#and any method that works is a good method

[hempseeeeds]

Regardless of whether fertility awareness is "enough" to prevent conception, or even useful enough to Count as a "method" at all, and regardless of ANYTHING to do with pregnancy, lots lof people want or need to predict their periods, both people who regularly feel very ill during their period and need to plan for that, and people who merely want to arrange for the logistics of their menstrual hygiene needs in advance because of Work or travel. Apps are inherently more convenient for that than paper Charts, but there is No GOOD reason why a cycle tracking App should share with the Cloud or any external Server. That Data is Yours, and it's sensitive enough that the wrong people gaining Access to it can do serious harm in some contexts, while ALSO Not really being important enough for your Life in the long run that you absolutely NEED to recover it If your Phone breaks. There are cycle tracking Apps that store Data ONLY on your phone's internal Memory, or that do that by default and/but support making the cycle Data into a file format that can be given to your gynecologist, or fed into the same App newly installed on your new Phone. You should all be using THOSE, not Apps that Collect your Data without telling you where they'll be selling it, and not Apps that pledge to protect your centrally collected Data. It's safer to Not give Data away in the first place, than to have to Trust in both the technical abilities AND the benevolence/trustworthiness of those who have your Data.

this might sound stupid but I can’t help but believe that the new wave of “birth control is actually horrible for your body, you need to get off it immediately” misinformation from influencers and the ‘natural cycle tracking’ apps suddenly being advertised is a sneaky underhanded way of causing more unplanned pregnancies that people now cannot abort. now is possibly the worst time ever to turn towards ‘natural family planning’

[angelsafa]

How to "enter" the void

Hello loves!

When I posted my void success story I really did it just because I wanted to share it with someone. I haven't expected it to get so successful.

Anyways, now a lot of people have been asking me how to do it and stuff. I replied as much as I could, but I decided to make this blog to make it more detailed for those who havent quite understood it yet.

First things first, I want you to realize that we do not enter the void. We ARE the void. We ARE pure conciousness. That's not something you get to or induce, that's literally something you remember. It's you. That's why it's called the I AM state too.

With this being said, I want you to gently remind yourself that you are the void, and that there is no need to put it in a pedastal. Honestly, that's one of the main reasons I think people "fail" when trying to do it and stuff.

Now with this clear, I will explain to you step by step how to I personally did it. Disclaimer, it worked for ME. So if it doesn't work for you (which let's be real, you're already the void, you got this, and there's no way that such a master manifestor like you fails!), please don't start saying that this is fake and stuff. Any disrespectful comment that might demotivate or hurt anyone is NOT appreciated, thank you.

Get in a comfortable position. A lot of people lay in their backs, but I personally don't think it's thaat comfortable, so I simply laid on my side. You can do any pose as long as you're comfortable!

Relax and get sleepy. Can you induce the void anytime anyway? Yes. But being sleepy is what works for most people, especially the ones that want to try it for the first time. I personally think it works better.

Do any method that works for you. Wether it's affirming or getting distracted or any other method (let's remember that methods are a tool and they simply help us, but there's no need for them and the only one that has the power is you), anything that you like and works for you, do it. I personally did the distraction method by @luckykiwiii101. It's basically relaxing and stuff, and if a tought comes to your mind, you do not try to ignore it and continuously affirm that you are the void and stuff, but do the opposite and let your mind get distracted by them. This will make you not obsses about the idea of getting into the void, make you feel like floating and simply relax you even more. You can even play a song in your mind too, if that works for you and makes you relaxed and distracted.

You're there. Affirm your dream life and that's it. No, like literally. That's it. It's as easy as that.

And it's just that easy, my loves. Don't overthink it, don't obsses, and definetly do not put it on a pedastal. Remember YOU are the void. You are a master in this. You literally get whatever you want just because you said so. You got this! It's your life, your rules. Don't let the circumstances tell you otherwise. Remember that the 'imagination' is the real reality, not the other way around.

Lots of love and lots of good luck (but let's be real, you do not need it because you are already that pro),

Safa

[lambheartedangel]

hi angel! Love your writing and wanted to request something but wasn’t sure if you had any restrictions?? thought it might be cute to do a request based on reader and rafe giving each other massages after a long day of taking care of the kiddos? 🪽

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ pressed palms & quiet thank yous

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader (established relationship, married with kids)

warnings: established domesticity, mentions of exhaustion/parenting stress, light sensual touch (non-explicit), soft!rafe moments, rafe being obsessed with his wife, cuddly vibes

a/n: to the sweet angel who sent this — thank you so much for your love. i adored this idea. you’re getting the softest version of rafe, the one who’s only ever tender when it comes to his wife. just love, gentle hands, and quiet moments after the chaos. 🤍

the house is finally quiet. the toys are picked up (sort of), the baby monitor hums softly from the nightstand, and the only light in the room is the one casting a warm glow from the bathroom, door cracked just enough.

you’re lying on your stomach in bed, face buried in your arms, still in that old tee of his. your voice is muffled when you groan, “i don’t think my back’s ever gonna recover from bouncing them both all day.”

“yeah?” rafe’s voice is soft, and you hear the familiar sound of his hoodie hitting the floor. “good thing i’m here then.”

he crawls up behind you, straddling your thighs just enough, hands already pressing into your lower back without hesitation. his touch is warm and rough, but slow—methodical even. he knows where to push, where to ease off. he’s been learning your body for years.

“you know,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed, “this is why i married you.”

“i thought it was ‘cause i gave you two pretty babies,” he teases, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades.

you hum, lazy. “mm. that too.”

he doesn’t say anything after that. just works his hands up your spine, kneading into the tension, thumbs smoothing circles until you’re melted into the mattress. he hears every soft sound you make, watches the way you relax under him, and it hits him hard—how much he loves you. how much he wants to give you a life that feels like this all the time.

after a while, you roll over, eyes glazed with sleep, and reach for him.

“your turn,” you whisper.

he laughs, low and boyish. “baby, i don’t need—”

“rafe,” you cut in gently, “let me take care of you, too.”

he settles onto his stomach with a sigh, and you climb over him, hands sliding beneath his shirt. you knead at his shoulders, slower than he did—softer, but just as loving. you feel him exhale, completely and fully, and it fills you with this quiet kind of pride. he’s always doing. always holding everyone else together. and now he’s letting go—for you.

he tilts his head to the side and murmurs, “love you, angel.”

you lean down, kiss the back of his neck. “love you more, rafe.”

the kids may be tiny hurricanes, and the days may be long, but right here—in this quiet, pressed between the sheets and gratitude—you both remember why you’d do it a thousand times over.

together.

tags — comment to be added to my main taglist!!

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "It's a Zing not a Fling" :: The moment they realize you're the one. Masterlist: LinkedUP

Parts:: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

Leading up to each high-tea at Heartslabyul, its esteemed Housewarden found himself penning a singular invitation. One for a guest beyond his court, yet not his reach.

His cursive penmanship loops your name like so on restless nights in the margins of his notebook. One of the rare lapses Riddle's inner-self allows, despite still diligently studying his evenings away.

He seals each envelope with care, pressing out any creases that dare to blemish his hard work. Only the best can request your presence, even if Riddle is confident you won't deny his request no matter the condition.

A Queen cannot host without his King in attendance, after all.

Long before students rise and his duties begin, Riddle walks the familiar yet rarely-traveled path to Ramshackle dormitory. He places the envelope flat in the box, careful to angle it where no dirt could tarnish its white lace trimming. he releases the metal flap and raises the side-flag. All set for you to receive at your leisure, and for him to go on with his day.

That is - until his steps halt, with one foot already pivoted to turn back and release the letter flag.

Inner demons desperately want to delegate morning role call to his Vice, march himself into your dorm and take up whatever time he can before his role forces him to do otherwise.

To which Riddle's inner demons win each and every time, all on the reasoning that leaving an invitation behind is improper. That a proper courier must ensure a job complete with his own eyes.

Certainly not an excuse to cross your path before anyone else that day.

Another selfishness he lets slip through the cracks in his discipline.

Cracks that coincidentally began to arrive around the same time as you.

Three sharp knocks the main doorframe, one lace-trimmed envelope, and a free escort to breakfast make up in an all-exclusive Rosehearts mail service.

"Is there a reason I have to wear white?" your question hangs on a ribbon. The one wrapped tight across your chest, to be precise. One of Heartslabyul's second-years, a fellow in the most extravagant top hat you've ever seen, methodically wraps and lines measuring tape across your body.

Riddle looks up from his book, "Laws of Practical Magic in Medicinal Context," for nothing longer than a second.

"All members of the Queen's court must adorn themselves in the proper attire for ceremonies and gatherings. You are aware of this."

The hatted-student forces your arms up without a word. You jolt, startled, and he's too absorbed in his work to notice. Only muttering an apology when Riddle clicks his tongue.

"I'm still not a member of Heartslabyul - why does it matter now of all times?"

Another click of his tongue, this time for you.

"Tradition." He says, as if it's the most obvious answer.

"Tradition?" your brow crinkles, "I hadn't thought I was violating anything until now. Are there extended rules for outsiders?"

While not a member of the Queen's domain, you will forever remain part of his court. All receive invitations. All must attend in the proper attire, decked to the Queen's delight in red and white. He let it pass while you remained a friendly exception. Times have changed.

Riddle lets his book close, only when his underclassmen makes a hasty retreat with his collection of notes, fabrics, and measurements in tow. The hatter much too discourteous for Riddle's liking, but good at his job.

"I've been lenient up until now under the belief that your dorm would adopt an official uniform," Riddle sighs, albeit cracking a smile when you scamper off the tailor's perch to his side, "seeing as months have passed with no developments? I cannot excuse your attire any longer. You will wear white when at any Heartslabyul event from this moment onward."

"Don't you mean red and white?"

His thoughts halt, - "Again. Tradition dictates only white."

"Because I'm a guest?"

Riddle shakes his head, fingering the pages of his text to ignore the heat on his cheeks.

"No. Because you are the visiting Queen."

"Ramshackle needs something like this, don't you think?"

You sipped at a cup of lemon-chamomile, poured as a game of cricket began. Riddle's eye caught at your white gloves - they climbed from fingertips all to your bicep. The hatter did wonders with the roll of satin provided.

In a dorm of red, you were the sole dominator of white save for a rose brooch at the breast.

"Unbirthdays are tied to the Red Queen's rule," Riddle pulls himself from you, holding his attention on the game, "Ramshackle has no need for such things."

"That's not what I was eluding too - but thank you for the dismissal" you huff, and it's not the amused one he's learned to detect.

He allows himself a brief peek, just to catch you eyeing your reflection in the teacup. Your gaze nowhere near as enthused as his. Not at the black-heart over your lips, or shimmering silver crown sitting on your head.

"I want a tradition, Riddle. Something that makes my dorm special. Unique."

Something within him waivers at your admittance. For him these parties were routine - an obligation. Your presence made them more enjoyable, but he never cared too deeply.

Perhaps, he never allowed himself to care. Yearning for belonging. Home. That is an emotion he can empathize with.

Riddle is proud - no, he is positively delighted - to be one of the first to receive an invitation. His mailbox is forever cluttered with academic documents and professional communications. Yet he recognizes your writing on sight, and is pleased you'd not forgone a traditional physical invite. He handles it with delicate care, opening the seal like a single tear would be sacrilegious. You've settled on hosting for large holiday back in your world - one that you've mentioned a handful of times since snow began to fall.

Christmas, he recalls with ease.

Everything you say somehow stores in the main filing cabinet within his mind. For easy access, or perhaps he simply finds you far more interesting than leagues of text he's memorized.

You seem keen on twisting the original meaning of this holiday, bringing decorations, food, and everything in between to Ramshackle. Going so far as to place an appeal to the Headmaster, and with Riddle's aid, worming out a decently sized budget for dorm activities. Bless him for his way to move a room. Riddle might've preferred staying on the Headmaster's good wing, but couldn't turn down your request. Not when you are forthcoming so infrequently. In truth - Riddle has not been invited to a party before. Not as himself. Only formal gatherings that his mother arranged, hanging to her side as she paraded him like a prodigal trophy, or mandatory parties as Dormhead where preparations hung on his shoulders.

Riddle will honor your wishes; he'll selfishly relish in the fact that with a novel idea there is a lack of rules to maintain. Although your warming desire for tradition doesn't escape him, so he'll happily commission a new set of green and red to dress himself.

"You've done a wonderful job," Riddle sips at aclear flute glass, held proper at the stem between thumb and index, " I am thoroughly impressed that there is food to spare, considering Grim's gluttonous habits."

Riddle resists the urge to smirk, hiding his pleasure in another sip. He's used to others balking at his praise, yet it's different when you look at him so glowing. For once, he is not the one at table's the head seat, but you've well earned the highest spot for what he's witnessed this eve.

Ramshackle's main hall cleared for a long, expansive table decorated with broad cloth and long strands of cranberries. Candle light illuminates the hall in between platters befitting a feast. Garlands of red and green shimmered - all drawing attention to the brightly colored pine tree situated near the lounge hearth.

Riddle hadn't considered ornamenting a giant pine with twinkle strands and glass bulbs, yet its beauty stunned him nonetheless. Stockings hung on the walls, each with a student's name written in glue-glitter pen. Some messier than others, he noted. Grim's handwriting could do with work.

They'd been stuffed with little treats and ribbon - surely more that hid under their fluffy tops. Riddle wondered their purpose and how you managed to hang some well-beyond what a stool could help reach. He pictured you standing atop stacked boxes, tongue poking between teeth as you precariously leaned to hang those higher up.

For his sanity - Riddle dismissed the thought to the backends of his mind.

"Thank you -" your smile, eyes twinkling under candle-light "It surely wasn't easy getting the Headmaster's approval for all this - I'm grateful you were able to help, otherwise we might've all been eating instant noodles instead of turkey."

Riddle huffed, swirling his near-empty ice water "I didn't do much - regardless, I'm certain the evening would have turned out fine. This is a new tradition, one where you are in charge."

There's mirth in your eyes for a moment. A happy glint that he's proud to have brought back.

"I don't think Vil would've been happy eating canned tuna on the couch, but I'll take your word for it."

"Perhaps you have a point, yet it doesn't matter. Since we are not eating canned tuna and certainly not on a sunken couch." he hums, and watches closely as you pick up your glass to stand. Having postponed long enough with idle chatter, your spoon hovers near the glass rim, hesitant to clink for attention.

For reasons he is quite confident in - you look to him in a moment of hesitance, and he's prepared. As always.

Riddle nods when your eyes meet his, and then there's the familiar chime of a toast.

"Everyone! I'd like to thank you all for coming despite your busy schedules. This is the first ever event hosted by Ramshackle and I hope it's been as much fun for you as it has for me..." His attention is lost to your words, despite Riddle's attempts to nod along. It all fades out. His hearing. The feeling of his glass between his fingers, even as he rolls the stem between them. You glow.

It's nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, you've cleaned up for the evening - and he was not reserved enough to stay a compliment upon arriving. You had admired his suit in turn, fussing with his striped bow-tie even though it was already tied to perfection. He hadn't minded the slightest. Surely he'd taken ample time to admire you. What you've done to this shabby dormitory. How you are obviously trying to mimic his speech mannerisms from the countless he's given -

Yet it is not candlelight, fancy clothing or words that make you glow. It is something he cannot string words for, which is an oddity in itself.

Your earlier worry lingers, even if it is not worth dwelling on. Not with Schoeneheit here and clearly satisfied with the arrangements. He'd been the most critical about the building decor, after all. Although Riddle is certain he'd have made time to come regardless of what you arranged.

Vil is not the only one outside of Heartslabyul that you've managed to gather- Riddle notes. Students across all dormitories are here for this new tradition of yours. Ones he doesn't think to question, such as Epel of Pomefiore or Scarabia's party-hungry dorm leader. Others Riddle nearly balked at seeing, especially when Malleus Draconia of all people made an entrance just when seats were almost filled. For reasons unknown to Riddle, Malleus lingered long to admire his name-card and placemat. Even a prince was pleased with the bare minimum once entering this dormitory. Did you glow to them? He wonders. Unlike the Unbirthday parties - you've gathered these individuals out of desire. Not obligation. Ask him mere months prior and he'd think it impossible.

And yet.

Zing.

There's a yearning in your eyes - but this time not shrouded by a silver crown. It's a brilliant sparkle. An appreciation for what many would surely consider utter chaos - and he has no desire to scold you for stumbling over words or failing to follow his proper regimen for speeches.

You sit down, his ears still deaf but his sight not hindered to the adrenaline flush in your cheeks. To the tremble of your fingers as they tinker with your cutlery. How you smile for him, and he knows it's gratitude but Riddle's done nothing worthy of it this night.

As platters circle around, chatter rises - you watch, taking it all in. Not a bite taken from your plate despite minutes passing. Like you're somewhere unimaginable.

While it is considered impolite to ignore the person across you at a dinner table, Riddle is more interested in the one to his left. He understands that yearning. For friends. Family. Loved ones. To be as he wants, and accepted as he is.

Riddle reaches underneath the tablecloth, his hand finding yours in a subtle gesture. His fingers pry through one of your fists, lacing through yours like they'd been longing to the entire evening. "Relax," he whispers, soft enough that it surprises even himself, "This is the start of what is sure to be a wonderful tradition. I, for one, am immensely proud of you," he says your name with the highest reverence,praying his gaze is kind.

You glow.

Riddle squeezes your hand, striving to convey that this feeling you're experiencing is shared. His adoration might not be apparent to you just yet, but it is all consuming.

Trey is not one to snap easily or let his emotions guide his actions. He learned that he must think ahead at a young age, mediate, and it's carried him this far.

Yet this sense of control. This comfort. It is as much bane as much as it is a boon. And chaos is best experienced at a safe distance, he also figured out, like an active volcano. Enough to wow but not enough to burn. No matter what trouble comes across Trey's path, he will let it go in favor of finding a solution. Maybe he'll laugh about it later and enjoy the mischief in secret. Yet he always waits until it is safe. You are a volcano that never ceases erupting. Yet he lives on your island. Willingly. The warmth is worth each risked burn, yet he knows you'd harden yourself if he ever showed his skin. You'd turn from fiery magma into igneous rock.

You hadn't purposefully worked to agitate Riddle. No matter how much Heartslabyul's dorm-head was determined to atone for his childish behavior, change does not come overnight. Your mischief sometimes went overboard, earning a collar that had no use but to make a statement, yet it was always in good fun. Nothing a few days and proper apology could not fix. The dorm lightened up, there were upsides to these eruptions. Trey would be there to make you see.

You hadn't caused irreversible distress, like blowing up the kitchen or switching the sugar with salt right before he entered the culinary crucible. Even then, grime could be cleaned and he didn't care about winning anyways. What's a trophy when faced with your supposed 'revenge'. What for? He has no idea, but Trey knows you're capable of much worse and counts his blessings. A small dose of cortisol usually ended with a good laugh, and possibly some blackmail material that he would never get around to using.

So long as you were happy, healthy, and most importantly- present. Trey could ask for nothing else.

Yet even the most optimistic man alive couldn't remain so at all hours - and he wasn't an optimist. Merely an idealist, a mediator - a lover, in this case.

The things we do for love - he could make a list.

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

Trey busied himself scrubbing violet dye out of his forearms. On the off chance there was a cleansing tonic available, he doubts Professor Crewel would waste it on something that will fade with time. The problem more-so lies with Trey's uniform, which wouldn't be cleaned in time for the next lab showcase. He'd likely be docked points, even as a Vice Housewarden. It would be major annoyance, if nothing else.

Trey sighs, going in for the third round of deep scrubbing " - Because accidents happen. What? You want for me to scold you?"

You don't answer his teasing. Trey scrubs harder. His skin was beginning to burn and yet he continued with the futile effort. If anything to act like he's unbothered and keep you from touching what's contaminated in the sink. Protect your curiosity, dispel your guilt. "Listen to me -okay? This isn't worth getting upset over. So I'm a candied violet for a few days? It's definitely a conversation starter." Trey kept his tone light, even throwing a joke that would definitely fall flat -

"-but you should be mad. Professor Crewel is going to mark your point card -" Yes. He knows. You don't need to remind him, " - maybe we can get you a new uniform? Or...or I can come with you? We can tell him what happened together and maybe he'll show mercy?"

Mercy? At Night Raven? You're kidding.

He scrubs harder. Under the fingernails. Over his elbows. It does nothing to lighten the pigment.

"No, trust me on this. A few points off my card makes no difference to a senior," he sighs, rinsing yet again. This time with scalding water that burns his skin, "you have two more years in this lab. That's a long time to endure Professor Crewel's scrutiny - and believe me, he remembers everything. Let me talk it out with him."

A partial truth. Normal seniors couldn't afford missing marks. Trey has seniority as a member of the science club, and no past demerits. He'll have to write an accident report at best, and be on cleanup duty for the rest of the month at worst. It's easier to accept the punishment then have you be subjected to one of Crewel's lectures on lab conduct. He can practically hear the cogs in your head. They're mucking up, slowing to a chilling halt. His teeth grind together, trying to think up a reassurance but coming up flat.

He'll smooth things over with Riddle afterwards, make a strawberry tart, the one with chocolate cream you liked last week, invite you over once he's calmed down to show no harm done. It'll be fine.

"B-but that's not fair! What about your -"

Trey shut off the faucet.

"Enough already," he grit the words out, "You're not supposed to be in here after hours and Crewel isn't the sort of instructor to let transgressions go. Do you want to be barred from the lab indefinitely?"

There was not any yelling. If anything, he was too quiet. No directly hurtful words. Trey hadn't meant for his tone to come out so forceful, but the veins on his arms were starting to bulge under duress and you just weren't listening.

His skin was about to blister if he kept it under water much longer. Maybe he should have let it.

Trey will do whatever he can to keep you happy, safe - satisfied and exactly as he found you. His feelings aren't that of a wet doormat, but he's always gone the subtle route. Thought things through.

Damn it - you always made it hard to think things through.

Grabbing one of the hanging towels, Trey turns around with the tick in his neck hanging tight. Just waiting for you to go and leave him feeling strung. The lab always felt cold compared to the rest of Night Raven, you'd take your warmth but he wasn't doing a great job of protecting it regardless. His mind's already running the extra mile and looking for a way to fix this.

"I don't mind being banned if it's what's fair. You don't need to shelter me, Trey. I know when I've messed up, and I want to help if you'll just let me."

Zing.

You don't run out on him, leaving a mess behind. Leave him cold. Like when the oven turns off and the kitchen's aired out. There's no need for a step-by-step plan. His words stung - he knew by your fists bunched in the pockets of your lab coat. You dislike this as much as he does - and yet, unlike Trey, you don't run.

"Let me help. Please?"

Trey purses his lips together, taking a deep breath through his nose before letting it out in four counts. He finishes toweling his stained hands, sooths the sting, tosses the rag aside and steps into your space. Closer than needed but something he wanted.

His painted hand hovers over your head, his impulse to make light and ruffle your hair. Reign it all back in.

Except one look in your eyes stops him short, and he finds your cheek instead. His purpled thumb looks ridiculous against your reddening cheeks - utterly wrong yet you lean into him before he can change his mind.

"Alright," Trey relents, tone much softer, "You win. I'm annoyed- "

Trey pauses, his brows dipping. You wait.

" - and I'm sorry for just now."

You nod against his palm, "I am too. Let's...let's just take a bit. We don't have to tell Crewel together if you're sure, but I can at least help with Riddle. I've had plenty of practice."

That you did with the freshmen you hang around - and a success rate of zilch since they still walk away with collars more often than not.

You really couldn't protect Trey from Riddle's word, in truth. He'd scold the both of you without hesitance. Although maybe it won't be so bad, sharing a tart without the roundabout.

"That sounds good to me."

Cater Diamond calls maximum-level bullshit. Magic is definite. His split-card never fails to produce an exact replica of him down to the finest detail. The cowlick he combs over, right above his left ear. The slight downturn of his right eye - an unfortunate side effect of sleeping on his side, face scrunched tight between forearm and bicep. His freckle pattern is identical too, even the ones on his back! Every possible fluctuation of his voice, the slight lag in his gait, his superstitions about stepping on tile cracks - even as a duplicate, he won't risk that karma. Cater's unique magic was perfect. Which is why he calls bullshit when you claim to tell them apart.

No.

Tell him from them? All clones look exactly the same, act the same, but apparently they didn't replicate his 'aura'. Whatever that means.

The first time you were able to do it, he thought nothing. That maybe you were looking to feel special - especially when your only response to how was 'I can just tell'. Even though no one looked convinced, you weren't bothered.

Cater wasn't about to take it personally either. Not when you were a great source for magicam material, and one of the few people his dorm head seemed to tolerate. Definitely the cute underclassmen type his sisters would go crazy for, and he did owe you for...well, no need to keep tabs, right?

It's not like you were being rude about it either. If it was a slight against his magic ability, maybe he'd feel differently.

Except you did it again.

And again.

Again.

Oh? Another time too.

Enough times that he stops sending a copy to do his dirty work, because you'll know. Even if you don't rat him out, there's that way you try to bit down a smile that somehow gets his clones to have a looser lip.

Okay. Maybe he needed to work on that. Yet still. Risking everything on your whim just so he can cut class isn't worth the headache.

Yet he will not concede.

It's bullshit. You're bullshitting so far out that he'd sooner believe Trey skipped flossing for an entire week straight. No. A month.

But Cater can't cling to that simple, vulgar dismissal. Even if he's never said it out loud to your face. There has to be a reason. While he's not one to have it 'out' for his underclassmen, you have to be putting on some kind of front. He can't bring himself to be spiteful about it since 'Cay-Cay' doesn't exactly encompass all that makes Cater.

You have to be - because it's physically impossible for someone to be this ignorant. He can excuse your lack of Wonderland culture (and is working to remedy it) but social cues? No. You have to be doing something intentionally. Anything. To see more of him.

He respects the effort, but if you're so intent on seeing him? Well. He'd let you see all right. Just don't blame Cater if you regret losing 'cay-cay' in the process.

"Special delivery for you, Peepers. Curtesy of Heartslabyul's royal court!"

With a perfectly-wrapped gift basket on one arm, and his phone in the other's hand. Cater holds the front door to Ramshackle on his hip and outstretches the screen for your 'signature'. Aka. just for you to take some photo-evidence that he's done his duty so Riddle won't scold him for skimping.

"On god, are those my cookies? Did Trey actually do it?"

You happily take his precious phone and snap a quick picture. One of Cater on the front- stoop, and another with half your face in the bottom frame. Eyes squinted enough that anyone could tell you're smiling. He poses too on instinct, but once the classic *click* passes he's eagerly dropping the basket in your hands.

You open the wrapping and sniff the air. "It is! I could kiss that man. Just get me a step ladder and a bit of peer pressure."

Cater snorts.

"Over cookies? I admit, we do have the best baker on campus but don't make it too easy. We don't want lovesick boys raining down on Ramshackle..." he wiggles his brows with a cheeky smirk, "...or do we? So scandalous of you!"

No reward for the messenger? He almost wants to press for it, but you'd probably take him seriously.

Cater disregards the slight bitterness in his stomach, and pushes into your space to snag one of the 'special delivery' bites. He dangles the biscuit just over your head and holds it up to the sun.

You, of course, try to get it back. He relishes in the brief power imbalance.

"Aren't these just normal cookies? Wah - look how golden the edges are! Totally pic worthy, if you ask me," he jumps through the threshold and into the main hallway. The cookie just on his lips.

"Would be a shame if we just ate them all, right peeps?"

A bit of sugar is worth that expression. The front door slams on your heels as you make like a bull towards him.

"Annnnnnd that's my cue! Later, gator!"

He dips and spins at the last second, sweeping past for one action-packed getaway that leads straight out the door to the safe confines of Heartslabyul castle. Not with boisterous laughter, but his cheeks do feel extra stretched out. Cater isn't sure if he wants this feeling either.

Never mind before. That was a magicam worthy image. The 'harmless' Ramshackle prefect ready to commit murder over one cookie.

Eyeing his little prize, Cater takes a bite.

Still not a fan of sweets or chores...but he can admit that both the victory and visit are sweet.

"I have a question."

"LOL - is that why you look three-days constipated?"

"Do you always have to be such a - "

Dick?

"Yes," Cater flashed his teeth, tapping his phone against his cheek, "To you? Always."

Cater doesn't mind playing sitter for a bit. Not that you ever actually sat still. Nah. Kalim was all too eager for someone to come listen in on what the Pop Music Club was working on, and you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now two-thirds of his club busied themselves fighting over if they'd sing a rock ballad, or some actual pop. Since they were technically the 'pop' music club, and their optimist leader wanted you to really catch the vibes.

Cater? Cater didn't mind all that much, but was real glad he chose today to attend in person. Not because you'd rat him out, but for these odd entertaining moments. It's not like he can poke all his little 'buds' this way.

He leaned against the back of Lilia's amp, attention flickering between your prattling and his doom scroll.

"Did you know I was coming today?"

Pretty steep lead-up for a lame question.

"Nah,' Cater shrugged, but caught your disbelieving look, "whaaa? Do you think I can keep tabs on all my cute underclassmen? Don't be such a spoiled goober, peeps."

You still remained doubtful. He tapped his phone to his chin, setting a line out for you to catch.

"Alright, I'll cast. Why are you so sure I knew, huh?"

You wince, sucking some air past your teeth. He recognized that look. It's the same one Ace had every time he admit to a crime. Dang. A-Deuce really has you clutched.

"You just...I noticed you kinda avoid using your unique magic with me around. Kalim said it's how you three can make music that needs more instruments, but -"

You pause, isn't he supposed to be the skeptic here?

"Well. You're you right now. So I just thought - not to sound accusatory, mind you - that it's because of me.."

Well that's new. Not the calling him out part. Cater's let that grudge go over time. You were just too fun to mess with, and he settled for playing the cards set up. It's not like you were going anywhere.

He just didn't expect his little one-sided rivalry to make it through that 'aura' barrier, or whatever it is you called it before. Neither for him to actually show his hand, especially when he could deny it so easily.

"You want me to lay it straight with you?" Cater asks, his smile too wide for blatant kindness.

Back out man. What are you doing?

You, doe-eyed no more, nod along.

"You're hella creepy. That's why I give you special attention."

Part of Cater relishes in the startled expression on your face. In the discomfort of being seen that he's dealt with since the moment you met. Even if the feelings changed an now coated with something sickeningly sweet. A feeling he didn't want, but came regardless.

He continues without prompt.

"Did you ever think about where the name 'peepers' comes from? Sure, you're cute like a little chick. ADeuce sure Shepard you like one, and I'm sure it'd be the same if you were in Heartslabyul with the rest of us - "

You say nothing. Although Cater's not really being cruel, just honest. He knows there are better words to use here. Can think of them, but he doesn't want to.

"- but you don't really know boundaries, do you? Which can totally get you on the off-side, just saying. At first I did it to make sure you couldn't twist my clones into admitting something totes embarrassing - but now? Hmm....dunno. Just having fun."

The uncomfortable silence that follows is not fun. Although he's good at flipping back to scrolling as if he didn't just get as real as it gets IRL.

You don't stick around for practice. Part of Cater feels guilty that Kalim came back to an empty room, but he's not much in the mood for singing anymore. With you gone, he left behind two doubles.

Later, in his room, he wonders if it was 'Cay-Cay' talking or 'Cater'. They're not mutually exclusive. Either way, he doubts you'd be willing to chat casually with either again. Problem mitigated.

You were a good, if not rattling, experience.

So why's he not happy?

“I want to apologize. If you’ll hear me out.”

Now that’s not what Cater was expecting. Not at all. Two weeks without a Ramshackle resident in sight. For a bit he thought you decided to hate him for setting boundaries of all things. Ace and Deuce were your besties, but they hadn’t breathed a word about whatever you felt to him.

Either you were better at holding secrets than anyone else on campus, or those two had enough tact to respect their upperclassmen. Most likely the former, given past events.

Cater’s more interested in the cup noodle in your hands. Not even the good kind either.

“Is that supposed to be an offering? Did Acey teach you how to pull a kettle out of thin air too?” He’s going to need some hot water after all.

What would normally get those noodles thrown at Cater’s head - maybe a half-baked insult about them resembling his hair too - doesn’t work. You set the styrofoam cup on his desk and sit next to it.

“I’m sorry you felt creeped out by my ‘sixth-sense’ or whatever it is that my shared braincell friends call it. All this time I thought you were hanging out with me because we were friends or -“

You stop. Surely you wouldn’t leave him hanging, but Cater knows you as well as you know him. Too well. Blood rushes to your ears, as does words to your lips.

“- or, uh, more. Like - you didn't use the doubles since you liked spending time with me. Which is a bit conceited to think, I guess. I didn’t realize you were forcing yourself to be something you’re not. In the beginning I really admired you. Maybe that’s why I can tell the clones apart? It's a dumb reason but really all I've got. You always caught my attention. I’m not special, or psychic, or anything - I just really liked you.”

Zing

It’s not as if no one’s ever confessed their feelings to Cater. He’s an online presence. Cay gets five confessions a day, at minimum. A dozen fawning comments at every meal.

Except he never stole their packages, or drove them up a wall trying to find a hidden dirty sock in their dorm.

He was still ‘Cay-Cay’. Blessedly cute, to his sister’s delight and his honed weaponry. Although if he could be what they all wanted, he’d be at RSA. Maybe in another life.

No use on what-ifs after all.

“Could you say that with a mouth full of uncooked noodles? Raw emotions should equate raw stomach pains to show your sincerity” Cater wiggled the styrofoam cup before bopping it on your nose.

In this life, he was a melody of sinful cuteness. Maybe you saw that, maybe you didn’t.

The want for that little ‘more’ definitely left him with ammo for what was about to come.

You could be bullshitting that too. The vulgar conclusion somehow still coming back up after all this time.

The diamond on his cheek crinkles with a cheeky grin, and one of his doubles walks in with a piping hot cup of water. Then another with two bowls and chopsticks.

“JK I won’t do that to you,” he lets them set up for some real noodles, slipping the ones you bought away for later. You don’t need to know everything.

He’ll let you in on this much though.

You were trouble. A bit annoying and oblivious.

But deep down, so was Cater. Maybe he was the one bullshitting himself this whole time.

“You’re real lucky that I’m into creepy these days….say, could we maybe do a horror collab at your place for our launch?”

Deuce often wonders where he'd be if he hadn't come home that night. Good parents try to hide their feelings for the sake of their kids, but what if he hadn't overheard that phone call? What if his mother still felt such sadness? The Insomnia is well earned - if you ask him. Shame that he'll carry for the rest of his life. Her sorrow is his greatest regret, but he'll carry it. To move forward.

Would he still be part of the gang? Likely. There's no way Night Raven College would want someone with bruised knuckles as the only trophy on their name. Who's only redeemable skill was swinging a bat while pumping a wheelie.

Or would they? Floyd Leech received a letter and wasn't turning over any shells to become less...Floyd-like.

Maybe Deuce wasn't special. Just lucky.

Perhaps Night Raven would be better off with the old him. That prideful jerk who didn't think twice before throwing a punch. Who's greatest pride was his blast-cycle and rarely spared a thought on the people who really mattered. An absolute moron stuck in the wrong crowd, in the wrong place always at the wrong time.

In an abyss of what-ifs, there is one certainty.

You would not be a friend to Deuce.

He preyed on the magic-less back then. It's so easy to picture you as those faceless kids that he taunted. He thought himself better than them. Made them preach his superiority, and if they refused? Made their life hell. As did the rest of his gang.

What might he have said to you? What would he have done?

Deuce wasn't necessarily thrilled to be thrown on thin-ice during his first week on campus. He wasn't outright cruel towards you, but Ace? Ace was an asshole. Deuce heard how your meeting went. How he preyed on your ignorance, even though you couldn't help it.

Deuce can't give your group's third shit for it either.

Not when a bit of teasing was mercy compared to the bullying he used to do.

Not when he'd have gone further than Ace could attempt, and not when you'd have taken it without knowing any better. Your trust that he now held so dearly, traded away for a bit of momentary cruelty.

He would have got high off your misery, and been none the wiser to what he was ruining.

This ache is how Deuce tames that abyss of what-ifs.

Any life where you are not a friend to Deuce, is a life that he refuses to see possible.

Deuce is not special. He is lucky.

Lucky enough that you came into his life when he embodied the dignity to learn, and sense appreciate someone so wonderful.

Just like with his mother, Deuce can't ignore the thoughts. They will come, and he faces them with an imaginative force.

At the start of this new life, Deuce set out to become better. To be honorable. Sharp. Strong. Diligent. His mother's pride and tears fueled those ambitions.

Except he forgot one important factor. When he thinks of himself in this image, the desire brightens with your face in his day-dreams amidst hard work.

Kind.

Deuce wants to be kind.

"Finished?"

You stretch lazily across the library table. In the wee hours of dawn, with the sun just barely poking in with it's grey-toned light, Deuce scratches away at one of the many 'guides' Riddle loaned him for practical magic studies.

The word 'guide' must be used loosely, since the notes require endless sifting through textbooks for proper context. Leave it to his Housewarden to give just enough for any student to learn, but they'd need to exhibit excessive effort.

Deuce felt like the village-idiot, or rather the stooge of his academic year. They did this sort of gimmick back in the gang. Every batch of new-comers would come with a dud, meant to fail during initiation as an example.

Hell even Ace passed the last exam. Even if he just brushed by with a 70, it was still miles better than Deuce's 42. At the rate Deuce is going he might as well sign his soul off to Azul agai -

No.

"Urhm...I think? Just need to read a bit more," the words blurred, was it is eyes or did he literally erase the ink off?

The packet disappears before his retinas refocus. You start skimming over the shoddy work without asking. Now he's feeling frustrated and embarrassed.

"Two's wrong," you flip the page, his fingers twitch over the table rim, "five, six, eight, twelve, and fourteen too. Nineteen's short answer is technically right? Not by Riddle's standards, but Trein would take it."

You slide the packet back towards him with minor corrections made. He shouldn't hate red, it's his dorm's pride. Although Deuce wishes that for once he could get a pristine white paper back.

Just once. A sign that all this work was paying off. That he's doing something right.

What's worse is that he's dragging you down with him. A yawn builds in the back of his throat and he shoves it so far down it meets his intestines. Tired? At a time like this? He can't be tired, not when you're giving up a precious Saturday morning so he doesn't resort to cheating like before.

He ducks low, hiding in red ink.

"Sorry, prefect. I'll - I'll just have to start over. You should go get some shut-eye before Grim needs you."

Sorry for wasting your time.

"Why would we do that? You did good."

Huh?

A red pen with the cap just barely holding on pokes the big 65 circled on his paper. It leads up to a lifted blazer cuff, which leads to a stretched arm, which leads to a knotted ribbon which barely passes as a bow.

All to you, in his space with your seat long abandoned with his determination.

All to kind eyes. Indiscriminatory, with patience.

"Good? I missed seven questions."

"Yeah, that's a 65."

Deuce strains his eyes, squinting at the mark with hatred.

"That's not good. It's not even passing."

"Yeah, duh." You sigh heavily. Not like there's a librarian or nerd on duty to hush.

The red cap thumps against his forehead.

"65 is 23 points better than a 42. C'mon, juice-box. Don't tell me we need to study maths next."

You hold the cap there until he looks up from his burial in papyrus. His deprecation - his lapse- meets you in battle and with that one look? You kick its ass to the moon and back.

No judgement. No exuberant praise. No false promises.

Just you and him against the world. Or in this case, a bad grade.

Zing.

One bad grade that he refuses to let set a precedent for his day.

There's a sting to his eyes. It must be the dust.

No. It's a heavenly glow. In this moment, you weren't a friend. You were like a saint sent down from the heavens or wherever it is you come from. It might as well be heaven to him, since he can't go there and it's sent him an angel.

He doesn't want to disappoint you. He doesn't want to spit in the face of that kindness. The hidden bitterness that a magicless student understood practical theory vanished in an instant, as did his desire to trade this pen in for a good sulk.

All he wants is for you to stay with him. To make you proud. He'll work without rest for as long as he has to, if it means he has your faith.

"D-don't call me that! If that nickname sticks then I'll never make it as a proper honor student!"

He swats the pen off him with flushed cheeks, but little strength. Your laugh invokes this newfound confidence and it's like six shots of espresso all at once.

You slip into the chair across him, snickering.

"Sure thing....if you can score 70 by noon. I believe in you, juice-box."

The heat is sweltering. What dorm doesn't have central air in the middle of summer? Ace already knows the answer, but complains anyways. The whines fall off his lips like greetings. More of an obligatory thing.

He could head back to Heartslabyul. Where it's a steady seventy-two degrees and hopefully some shaved ice in one of the freezers. He could sneak you in? Twist Riddle’s nickers even when the guy was across the sea.

Not just Riddle, but everyone else too. Ace hadn't seen another face on campus in nearly two weeks. Deuce was the last to leave, seeing as his 'new image' meant helping mommy dear out with a summer job.

There wasn’t anyone around this time of year. Just the upkeep staff. Needless to say that Night Raven morphed into one odd ghost town.

Oh. Let's not forget himself and the two lone residents of this dilapidated dormitory.

Zzzzz-

"It's not fair you always get the bed. What ever happened to basic hospitality?" he groaned, cheek pressed into the hard floorboards.

You scoff from where he can't see before going back to whatever it is you were rambling about. He wasn't fully paying attention. Something about this game franchise starring a pink gumball that eats things to get powers?

What a dumb idea. He'd say as much, if he wasn't becoming one with the ground. Banished to below after kicking you in the chin while laughing at his comics.

Sweaty, uncomfortable, clothes sticking to his skin and said comic too far out of reach. The pages spit every time the slightest gust of wind comes in from outside. Grim's knocked out-cold on the recliner, occasionally stirring awake to tell you both to shut up.

"Ace? Are you even listening anymore?"

You peer down over the bedside. Hair ready to host rats and a bit of cheese dust on your cheek. Beads of sweat smeared it into a junk food lipstick. Vil’ worst nightmare, honestly.

Zzzzzz-

Ace barely peels his body off the ground to smack his hand over your mouth. Your weight is nothing to stop him from climbing back over the crumpled duvet. That’s right. Scream under his sweaty grip. No one to save you now.

"Never was - now move over already before I become a puddle and melt all over your floor"

The bed is just as, if not more, sweltering and uncomfortable. Ace grins apathetically as you flail to escape his noogies. Only to give up and go back to rambling on. This time letting the heat suffocate you together rather than apart.

He could fall asleep like this. Will fall asleep like this. It’s his earned right for the entirety of summer. Whatever it is you’re on now, he doesn’t care. Not fully. Just keep talking and don’t get up.

Ace thinks the world doesn’t give him enough credit.

The sun, the sea, the sand - it’s all too perfect. A vacation away from endless classwork and his house-warden trying to rip him a new one? A dream.

That’s what this was.

A dream.

With you right at the center of it all. Again. This isn’t something he’s buried deep down. His mind’s eye didn’t need to work hard for his desires.

Ace knows what’s up. He knows that if he sits up on his elbows, reaches over to poke your ribs and taunts out a vengeful swat - that he’ll get more than just some sand in his eyes. He’ll be done for. He’ll be blinded.

He’ll fall into the sweetest nightmare.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz-

It’s buzzing in him. He’s walking such a fine, a dangerous line. This isn’t forever. He just wants you to be happy without the expense of his own. Is that so much to ask?

Where the hell are the adults? The professors? Why is he even in this position?

When will he wake up? How long until the fantasy is gone? He doesn’t want to give it attention.

Since he will wake up. You'll come for him. It's a matter of when, not if. If he gives in, then the fantasy will become just that until it's gone. He'll blink and it will all be gone.

Ace knows that the only way is for you to walk along in-between, but it’s impossible. Ace is well aware of the inevitable cracks better than anyone else. He doesn’t need convincing.

…

Fine.

Ace falls asleep willingly. He keeps his hands to himself, lays upon the shore, and lets the tide wet his feet.

Dreams are far more forgiving than reality, and the world can withhold its credit. He doesn’t want the knowledge.

“I thought I was changing your mind!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m in love with you, idiot!”

Ace felt his teeth crack together. He said it. It took months of trying. Months of pulling himself back as far as he could.

He said it. You heard it. He’s glad you heard it because it’s unfair that he’s the only one about to get his chest ripped out. It’s not fair.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathed out, “I’m in love with you and I want you to stay.”

It's not real. It can't be real. Since all he could see now was that person from the very beginning. The one he taunted on an off chance on his first day. He was such a dick back then. All he had to do was keep walking, but he was too cruel for that. He just had to go mess with the person who’s day was already at an all time low, stuck cleaning old statues while everyone else got on with their lives.

If he just kept walking. If he didn’t let his ego get the better of him. Then he never would have experienced any of this. He wouldn’t know you.

He wouldn’t love you.

Zzz-

And what burns the most, is that he wanted to love you. Even if it meant this frustration. This abandonment.

“I'm sorry."

I can’t do this.

“WAKE UP ALREADY -"

“Ace?“

He rest his forehead against your pulse. Nose nestled into your collar, body draped over your front like a blanket. His bones felt like pudding after running for so long.

The end of this nightmare wasn't close. Nowhere near. Even though he was ripped from one dream - no, a nightmare. A twisted, willing nightmare. It wouldn't be over until the dragon sung.

Even then. There were sill hidden cards within his deck. The ones Ace held close to his chest.

You came for him, because of course you did. He wants to say that he'd not do the same. That you're an utter dumbass for going against Malleus Draconia of all people. Except he'd be lying to himself.

"We need to get going," you tapped his shoulders urgently, "Ace? C'mon, you're freaking me out man...we need to help -"

"Just give me a minute."

He held you tighter. Not by much. His own subconscious drained life like Riddle at a party. His head was still buzzing. What was dream melted with what was reality.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" you asked, wary.

Idiot.

Ace held you at arm's length.

Zzzz-

"How much of that last part did you actually see?" he asked.

Your concern morphed into sympathy. Of course it did.

"Don't worry about any of us judging you, okay? Those dreams don't accurately reflect our hearts. If anything, more of a pleasant nightmare. Like our hearts giving us a weird case of Stockholm Syndrome with our desires"

That's not what he asked, but alright.

"So all of it," he concluded and clicked his tongue, "damn it....this is so not cool."

Whether you took his sulking as something to be pitied or not. It didn't matter. Twisted desire or not, it didn't matter.

He wouldn't let it matter. This card could hold until he made the dragon sing.

"C'mon," Ace pulled you forth to convene with the others. His head clear and the buzzing louder than ever. His fingers laced tightly with yours.

This is real. He can do this. He won't wait for another sweet nightmare or promise of power.

"You and I? We have words after this is over. I've been through seven layers of hell because of you, and there won't be an eighth."

Zing.

[hellooldshame]

Empirical Analysis

Mark Grayson x Reader smut 🔞

Synopsis: You're absolutely fascinated by how fast Mark Grayson heals. Mark is more than happy to indulge you in your science experiment. AKA You both get horny while realizing you might have some sadomasochistic tendencies.

Word count: 2.8k words

CW: MDNI 🔞 NSFW, barely any porn to warrant all that plot, biting, (attempted) marking, scratching, bottom!-ish Mark that is technically more switchy, Reader on top, lots of grinding now that I think about it, outercourse, masochist!Mark, y/n's awakening sadism. Not beta read, never beta read.

Idea taken from @clairewritesfanfics and their smart atoms talk. I think I got carried away.

A/N: This made me rewatch Invincible so I can write bouncing on him

Bullets, bombs, and most explosives barely leave scuff marks. A knife gets bent and most weapons break on impact. Punches work though. Bludgeoning damage makes him bleed out his mouth or break his nose. Which absolutely baffles you to no end. Granted, the people hitting him were strong. Like, really really strong, but it wasn't like he was hurt when a reinforced boot smacked him square on the jaw.

Mark Grayson and the limits of his invulnerability were an enigma to you. As one of the many many scientists working in the GDA, you were tasked with understanding Viltrumite physiology. How they heal, what could hurt them, if they could be hurt at all. Admittedly, the job was fun when Cecil wasn't hounding you for the reports that you barely did.

Despite your job, you didn't like exploiting the poor guy. This was purely... curiosity to be honest. A very morbid part of yourself would have loved to dissect that pretty face and see how he ticked. The reasonable part of you reminded yourself how a scalpel would sooner turn to dust before it pierced his skin.

Once, you had slapped him across the face—the moment was heated and sometimes he just said things that would really piss you off. Regardless, his shoulders had jerked and his face turned in the direction your hand swung. Despite his parted lips from the shock and the stinging on your palm, there was barely any warmth on his cheek. Of course, regular human strength could only do so much to a guy who was safe from a stabbing. But the look on his face and the rising heat on his cheek only after the moment had registered made you want to test things further.

For Science! You had claimed all too enthusiastically when you tried to persuade him. Emphasizing even that everything would be "off the record" and "never to be used against him." You meant that promise too. And maybe Mark believed the conviction in your voice because he seemed just as excited when he agreed. For the sake of science.

Now, the scientific method would tell you that empirical evidence was important. Which is why you had to take a very hands-on approach in this experiment. Yes, science never said anything about taking Mark to your bed and straddling him—a notebook by his head and your butt pressed comfortably on his pelvis—while you collected data but this was necessary!

Firstly, you needed a private place so it was off-record. Ergo, why you did this at your place. Second, it was only polite to have your test subject comfortable as you measured his pain tolerance. Obviously, the most comfortable place that would fit him lying down would be your bed. And lastly, you were straddled because you needed to observe every detail and walking around a queen sized bed took too much time.

It was all very rational.

And besides, Mark was way too pretty for you to not at least get a bit of a good look at him. You had the best seat in the house. Mark Grayson, under you, body sunken slightly into your plush sheets, chest rising and falling nervously in an uneven stutter. Inhaling deep to even his breath, the release too quick and shuddering to calm himself down. It was understandable that he was nervous, being scrutinized so intently.

Big brown eyes stared up at you through his lashes and the light from your window hit his eyes just right to see the pattern of his iris. The swirls and webbing that made up the varying shades of mahogany and maple. If you stared long enough, you could see the tremble of it, how his pupils dilate. You might have stared at it for a moment too long.

"Uhm- I'm ready," a shaky voice spoke up, those same eyes blinking, unsure now if this was a good idea. Granted, he had his own ulterior motives, but the long silence had him thinking too hard. His initial motivations clouded by doubt and worry. What if you lied about keeping this a secret? Was he sure you weren't planning to dissect him? What if you realized he also had intentions beyond helping in your experiment? That maybe he wanted to feel the way your hands snap against his skin aga-

"Alright," you nodded, reaching down. You could've sworn Mark held his breath when your hand hovered near his face to grab the notebook. Pages flutter across until you settled on an empty sheet, scribbling the time and date of the experiment. "You sure I'm not too heavy? I can adjust."

The question was more out of courtesy than concern, knowing he could bench entire icebergs. A part of you also hoped to stay seated, the warmth beneath you quite cozy. The quick nod and mumbled 'mhm mhm' was all you needed before beginning your experiment.

"Mind if you," you gestured to his shirt, wanting to have as much skin to work with.

Mark looks down, eyes wide as if he was surprised he wasn't already undressed. "Oh- yeah, hold on," hands that were unconsciously gripping the sheets moved to tug his shirt off in one motion. Hurried movements turn clumsy and a rip is heard before you see the hole between the collar and the rest of his shirt. His head was still trapped, indents on his face pressed on the fabric as he fumbled to get free. "Shit, wait just-"

Your hands were quick and careful in helping him take off his shirt. It was hard to bite back a laugh and you were certain you were making a face when you tried to hold back the smirk and snicker. A quick tug , the shirt was off, and your hands felt warm against his chest. You had always been heavy handed and even now you exerted more than the necessary effort to push him back to lie down. As expected, there was resistance when you pressed down but he had fallen back so quickly someone would have thought you knocked him down.

"Try to relax," you whisper, trying to come off as soothing but the husk in your voice makes it sound sultry. Not that you noticed. Mark did though, felt his stomach flip and his muscles did the opposite of what you instructed. "I won't be using tools since the running theory right now is that physical contact seems to work better."

The lump in his throat bobbed when your hand touched his chest and fingers spread to try and get a feel. Trying to decide where to start. Your hands were cold compared to how warm he felt. And they would not stop roaming. The tips of your fingers pressed and prodded, pushing down as hard as you can and leaving the faintest red mark as blood rushes to where you'd applied pressure. So it wasn't like his skin was hard steel. You pinch the skin at his sides and he flinches.

"Ow- hey," the yelp came out automatically, the feeling reminiscent of being tickled or poked at the side. He figured he should let you know lest you mistake that for damage dealt. "That tickled more than hurt."

A nod and quick "noted" was your only response before continuing. The process was slow but you needed to cover all your bases. One hand moved to write notes, your body leaning forward and closer to him. The view was nice and the boy in him couldn't help but glance, ogle really, at the gap between your shirt pulled by gravity and the torso hiding underneath. Nice.

Your other hand began dragging nails across his bare chest and that brought his attention back to you. Normally, for some people at least, scratching just hard enough would leave white or raised lines. You definitely feel skin dragging against your nails but see no indication that you'd done anything. Somehow, you don't notice how his diaphragm contracts and stays there when he holds his breath. Eyes too trained on the contact between your nails and his skin to see his lips trembling. You inform him that you were going to apply more pressure.

Nothing hurt, not right now at least. But the sensation of your cold hands on his skin felt refreshing. Especially against his warm skin. Then your nails scratched his skin just right that he'd nearly hummed in satisfaction. He started wondering if you could break skin when he felt you dig into him. He could almost convince himself that you were strong enough to do it.

There was just something so disarming about you on top of him. Watching him with such fascination that he felt completely exposed. Like he had no choice but to surrender under you. Your eyes wide with curiosity, your nails dragging against him heavily. Sharp, steady, trying so hard to cut-

A stuttered gasp choked in his throat, breaking his thoughts as the stinging registered in his mind. You looked equally surprised to see the scratch on his pec, like red dotted lines outlined in white. A thumb tentatively pressed on the slash and Mark couldn't stop his lips from parting for the broken whine to escape.

Now, you were never one to bask in other people's pain, so you decided to blame his squirming hip jerks.  The way the firm bulge in his pants rubbed up between your legs, the pleasure it shot straight up your spine coupled with that little cry was almost pavlovian. A professional would have gotten up and saved him the discomfort of having something so sensitive be put under pressure. A certain someone doing this out of the lab had decided it felt really nice when you sat yourself down firmly.

Mark was strong, you wouldn't be able to hold him down on your weight alone and by that breathless whimper, it seemed like he was okay with the way you readjusted and slid yourself against the hill on his pelvis. It was especially nice when he'd squirm underneath you, clumsy friction rubbing between you as your finger pressed harder on the wound. Your eyes nearly rolled back as you got lost in the slow carousel ride before he sighed out and finally relaxed.

Close. So close. Beneath your thumb was smooth skin, pristine and unblemished. Wide eyes stared at the newly formed skin and he swore he saw your gaze twinkle. He had healed. So fast, yet you couldn't help but miss the choked whines as he struggled to cope with the pain. You had expected him to have better tolerance than that but perhaps having tiny cuts compared to gashes and bruises felt different.

Mark inhaled lightly, breath finally steady as the stinging pain subsided and he wasn't forced to focus between his chest and the rubbing on his erection. "A-ah..." his voice cracked as you dug your nails in again and left three pretty scratches in your wake. Your eye twitched as you struggled to keep your gaze trained on him when his hips bucked again. Seeing the red flesh peek out had you holding back from leaning down and dragging your tongue over it. You needed to see it yourself.

A part of you was impatient, needing to observe every detail of his healing abilities. The other part was impatient for other things as you fidgeted. Hips rocking slowly only to incite tight-lipped grunts when you pressed on the open wound again. You don't know when his hands made their way to your sides, just that you were now pressed firmly enough that you couldn't lift up.

Then his hands grip and direct your lower half, moving you back and forth in his pace. You feel that ticklish sensation between your legs again as you watch skin merge back together, too fast to leave even a scab. Lips that had curled into an enthralled grin trembled when your eyes fluttered and the body below you lifted up slightly, pushing up as you were pressed down.

You looked good. Like, really good when you were watching him. Something almost manic in your eyes when you saw his body heal in real time. It made him go crazy thinking about what you probably wanted to do to him. The ill intent in your gaze as the corner of your lips twitched upwards in morbid interest, showing your teeth. It looked just as good when your eyes lost focus as he had you hump him, mouth hanging open to let out a surprisingly pleased moan.

The pleasure seemed to cloud any logic or reasoning left in you because you had forgotten to explain the next steps. No, you wanted to get straight to it apparently as you leaned down. Wordlessly, your chest pressed against his and if he wasn't holding onto you, you might have slipped off. Lips inched closer to his neck and your warm breath wafted against his already heated skin.

His eyes fluttered closed, expecting lips or a tongue to touch his neck. Instead, he felt pointed canines before you took a hard bite.  His hips stuttered mid grind, once again caught off guard by your actions. His groans matched yours as you found yourself enjoying the sounds and sensations of grinding your teeth against his collarbone. You knew he was sturdy and the fact he got off on your teeth rather than recoil only spurred you to clamp down harder. 

Nails dug into his shoulders as you held onto him. Hips gyrated and bucked against each other, your clothed sexes edging closer and closer to what you both needed. Mark couldn't take much more as he sat up, dipping you onto your mattress as he held onto your thighs and had you wrap your legs around him.

You didn't seem to relent either as your jaw refused to unclench. Not that it mattered to him. Moans muffled behind your teeth, hot air hitting his neck in quick puffs from your breathing. That and the faint ache on his skin had him rutting harder against you.

Strong hands moved up, stopping at your waist as a careful yet firm grip held you in place. Then he thrusted forward again, the movement quick and desperate and needy. He needed it, really really bad. Wanted it as much as you, whose attention was being taken away by the growing intensity of the body dry humping you. Jaw and abdomen equally as tight.

A stuttering slam against your pelvis has you seeing stars and you finally unclench your jaw to cry out. The crash of pleasure has you bucking back up into him and if that didn't do him in, the long scratches down his back and your legs locking him sungly into you does.

Mark collapses on top of you, spent and breathless and you both have most likely needed a change of clothes. Vision hazy, you try to crane your neck and see the damage you should have dealt on his collarbone. The disappointment on your face could be seen a mile away.

Despite your best efforts and rattling you'd felt in your teeth, all you had to show for it was indents from your canines. Already raising back up as if it had never happened.

"I nearly lost a tooth for nothing," you mutter, saving the fact you wanted to leave a mark at all to unpack for another day. A breathy laugh came from beside your head, feeling the vibrations against your chest. His hair tickled your cheek as her turned to look at you, eyes twinkling in the afterglow of climax.

"I mean, it's not bullshit that I'm called-"

A/N: yeah ofc I'd make that fuckass joke.

I haven't written in a good 2 years or so and have drafts before the pandemic for other fics (they're on Wattpad do you understand what type of person I am now). I didn't mean to make reader a lil biology freak but that was fun.

[3hks]

How to Write a GREEN FLAG Love Interest

As the romance genre grows more and more in popularity, it's hard to not notice the abundance of red flag love interests. And while yes, that makes it fun and interesting, it's still toxic at the end of the day.

So how do you write a love interest that's a green flag, then?

1. Imperfection

Your love interest is not going to start off as the perfect girlfriend or boyfriend. We want them to be the ideal partner, of course, but that doesn't mean they're born without any flaws.

They might have some bad habits, regrets, hesitation, secrets, and boundaries, but they're considered "green flags" because they can overcome those imperfections to contribute positively to their relationship.

2. Communication

Communication is one of the most crucial points in a trusting relationship. Your characters have to be able to talk honestly with one another.

Now, I get it if your character has trust issues or some kind of obstacle that makes it difficult for them to open up, but they should at least be willing to communicate.

3. Patience and Supportiveness

This shouldn't be a huge revelation; any good partner should have patience and support their loved one. These two traits are also key to having a healthy and open relationship.

Patience and communication are also important to highlight when the characters fight. Yes, they might get whisked away in the moment and spew words they don't agree with, but the aftermath should be a healthy resolution in which both parties speak honestly and listen patiently.

Additionally, remember that everyone has boundaries. They have topics they don't wish to talk about or moments they'd rather forget. An ideal relationship would include partners that know each other's vulnerabilities and difficult past events, but it takes work to get there.

The best thing to start with is patience. Your love interest should not force their significant other to talk about sensitive subjects that they don't want to talk about. That's simply being inconsiderate and pushy.

4. Teamwork

A couple is a team. They might not always agree on the same method or ideal, but they should listen to each other and be willing to compromise if necessary.

They need to tackle problems together.

5. Trust

This is a no-brainer. Your characters should trust one another, because what's the point in a relationship where they're constantly skeptical of their partner? Show their faith in each other.

6. Overprotectiveness

AVOID EXTREME OVERPROTECTIVENESS.

I know being overprotective is quite romanticized these days, but it's an objectively toxic trait. Being overprotective is controlling--your character is controlling whom their partner can or can't interact with--and it shows a lack of faith in their significant other. It can feel exhausting to the receiver.

7. Love Bombing

Here's another thing to avoid, whether you do it on purpose or not: love bombing.

For those who don't know, love bombing is a manipulation tactic in which one showers their partner with gifts, sweet words, and kind actions for a short period to make their partner attached before the former reverts to their normal self, in which there isn't all of this generosity and pampering.

Yes, being a good partner can mean spoiling your lover and treating them well, but if you cannot keep such actions up for the duration of their relationship, then it's basically love bombing. It's dishonest--it's not genuine.

8. Growth and Effort

Realistically, your character will have some detrimental traits that could harm the relationship. That's reality. A green flag doesn't necessarily need to have all of the characteristics I listed above, but they should be striving to achieve them all.

The greenest flag of them all is putting in actual effort into the relationship and themselves to improve what they have.

Perhaps they're bad at communication but try their best to open up. Maybe they have a bad temper but are working on reining it in and staying calm. That's growth. That's effort. That's respectable.

~~~

For anyone who needed to see this, I hope this has helped!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[mandatory-ftmbreeder]

I'm ftm, and I am super attracted to men, but I've never been with a man and I don't know how to start. I guess my question is how do you do it? I hesitate every time there's a chance at a conversation, and i can't fathom anything progressing beyond that. I feel stuck lmao.

I have a bit of a slow burn method to this lol.

Ask about his interests and try to establish common ground. Music, food, his clothes, monsterfucking, video games, whatever. If you tend to freak out in the moment and can't come up with topics to talk about, make a list of questions that you can memorize. Things like "Where are you from? What do you do for work? Do you come here a lot? What do you like to do to relax?" And use his answers as avenues to ask more questions. If he responds with "Oh, I like to watch tv and pet my dog after work to relax." You could ask about what kind of stuff he likes to watch, ask about his dog, ask if he likes animals. The important thing is to keep the conversation going. And find mutual interests!

I also rarely ever flirt upfront with someone. I'm very indirect and need a bit of time before I can do that. I much prefer to establish a bit of a friendship with someone, sense their vibe, and then start some lighthearted flirting.

After the initial meeting, I try to maintain contact with the guy through some means. Usually I ask for his instagram or whatever so then I can send him posts I think he'll like.

I also try to find excuses to invite him to hang out. Maybe I got a new video game he's been wanting, so I invite him over to play. Or a new cafe opened that I heard is really good so I ask him if he wants to come with me.

Once we've hung out a few times, I'll start some lighthearted teasing/flirting. I also like to say things that can easily be turned into a dirty joke: I might say "oh fuck you, suck my dick" and see if he responds with something like "Okay, give me a time and place" (possibly a good sign) or if he just kinda laughs uncomfortably or something (possibly not a good sign and I'll ease up)

Once I've established all that and feel like he probably is into me, I'll ramp up the flirting and get dirtier with it. I might also do shit like bend down in front of him and see if he says anything. Any excuse I can get to touch/tease/flirt/etc, I'll take it. Then I just keep trying to be alone with him (especially if we're also drinking or high), keep flirting, and eventually one of you is gonna give in and admit you wanna fuck. (Or kiss or whatever)

Despite acting like a cocky bitch on here sometimes, I'm actually quite hesitant, cautious, and indirect irl lol. This method may be weird or crazy idk but its how I go about it.

You can also look online thru reddit or fetlife or something but that's kind of a hassle and gets exhausting quickly. I prefer meeting people organically irl as much as I can.

Hopefully this helped and wasn't just a jumbled mess 😅

[goldensunset]

there are several pokémon games now whose stories have absolutely microwaved my brain (positive). but black and white is really unique in that out of all of them, it feels the most like it had to have been a pokémon game. not even in the sense that it’s my absolute favorite but it’s probably the most creative when it comes to making a compelling plotline out of pokémon-specific game and story assets.

most games feature being a trainer, bonding with pokémon, learning about them and catching them, often times getting up to some insane stuff with the region’s legendaries, etc. pokémon are obviously always present- as characters, tools, or narrative devices- but the core conflict about the game is about something else. those staples of the series were only one possible means by which that sort of story could have been told. you could keep the core characters the same and change details like the method by which they fight each other and it’s the same thing.

in some games, these classic narrative/gameplay tools even sort of clash with and distract from the main conflict. battles that in any other story would be to the death are much like a fun little competition. that’s sort of just an innate thing to the game series’ turn based combat that is obviously based on pokémon, and most games are guilty of it. but there are ways to make it work in-universe, such as really emphasizing how any given pokémon is stronger than any given human and therefore whoever has even a single one of their soldiers left after the battle is holding a weapon against a defenseless target. in any case really it's generally up to the player to suspend their disbelief and allow themselves to get immersed in the aura of danger. but i would really love more games to make battles feel like a threat to the trainer as well… usually it's about trying to scare you off or maybe rob you, at most.

and my true pet peeve… in certain games, you awkwardly take turns between stopping the big bad and collecting gym badges and often even if there’s a story excuse for why you need to go get the badge or whatever, it’s kind of weak. you want to go after the evil team leader but first and foremost you want to become the champion and play with your cute little pets and these different desires rarely come up at the same time. the main antagonist might not even be the final boss; you’re expected to all but forget about them by the time you get to the pokémon league. the story is cool, yet not the point. ok yes this is me vagueing about dppt again listen platinum means the whole entire world to me but it hurt me to wrap up the cyrus plot at seven gym badges and get just a few lines of gratitude from cynthia for it later

but that aside. even in games where there’s no story-gameplay dissonance, where the story might be absolutely one hundred percent golden and the gameplay might be incredibly fun and work perfectly. you at the same time might be like 'wow, this is about pokémon? it didn’t even need to be.' (not to say that’s bad, obviously! people who are here to collect and play with cute creature friends deserve some insane banger plotlines too. the children yearn for existential angst and childhood trauma. i love unique storytelling devices and i hope these games have super cool utterly wild storylines that go way crazier than the child friendly marketing would indicate for the rest of the series.)

but like. black and white is so fascinating in that the core conflict is about being a trainer. it’s about the relationship between humans and pokémon. most games have a couple lines thrown in here and there about how anything is possible if you bond with your pokémon as equals, but this concept is central to black and white. team plasma are such good villains because they’re not another round of unhinged terrorists, they’re a sociopolitical advocacy group that legitimately challenges ways of life that most of the people of unova have never thought critically about. they ask the question of whether these norms and traditions are right and good. it’s like an attack on the whole entire series!

now obviously team plasma is like. wrong.., of course,,, both in terms of what they’re promoting and how they carry it out… but the fact that they make you think. the fact that they start a conversation. the fact that they hold assemblies in public and stand proud and don’t hide and even convince some people… that’s terrifying. their original plan was to rise to power not by force but by changing hearts. and through that they arguably got closer to winning than any other evil team.

and there is absolutely dissonance between the way they talk and the actual gameplay which requires you to pokémon battle them. but this dissonance is intentional. it's proving them to be a bunch of hypocrites who think that they alone know how to treat pokémon right and are therefore justified in training them. and it's meant to be obvious that behind the scenes (not even truly in secret, just like anywhere on any path outside of the big towns and cities) they are abusive bullies. but though the player can figure out what kind of people they really are right off the bat, most of unova might not. either news of the sorts of theft and threatening they do travels slowly, or certain people are being manipulated and swayed into believing it really was for the greater good. truly team plasma has a level of power that no other evil team has ever had.

then there's n.... n knows it feels wrong and hypocritical but he doesn't know any other way. or perhaps he also justifies it to himself by saying it's fine as long as he lets them go afterwards (which is, ironically, arguably even more like using them as tools for an intended purpose than properly being their trainer.) but after chargestone cave he commits to what he believes in and swears he won't battle again other than in the few cases it's absolutely necessary for his goal.

and of course. the way he's also trying to become the champion, the way interrupts your journey through the pokémon league, is so iconic. but he did tell you that quite early on. 'I need power... Power enough to make anyone agree with me.' and then 'I'll defeat the Champion and become unbeatable, unlike any other! I'll make all Trainers free their Pokémon! Just try and stop me! If you want to be together with Pokémon, your only hope is to collect the Badges from each area and head for the Pokémon League! Try and stop me there, if you dare! If your conviction is not strong enough, you will never be able to defeat me.' you see how neat that is? see how narratively awesome and efficient it is to give the player yet another, more serious reason to do the gym circuit? it's one of your personal dreams, like those of your friendly rivals. but now you have a not so friendly rival. not in the sense that he's some neighborhood jerk but in the sense that he's a madman running for public office.

but seriously, it's very important to me that they broke the tradition of the region's official champion being the final boss. they show you the league in all its glory as usual, and then make a big deal out of having team plasma show up and summon a whole entire castle that absolutely disrupts everything. they made it loud and clear that they knew what they were doing as far as breaking tradition. they said 'i know entering the hall of fame is very cool and important to you, and maybe you can do that later, but we have bigger problems right now.' alder is no idiot. he just got defeated! sure he could heal up with some revives and hyper potions but let's get real, he's in no mood to fight you, and it would be irresponsible for both of you to battle at a time like this.

like. now n has all the accolades he needs to set himself up as some sort of god king that no one would dare argue with, and basically the evil new york branch of peta just won the election by a landslide and took over all three branches of the government, and that's sort of a problem maybe. sure they aren't killing anyone or destroying the world (yet) but. they are a much more realistic type of threat. it wouldn't matter if alder was the coolest champion in the series (and i do like the guy as a character); i would not have been able to care even a tiny bit if we had battled him at that moment. and i would have been actively frustrated and let down if we had gotten to battle him after the epic climax of the plot and n's heartbreaking farewell. it was a very unique creative risk to save the championship for postgame, but it worked out so well.

but see like! when n does battle you it's not even because he actually wants to win. every single time, he wants to battle you because he wants to get to know you and to understand the strength (and accuracy) of your convictions. from the very first fight in accumula town to the grand showdown between the two of you. n never wanted victory. he wanted truth. he wanted righteousness. and slowly he learns that he wasn't the one who had either of those. his external journey was a facade for his inner one, which he can only bear to admit to you after everything has unfolded and he's finally safe and free from ghetsis and team plasma.

that's all to say, when it comes to him, pokémon battling is the only appropriate gameplay mechanic by which you ought to interact with him. unlike other antagonists he's not fighting to tell you to get lost, or to rob you, or to kill you, etc. he specifically needs to hear the voices of your pokémon in battle to realize you are a good and kind trainer and that he was lied to about battling. this specific conflict wouldn't work in another piece of media. of course, a more general theme of having been lied to about truth or justice could be done, but black and white specifically wants to talk about the ethics of pokémon training itself (to which there really isn't a real-world equivalent, since making animals fight is usually either rare and specific, or outright illegal. as far as i know. it’s definitely not a public sport that children are encouraged to participate in. and we don't have pokéballs so we can't verify irl how comfortable and fun it is to be digitized and put in a machine. it's probably fun for them but idk.) and that's so fascinating.

now of course, ghetsis is a more typical antagonist who actually wants you gone. dead, even. but for him, i think a pokémon battle as a final conflict still works. for one, they don't overuse it. in lots of cases, you battle evil team leaders or their admins multiple times- the majority of those times being an attempt simply to get you to stand down. when they finally 'get serious', sure the battle may be harder later on, but you're still doing the exact thing you were before. and like. you probably expected this, right?

ghetsis, however, doesn't even seem like a pokémon trainer at all until the very last second. it doesn't take you too long to figure out he's rancid and a manipulator, and that team plasma is trying to capture pokémon in order to have a monopoly over unova, but for all you know, he really might not use any pokémon himself. maybe only the king and the grunts do the whole battling thing but it's the sages' job to just walk around and say cryptic poetic things. and then. boom. he whips out a full killer team of six. he goes from 0 to 60 real fast. you've had zero experience with battling him thus far and therefore have absolutely no idea what he's packing and it's scary.

and of course, how could i not talk about his actual team? his infamous ace is a few levels too low to be a legitimate hydreigon, implying something fishy or forced. and in the sequel it's got frustration in its moveset, executed at maximum power- first of all, what kind of sicko even runs that move in the first place? unless you're like. working with buneary or otherwise doing something really specific. and what kind of sicko is so abusive to their pokémon that they lower its base friendship from 35 to 0? of course, that's a rather low base friendship value to begin with. but see, with this entire evolutionary line being vicious in its lore, you'd think it would be perfect for a guy like ghetsis, right? they're both brutal and also irrational- being geniuses, and yet knowing nothing but destruction. hydreigon is a killing machine and ghetsis flies into a genuine insane rage upon losing. point being you'd think they'd have fun together. we've seen villains legitimately bond with their pokémon before. but instead they're two toxic haters that don't mesh. ghetsis is so evil even his own partner hates him. and he delights in that and actively chooses to benefit from it via the use of a particular move. ugh i love when pokémon battles subtly say something about trainer npcs through gameplay mechanics...

also did i mention he's trying to Kill You. other villains are probably fine with doing that if necessary but scaring you off or taking away all your pokémon would also work. ghetsis implies that he specifically needs you dead because you know the ugly truth, and that knowledge makes that battle a lot more chilling than usual. that is a case of a true pokémon battle to the death. it doesn't feel cheap or like a relatively casual competition there, it's not a fight where either side is trying to prove anything, etc. and you can tell his bloodlust was genuine because he does not give up or admit defeat. he tries to murder the next protagonist too and goes to even more extreme measures that time.

ghetsis is using his pokémon as weapons against you because they're the most efficient way to murder you. that's all he wants. and you can tell he needs them because purely visually you can see he's gotta be kind of an old man with at least two physical disabilities, and he's not really dressed for physical activity- he's dressed like a big shot noble (or thinks he is. that fit is so ugly) who could never get his own hands dirty. and thematically it's perfect for the big bad leader of all hypocrites to use pokémon as tools, as opposed to any other type of weapon. like he could go get a gun or something if this was rated higher, but i think the sicko probably delights specifically in lording power over his tormented pokémon, if choosing to run frustration on hydreigon when there are probably better move options available means anything. i think he'd choose this means of battle in any universe he could.

in conclusion! the generation 5 games, more than any other games, absolutely needed to be pokémon games in order for the story to work. they closely examine fascinating aspects of the pokémon universe that are otherwise taken for granted. they seamlessly merge the goal of travelling and working to become the champion, and the goal of stopping the villains, instead of having these be awkwardly separate storylines. the gameplay is relevant to all three tiers of antagonist- grunts, main antagonist, and true mastermind villain- in different ways. i would love for another set of pokémon games to have such a focused, unified plotline that also feels relevant to the overall series. very swagful. something something mic drop

[zo2mess]

Love Notes On Glass

Summary: Just Adrian’s day off and his morning scavenger hunt for reminders that he is no longer alone.

Warnings: Fluff with implied smut and exhibitionism, that’s all :)

Word count: 1.4 K

Masterlist of my works

Note: It doesn’t really have a story, but I just like to appreciate small things that can hold significance.

The morning sun is peeking through the curtains, casting warm yellow lights over the bedroom, birds outside are already chirping a cheerful melody, and the air in the apartment is the perfect mix of chill and warmth. A perfect morning to spend in bed snuggled under blankets.

Adrian hates mornings like this.

Why? Because on mornings like this, you are usually already gone.

Mornings, where he slaps around the bed in desperate need to find your warm body lying next to him. Mornings, when he refuses to open his eyes because he knows you won’t be staring back at him with that lazy smile.

So even though the morning has all the signs of being calm, it isn’t peaceful. You are not there for him to draw shapes on your back with the tip of his finger or nuzzle in your hair and breathe in the scent of his shampoo you always borrow.

But you will be. And that’s what matters.

It was hard for Adrian to realize that he was no longer alone, at least some nights when you decided to spend the night at his apartment.

With a sigh, he sits up, stares off into the distance, and blinks away the sleepiness from his eyes. But then he notices something on the window. Something isn’t quite right there.

But Adrian knows. Oh, he knows what it is.

Adrian hastily pushes his glasses on his nose, vision clears and he recognizes what is on the window, what is disturbing his morning.

Smudges and blurs that create a perfect silhouette of your body.

And what was the cause of that imprint? Passion, neediness, and one of Adrian’s crazy ideas to do it in front of the window for that adrenaline rush.

All those people on the street outside could have seen a strange guy in the window, touching the glass like it was something sacred. Some smudges don’t mean anything to them, but it does mean a lot to Adrian.

In some way, he loves the fact anyone could see you yesterday. All those creaky old men and noisy women from his apartment complex could have been outside, walking their dogs, and seeing Adrian with you nearly knocking the window out of its hinges.

Ohh, Adrian Chase, that’s one of those guys that will be forever alone!

And Adrian, that creep from the third floor, what a weirdo!

Well, look at the weirdo now, bagging a total hottie.

Maybe he should wave at them next time, and they would knock on his door the next day, begging Adrian to teach them his charms.

No. No, that would be stupid, right? You would probably smack the shit out of him if he pulled off something like that. Plus, Adrian doesn’t have time to teach neighbors flirting methods.

This inner monologue makes Adrian chuckle, frown, and grin like a total idiot as he starts his day.

Even while he takes a quick shower, those scenes from yesterday keep replaying in his mind. Not just the hot and heavy parts but also the wide smile you flashed at him when he let you in the apartment or how gracefully you looked when you washed dishes after dinner. All of it is making him soft.

Steam fogged up the glass door, creating a perfect opportunity for Adrian to draw a big heart on it, along with small little ones and a bunch of xoxo around it.

God, he feels like a teenager. Full of hormones and strong feelings, he just now learns to recognize and control.

And one way to put those emotions to good use is to draw hearts on the shower door as a surprise when you come home from work. Surely, they will stain the squeaky clean glass, but it is worth it in the name of love.

Though it’s not love, right? Not yet, it’s too early. But he has a timer set to tell you he wants you to move in. After all, you already spend most of your time at his place, since he doesn’t have any annoying neighbors. He is the annoying neighbor.

And right after he tells you this, he will feel comfortable telling you he wants to marry you. And to have children if you want. And grow old with you. And have his gravestone right next to yours. And haunt others once you’re ghosts.

Just another 64 days, 5 hours, 41 minutes, and 7 seconds.

Some days he spends practicing his little speech in front of the mirror. Usually holding a toothbrush in front of him like it’s a microphone, bumbling love confessions with his mouth full of toothpaste.

Before he can get to that though, he notices a smudge of concealer on the faucet.  He wipes it off even when he doesn’t really want to. He wants that little part of you to smudge his bathroom.

Aww, you were probably in a hurry, trying to mask that hickey on your neck before going to work.

Even if you aren’t here in the morning physically, your spirit lingers through small reminders. Imprint of your silhouette on the window, your concealer in the bathroom, along with your toothbrush next to his.

Adrian secretly loves pushing the brushes together, disregarding even the most basic hygiene, all in the name of making your toothbrushes look as if they're kissing.

He has been doing this ever since you started dating. Every little thing that reminds him of you instantly needs a matching counterpart to mimic the two of you. Matching mugs? Done. Matching keychains of various animals? You got it. Bracelets made of colorful beads in Vigilante colors? Of course.

He even sees the two of you outside in dead mice lying splattered on the road, so more often than not, you get photos of random things followed by a text: Us :)

He is unintentionally retracing your morning, just with a slight delay. First, the bathroom, then the kitchen, he realizes it once he sees your forgotten mug in the middle of the kitchen counter.

He stops near it, water dropping from his wet hair on the marble, and admires the rest of the coffee drying on the porcelain. He can exactly see from which side you were drinking it, in which hand you held the fragile mug Adrian hand-painted for you.

Adrian cleaned the mug and got rid of this morning’s reminder, just so you could leave a new one tomorrow and the day after that. You do the same for him in a way too. When Adrian leaves for patrol before you come home to him, and leaves a half-empty can of energy drink somewhere in the apartment.

It was a never-ending carousel of creating little memories of your life together.

After brewing himself a cup of tea, he hums his way through his usual routine. One of the steps is checking on the closed terrarium plants you got him. He doesn’t need to water them, so the only real duty he has is chatting with those cheerful little leaves.

And for the rest of the day, he awaits you like a lovesick puppy, pacing around the apartment after he got tired of binge-watching Sharknado all over again. He loves his days off, don’t get him wrong. It’s not often he gets to do nothing all day, but god, those hours are stretching.

But when you do come home to him, it’s the best part of Adrian’s day. You will sigh in exhaustion when the front door closes behind you. You will mutter profanities when the zipper on your jacket gets stuck. But when Adrian comes to the hallway to greet you, your eyes will light up along with a smile, and your drained battery won’t matter anymore.

Because the moment Adrian wraps you in one of his signature bear hugs and your warm breath fogs up his glasses, you'll feel that unmistakable sense of home. And Adrian? He’ll know his home just walked back into his arms.

Because home is wherever the heart is, and his heart will always be with you.

[breelandwalker]

Hey Bree, do you have any luck turning spells on hand? My 2025 has been… I mean, I don’t think anyone’s having a *good* 2025 but mine’s been spectacularly shitty, and I’m in dire need of a refresh. Any ideas, references, or charms are appreciated

I've got a few things that I use in my practice. Chief among them is my personal recipe for Luck Salt. It's pretty easy to use, too. You can add it to any luck-drawing magic you happen to be doing, or toss a pinch of it over your left shoulder to turn your luck around, same as you would with spilled salt in the kitchen. I sell it in my shop, but you can make your own with this recipe:

Bree's Luck Salt

2 part Salt

1 part White Oak Bark

1 part Ginger Root

1⁄2 part Ground Allspice

1⁄2 part Powdered Clover Leaf

We've got a full moon tonight and (technically) tomorrow, so you could make a Full Moon Wish Jar if you want. Use plants that you associate with good fortunate and success, maybe a lucky charm or two if you have them handy. Let it sit out under the moon to charge up, then put it somewhere safe. I usually charge mine up under moonlight once a month, but you can use crystal grids or personal energy or sunlight or whatever works best for you.

There's also a simple version using whole bay leaves blessed with moonlight (or other methods as mentioned above) and used for wishing magic. You write your desire or intention on the leaf and then burn it or let the wind carry it away.

I sometimes use simple cleansing to rid myself of a run of bad luck, if it feels like things are "stuck" or, as you said, in need of a refresh. This usually takes the form of cleaning my home, at least taking out the trash, removing any messes that smell, washing some dishes, maybe some simple tidying. It helps my mood and makes the house more pleasant, at least. I might follow it up by spritzing a cleansing spray made of fresh lemon and mint leaves in moon water.

The personal version is Showering With Intention, where I actively picture the bad luck sluicing off and away as I'm washing my hair and scrubbing my skin. (Think "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair" from South Pacific. Similar energy.) If things feel particularly icky, I might make up a simple infusion with a sachet of cleansing herbs and a pitcher of hot water, and then I use that as a final rinse when I'm done washing. The blend varies according to what I feel is appropriate, but it nearly always includes rosemary, peppermint, lemon peel, and a pinch of salt.

Anyway, hopefully this will be useful and hopefully things will get better. For all of us. 💜

[sugar-petals]

it also seems like by sending members into harm’s way / dumping joon into the poorest barracks, the now impeached south korean president (USA take notes) deployed bts as human celebrity shields while at the same time saying: you’re not influencial, and we own you. 

remember s’korea wanting bts to work for them for free so OT7 enlisted in response? we now see who won: of course, the military, with all its leverage and methods of running everyone and everything into the ground. the negative stories will keep on pouring every time an idol discharges, no matter how much propaganda pics the press churns out using the prestige of idols. 

bts being free changes things just a little. we knew this even long before news broke that soldiers assaulted taemin. enlistment is: revenge. and destruction of healthy masculinity, which bts have famously championed. of course they’re sent into the harshest camps, bases, centers, (and apparently even incels make fun of taehyung now and attack him...). toughen up, boys! blow up that biceps! ready for war! yikes. and people lap it up. 

yes, whatever bts would have chosen, it would have been bad for them. the dilemma shows its consequences. exemption would have ruined their reputation domestically; going as regular soldiers would have damaged and ‘sacrificed’ the members individually, knowing the hellhole that is the army. bts (or hybe...) chose the latter, for commercial reasons and us fans.

the fact that rm as the leader and political activist (!) was targeted and even scolded the most - the guy with the exemplary character - aka had the worst time... i can’t wait to hear what they did to yoongi aka the one guy who is known to take no shit, refuses to overwork himself, and promotes anti-authoritarian values in his opinions and music videos. of course, social workers are punished with longer service (i hate it here) and less decorum. essential workers covid lesson: not learned. at least it’s over by june 21st and ppl let them rest. not to mention that all the dieting dieting dieting talk is back in town.

the way to react is not suppressing what happened or saying oh a court case is impossible. instead, it is ruining their reputation even further (...as if they have any good public acclaim anyway - every korean man dreads the army and then does the “it’s an honor” parroting to avoid social death and 36 months in jail) since that’s what they tried to do to bts in broad daylight. allowing stalkers into the ceremonies is quite a statement how they value bangtan. that the president visited joon’s base for chuseok and this was the facial expression + joon’s position was lowered speaks for itself.

it’s known how the military operates but namjoon exhaustedly saying after discharge that he can finally “have a life again” and taehyung worrying about how the army dropped his ability to empathize sounds beyond concerning

[thedragonagelesbian]

@hexblooddruid replied to your post “obviously not every single one of davg's problems...”:

This is what drives me wild when I see people try to say that Rook HAS to be that way because of their position and goal. Like there are so many different ways to attack a problem, even in the limited space of an RPG made ten years ago. Like it could’ve been done if it was a priority.

i've drafted like five different responses to this but the long & short of each of them is 'Y E A H'

most often when i've seen defenses of why rook has to be Like That (GoodTM, nice, helpful, agreeable, unopinionated) it's more in the Macro scale of, say, caring about the companions' personal struggles, or wanting to keep the veil up, or not agreeing with solas. the other major defense is pointing to the bad ending as evidence of sufficient rp flexibility because the game does in fact let you ignore everything else and just focus on the main quest and lose out on hours and hours and hours of content and doom yourself/your factions/your companions.

but is that meaningful rp? or finger waggling at players for not playing the game the One and Only way it was supposed to be played (in much the same way that bg3 locks you out of tons of content if you don't do the grove Just Right [not necessarily even siding with the goblins but by trying to kill kagha prematurely])?

and like. I dont know if i necessarily need or want an Evil rook path, i dont think veilguard would've remotely thematically benefited for having Even More Vague Ontological Evil. But my god if rook's unassailable Goodness is purportedly the load bearing structure in veilguard's story, i sure would've liked to have had some meaningful ways to engage with what goodness is and what it might mean to different rooks who have different methods and different personal/ethical/political lines.

But we were never going to get that!!! because as you said, that was never the development priority for veilguard because it was incompatible with the direction inherited from morrison and the nightmarish release date pushback timeline devs were working on. fandom reverse engineering a purity of authorial intent & creative vision is what we call in academia a Generous Reading, but the material/labor/industrial confines under which the game was produced remain, and if the schreier article is any indication, those were the stronger determining factors in rook's personality & the broader lack of rp.

[sophont-guide]

Digitization?? What's that all about?

So long as sophonts have posessed computers, they have wondered "How could I possibly make this more accessible to my barely developed brain that struggles with object permanence?"

For some species, this has led to the further streamlining and immersion of technology, such as the way the humans of the former Terran Accord integrated technology into their society to the point where it became manadatory for basic necessities, such as employment, shopping, and seeking a romantic partner.

Others found more innovative approaches to the understanding of the machine. The people of Betelgeuse III developed ways to split one's brain to allegedly possess better processing power. Others, such as the stuck up busybodies of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation found ways to streamline everything by making machinery do all the work for you, even if they aren't very good at anything beyond infuriating you with their shortcomings and refusals to actually assist you.

So, it is thus baffling when the Affini Compact entered the galactic stage and debut a different approach to the use of technology and its relationship to the organics of our beautiful and cute galaxy.

The digital floret, for only florets can receive this manner of treatment, is one of the final clinching achievements of any given domestication campaign. By the time the Affini Compact begins the digitization process on florets, the species' neuropathings and mental roadmaps have been been laid out much like finally understanding your local road layouts after years of trying to navigate with your ever so helpful Sirius Cybernetics GPS that routinely thinks you're on the wrong planet.

Most of the process is classified and "not for sweet little things to know", however the Guide has received very special information from reliable sources regarding the digitalization of sophonts. The most common method involves the scanning of a brain, and the recompiling of that brain scan into a code based replicate. While this sounds like nothing for anyone with a basic high risk/lethal job (government worker, police officer, kindergarten art teacher, Sirius Cybernetics customer service representative, President of the Galaxy, etc), the process is said to be so much more intrusive and in depth than anything seen normally.

The result is not so much an uploading of one's mind, unlike the best managed by those good for nothings at the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, instead is more of a duplication of the mind. This fully developed mind and consciousness, an "ramet" as they are called, is treated separately but as a copy of the organic half, the "ortet".

The two halves know of each other, but the procedure is still done as the last resort if no other means of alleviating a floret's struggles and care needs. The ortet is given the care it needs to last through its days in comfort, and the ramet is given the life it deserves as it adjusts to cyberspace and its own digital existence before being given access to physical and digital spaces via their DIC chip. Digitization is never done easily, but the florets who do receive it are just as capable of a loving life as all others.

[theotherrookie]

"Yeah, never trust the guy who's trying to eat you. He might know reverse psychology." Erica always had her way to blur the distinction between jokes and whenever she was being completely serious.

Willow dragged the chair over, careful not to touch any of the spots that Five was more likely to have touched directly.

"This will burn nicely." She proceeded to take off her gloves and tossed them on the seat. Her hands were going to be the least outrageous detail against armor and animal features.

"It was a long fight. Five has way too much time to waste thinking of new tricks." Erica said, "And they didn't even help him in the end!"

"All he really achieved was making things harder for himself as we learned some new tricks of our own." Lucien added, "While I appreciate the kind words, Russell, I believe defining my time as a hunter as a failure is most appropriate. What I was trying to do was wrong and unlike Five, I can recognize my faults."

Other than that, he was absolutely fabulous.

Erica tilted her head. "You're looking for 900 pinecones? Then you're not going to need that banana in your pocket."

"Wait until he checks his bag." Lucien told her with a smirk.

Rook chuckled as she pointed at the strange lightning storm happening in the distance.

"Do you like it? It's our special hotline." Her expression quickly shifted as a thought occurred to her, "I wonder if we could make some code for this. I'll have to ask the others what they think. There's a chance the Roche have already built something we can use."

Despite Five's accusations, Rook clearly spoke fondly of her fellow mages and still worked hard to fill the position she was given in their team. Nobody minded if they started off as a joke when she clearly cared for all of them.

Rook kept her wings firmly pressed against her back as they descended. Truth be told, she couldn't wait to get out of her armor and into something more comfortable, but she couldn't pass on the chance of parading around pretending to be a cosplayer.

"It'll be nice but I think what we need is some regular free time now." she replied, "You know, just hanging out at the club, some more rehearsals, maybe a trip or two. We've been in survival mode for a while and we need to do some things just for the fun of it."

She was starting to like that method of travel. Still, Rook was glad to get back on the ground.

"I will leave a good review. Let's see what the others have found."

She could already tell there was a certain chair waiting to be set ablaze.

Veronica smiled fondly. "She's a stubborn one, isn't she? Quite a few of us wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her."

She wouldn't, for certain. Only Rook could have moved to the other side of the world and devote herself to finding a way to at least see her one last time. Lucien was another who could attest to Rook's determination.

It was a shame Five wasn't going to do it even if it killed him. They could have done with his family ceasing to be so annoying.

"Perhaps you could wear it again for a few sparring sessions. The novices could all use some extra training."

It was better than learning on the field while having to fight for their lives.

"I really thought I was done when I found myself with three extra daughters." Veronica mused, "And I suppose I'll go back to having very little to do for most of the day. Though I could double as something of a phantom at the opera, if you don’t mind having a few familiar faces in the audience."

She would have enjoyed the diversion. Veronica shifted her attention to Erica as she ran over to them.

"You found him!" She proceeded to poke Frosty's cheek, "I guess he felt like taking a nap somewhere else. Can we go now?"

"Those vampires must have been Italians."

The thought was fascinating, but Erica still preferred Bill to many other undeads she had met. He was nicer and had cool shadow powers.

She too was content with the trashing being over for now. The nice thing about sending stuff to the void was that it could be done quietly.

Erica waited for Willow to check the data coming from the drone before going off to retrieve Five's favorite chair. "Are we sure there's no bloodsucking singing plant around here?"

"Well, that would be a plant I wouldn't mind seeing turned to ash." Lucien mused, "Oh, I was just trying to make myself useful. I realized one of the reasons behind my failure was my training not really contemplating direct confrontations."

He then reached to pat Russell's shoulder, "So I learned from the best."

"Well, except the part where you give everybody a good scare!" Erica barged in on what could have otherwise been another tender moment to look Russell over, "You've gotta be careful when you die now. You're gonna give people a big scare like I did with Travis."

"Give him some credit, Erica." Willow said.

"Yeah, I'm giving him credit that he's going to be careful about not dying on people."

A repeat of the accident from earlier was a given with Russell's altruistic tendencies. The best Erica could do was offer her experience on how not scare people to death.

Lucien didn't seem to agree with her intentions as he rolled his eyes. "They look different but they're all as gentle as a brick to the face."

The fiery bird was a more refined alternative to what was for all intents and purposes a giant middle finger from Rook to Five, her father and everybody who wanted for whatever reason to tear them apart. The choice had fallen on the former simply because she wasn't alone.

Rook was about to thank Bill for the compliments when the clouds in the distance parted and lighting stretched from the buildings towards the sky. News of their victory had been received.

"Well, it won't stop idiots from trying anyway, but we're in for a big party."

Though a nice long nap was in order. Rook was already pondering taking her deck chair to the roof when she moved to start heading back down.

"Let's get going. I can't wait to see the moment Lucien will start regretting shooting lasers around." Rook replied with a grin, "It's always like that after the first fight and I won't let him hear the end of it."

Veronica couldn't help smiling fondly.

"I'm so proud of my daughter." She even managed to mark the building without the roof collapsing under her feet.

"And for being so heroic." she added, "And while we're on the topic, you look fabulous, Leofric! It simply bears repeating."

Now that it was over, she too was allowed to have a little fun. Veronica's delight only increased as she observed the way Antonio's ear flicked back into place.

"Chick never lets me bring strays home then she adopts the king of cats." the ghost lady shrugged dramatically, before smiling, "But I'm glad you turned out to be as much of a softie. The stories I heard didn't do you justice."

She needed to keep herself in the loop more. The ghost lady kept an eye on the sleeping Frosty as they prepared to rejoin the others.

"It has been difficult, but they're fighters and have each other. The best we can do now for them is to keep moving forward and get on with all those nice projects you have talked about these past few weeks."

That would really make it worth it.

[musashi]

I very much appreciate your valiant Carol Holiday Defense

Because while I do dislike Carol, due to how Noelle is. Not Doing Great and how Carol is at least in part responsible for that, I also- even more than I dislike Carol- dislike how a lot of people are going about disliking her, so you are actively sparing me from the phenomenon of having to Defend The Thing You Don't Like

Like, I want to discuss how the way that Carol has responded to Dess' disappearance/possible assumed death (because it's not really clear if anyone other than Noelle believes that she's alive which is Cool but also Angst) has affected Noelle and Kris and their ability to heal from that loss, but that's hard when people's perspective on Carol is just "Abusive mother" and not "Grieving mother whose methods of coping with her older daughter's absence and husband's terminal illness is having negative effects on her daughter (And also the close family friend of Kris who may have been in some way involved in the Dess Thing)"

Thank you for helping correct the misunderstandings around her character, because there's so much that could be analyzed that just. Isn't, and can't be, because people refuse to actually engage with her character

fandom's lack of nuance has been hell on earth to exist in proximity to for the past like, half a decade when all the covid normies joined in. what kills me is how often you see this in fandom where the characters and themes of the story encourage deep thinking about that nuance. without fail, every time, it goes right over everyone's heads.

carol holiday's biggest crime is that she is so lost within herself that she cannot see how pushing her daughter is not helping her. she clearly cares about noelle and wants her to succeed and come into herself, but her methods of trying to draw that strength out of noelle are only making her recede into herself more. none of that is because carol is an abusive mother who is cruel to her daughter, all of that is because carol is 1. a grieving victim who probably does not have a good handle on herself, and 2. simply a person who is imperfect, just like anyone else.

will this affect noelle in the long-term? yes! does noelle likely have complicated feelings about her mother? abso-fucking-lutely! but we literally do not know enough about carol to be making such a severe call on who she is as a person like. its driving me crazy. all we know about her is incredibly sympathetic, as well!

paranoid: her daughter is dead/missing

controlling: her daughter is dead/missing

cold and cruel to susie: you mean the strange girl in her house, with the reputation for being a dangerous bully, who is PLAYING HER DEAD DAUGHTER'S GUITAR?

has a favourable opinion on the dreemurrs: uh, yeah, duh.

tends to throw herself into her work at the expense of her relationships: SHE IS GRIEVING. THIS IS A FORM OF COPING. THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT I DO. IT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T CARE ABOUT MY LOVED ONES AND IT DOESN'T MEAN THAT FOR CAROL EITHER.

she is hurting her daughter. but she can do that without being abusive. people hurt people they love and want to protect/nurture all the time. that's a part of existing. literally an unavoidable part of the human experience. a grieving mother with no social support who is desperately trying to keep her shit together and run a town, who comes home every night to two empty fucking rooms belonging to her dead daughter and sick husband, IS PROBABLY GOING TO FUCK UP A BIT AND MAKE SOME SERIOUS MISTAKES. if she was Normal about any of this she wouldn't be realistic or interesting.

carol holiday resembles my shitty abusive mom in every way shape and form. she looks like her, talks like her, acts like her, saves face like her. but judging the content of her character based on something as fucking stupid as "she acts like my mom i hate" is the most mind-numbingly stupid fucking take on a character i think i could ever have, and i'm 30 years old and pay taxes and my shitty dead mom really doesn't factor into how i engage with Story.

the people saying the end of the weird route "proves" she's the knight is the dumbest shit in the world too. because she called kris. and has a completely unique speech bubble from the mysterious voice that's been calling kris previously. somehow this proves something. don't fucking ask me what.

i am so tired.

[please-let-this-work-oh-my-god]

One thing I find very interesting, as a learner of German, is Isolde's usage of du when speaking to Kakania. In German, there are three main second person pronouns: du, ihr and Sie. The first two are mainly used in informal and casual settings or when talking to people you're close with (with du being singular and ihr being plural sorta similar to english's y'all) while Sie is used in more formal situations (or situations which require some form of formality) such as talking to strangers, customer service or when you're talking to a doctor/patient. Kakania abides by this and uses Sie when talking to Isolde (such as in her speech at the end of chapter 6) but interestingly, Isolde doesn't reciprocate this and instead uses du when conversing with Kakania in German.

This is super fascinating to me because it implies different levels of closeness within their relationship. Isolde's usage of du implies a level of closeness and intimacy to Kakania as Isolde herself saw Kakania as a close friend (most likely due to the fact that Kakania was once of the few people in Vienna who actually sympathized with her and saw her as a human being) but Kakania's siezen suggests a certain level of estrangement or distance between her and Isolde. Of course. this could just be her maintaining her professionalism as doctors normally use Sie when talking to patients but with how things turned out after chapters 6 and 7, I'd like to think this goes deeper than just formality standards.