowed to self-diagnose any of this as OCD specifically but I'm also realizing that there is something much more fucked up and irrational happening in my brain than I thought because I just assumed this was how mental illness was for everyone and I was just. Really bad at managing it.