#but the past like. couple days. I've been feeling better & more connected to my own body than i have in a long time

[redeyye]

are you still a system

i think that's a question for my therapist

[msgexymunson]

Rumour Part Two: Rose

Description: After hooking up with your hot neighbour, things aren't going as you had hoped. Maybe a note will turn it around for the both of you...

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI or I'll put you in detention, Angsty angst, but fluffy, and HELLA SMUT. Sub!fem!younger!reader x older!pierced!dom!eddie, (age gap not problematic) rough sex, oral fem receiving, praise kink, sir kink, pet names

A/N: Please read part 1 first! I'm totally feral for this version of Eddie and apparently you lot are too! Thank you for all your love and support, I really hope you enjoy this!

❤ Reblogs are what keep me alive FR. They keep Tumblr alive. If you want more smut reblog my stuff. I'll love you forever, promise.❤

4.6k words

Masterlist   Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Marching home from the bar, arms crossed as a barrier against the chilly air, you huff into the night, sending out a cloud of steamy breath. Your mood at work tonight was frankly diabolical. If you were your own manager you probably would have fired yourself. Dropping glasses, snapping at customers, drifting into day dreams, you were a mess. In the end your boss told you to go home, that your head was clearly not in the game tonight; thankfully treating you better than you would have treated yourself.

Nearing the corner of your street, you stomp along, thinking about the man you couldn't get out of your head for the past six days. The man you were trying to push from your mind unsuccessfully. The man that didn't call. Eddie Munson.

After an evening of frankly mind blowing sex, he took you out on a lunch date. You ate nice food, shared a bottle of wine, and spoke about your interests. You discovered a mutual love for art, and a similar taste in music. He was soft, chatty, funny. Afterwards you had gone for a walk around the park, even held hands. For a moment you really thought you had started to connect with him. Then he'd dropped you back home, told you he was a bit busy for the next couple of days, kissed you on the cheek and disappeared into the wind.

It would have hurt less if he had just left after that night, but the date seemed to go well. The only explanation in your eyes was that he couldn't have liked you after getting to know you. The thought stabbed ice through your heart.

As you approach your building, you see a familiar figure sitting down smoking. You still your movements, trying to collect your feelings and push them down deep inside. Taking a deep breath, you slip on the blankest look you can muster and march straight to your door.

"Hey pretty girl."

No matter how much you try to mask, that gruff voice and those words just do something to you.

"Hey." You throw back, not bothering to look in his direction. You hear the creak of leather as he gets up. Desperately trying to get your keys out of your pocket, you end up dropping them on the floor. Well done. Smooth.

Eddie's closed the distance between you, reaching down to swipe the keys into a large hand. He looms over you, standing close, inches from your shaking form. The atmosphere is stifling, tension in the air laced with your anger.

"Can I have my keys please." Your gaze firmly locked away from him.

Eddie hands them over, but grabs your small hand in his when you try to pull away.

"Can you look at me, sweet thing?" His other hand reaches for your chin to pull your gaze towards him, rough fingers coaxing you. Struggling to resist him when he's in the very air you breathe, you let your eyes meet his.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I upset you, I've just been-"

"-really busy? Yeah." Your tone has venom, it coats each word, leaving your mouth with a bitter taste.

"Look I'm sorry, do you wanna-"

"I've got to go Eddie. I'm super busy." You snatch you hand away from his and take your front door key, jamming it into the lock. Eddie steps back, arms up, giving you space. It takes everything you have not to turn around when you slam the door behind you.

You lean against the door, shaking, biting back the tears that are begging to roll down your cheeks. Hot and flustered, you do your best to calm down and just breathe. You slide your back down the door and sit on the floor with your head in your hands. This is stupid.

Maybe you should have let him explain. What explanation could there be though, after he made you feel like that, then disappeared into the mist?

Lifting your head weakly, you notice a piece of paper folded in half on the welcome mat, seemingly shoved under your door. Curious, you pick it up and open it. It's from him.

Underneath the hastily scrawled note is the most beautiful pencil drawing of a rose you think you've ever seen. It almost looks like you could pluck it off the paper. The detail is simply breath taking; there's even shining dew drops on the velvety looking petals. You're half expecting a floral sweet scent to roll off of it.

Hey sweet thing, sorry I've not called. You must be at work. Knock when you get this.

E.M x

p.s. You said you like roses, I drew this for you.

Your hand flies to your mouth, shocked at the sheer beauty and intricacy of it. What's more, is that you're not even sure you remember when you told him roses were your favourite flower. It can't have been recently.

Shame drips down your throat and into your gut at how you'd greeted him earlier. Determined to resolve this before it goes any further you stand up and make your way back outside. Eddie's chair is empty. Taking a deep breath, you steel your nerves, walk across the courtyard and knock on his door.

It swings open a crack, and then all the way. Eddie stands in the doorway shirtless, tattoos strewn across his chest, messy hair loose and wild. His sweat pants are hanging low on his hips, cut groin and hip bones on display, his dark thatch of hair leading down drawing your eye. You take a shaky breath in; realising you're staring, your eyes snap up to meet his.

He looks from your face, down to your hand still gripping his drawing.

"So, you got my note huh." Flashing you a small smile.

Throwing your arms around his neck you kiss him hard. He staggers, taken aback by the gesture, but only for a moment. Then his hand is on your lower back, the other in your hair, as his tongue flicks across your bottom lip begging. You submit, his probing tongue dipping deep into your mouth, saying everything his note did not. You feel the steel of his piercing rub against your tongue, massaging in the kiss. Pressing up against him it's impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his sweat pants forced against your beating core.

You both break from the kiss, eyes seeking each others.

"I'm sorry-"

You laugh, speaking in unison. He presses hot, hard kisses to your lips, tongue running down your neck, beginning to bite and suck. Moaning, your nails dig into his back.

Eddie breaks away from you, leaving you pouting, neck stretching towards his perfect mouth, chasing the feeling.

"Listen, as much as this is incredible, can I talk to you?"

Taking gasping breaths you try and steady yourself.

"Yeah, sure." Still focusing on pacifying your breathing.

He takes your arm and leads you inside, gesturing to the couch. Taking a seat you glance around the room. It's a mess; not exactly dirty but there's things everywhere. Several guitars and amps lean haphazardly on the walls. A tower of books threatens to spill over the side of the coffee table. A few empty beer bottles sit in various states on the counter top. There's a desk, covered in writing and drawing implements, more books open around paper pads, you assume for reference purposes. You don't see many photographs around which seems strange to you. The only framed picture on the wall is a younger Eddie with an older man, balding in a checked shirt, maybe his father? There's another frame on the window ledge which you can't make out much detail from, looks like a crowd of teenage boys.

Eddie sits beside you, hand resting on your knee. When he speaks his voice is brimming with emotion, something you're entirely unready for.

"Listen, I just wanted to explain. I really like you. It's just," he pauses, staring at the corner of the room, lips pressed together, "I'm not used to this. Any of this. I'm not exactly seen as boyfriend material, you know?" He laughs softly at that, eyes seeking yours. You nudge him with your hand, willing him to continue, fingers tracing encouraging circles on his thigh.

"People see me as a one and dump. I've gotten used to it, not many wanted me my whole damn life. Meeting you, and getting along, outside of sex, I just- I was scared."

His doe eyes meet yours and you melt. The strong, confident man has melted away, exposing the soft, tender boy in front of you.

Clambering onto his lap, you stroke his stubbly cheek.

"I don't see you like that." Locking eyes for a second, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his full lips. His eyes close, kissing you back gently, mouths moving in sync. His hands stroke delicately down your sides, so much so that you twitch.

"Sorry, that tickles," you breathe out, wiggling away from his attention.

"Oh, ticklish eh?" He grins deviously, fingers tracing agonising patterns in your sides.

You giggle, bucking out your hips, trying to escape from the feeling. Reaching out your own fingers you dig into his sides trying to get your own back.

"Oh sweet thing you're really in for it now!" Before you can understand what's happening you're on the floor, Eddie pinioning you to the carpet. Hands held above your head, his whole body weight is keeping you in place.

"OK you win, please sir let me go!" You tease.

Eddie's irises shrink back, pupils blown, predatory gaze roaming over your features.

"Oh now that's not fair pretty girl." He bends forward, large hand encompassing your wrists, kissing and suckling at your exposed flesh.

It takes a second, but then it hits you.

"Sir please."

Eddie groans into your neck; his hard length pressing forcefully into your core.

For confirmation, you cant help but play into it further.

"Oh please, please Sir, please let me go!" Smirking, bucking into the air.

The noise that leaves Eddie's throat is gravelly and animalistic, grinding into you with abandon, hand holding you tight by the wrists. Your giggles have transformed into moans, pulse travelling to your heat.

His hand roams from your wrists to pull your top over your head, exposing your bare chest. Eddie wastes no further time in licking down to your exposed breasts, tongue trailing to your nipples.

"I thought you were a good girl, sweet thing," and he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. The swirl of his thick tongue around your sensitive buds makes you wail, hips humping up to meet his. He sucks onto your exposed nipples hard, the feeling sending bolts of arousal through your chest, massing in your stomach.

"Please Eddie." All confidence stripped from you now that you're squirming beneath him, rough stubble from his chin abrading your delicate skin.

Unlatching from your chest he draws level with your face. The dark, steely glint in his eyes makes your cunt throb. His breath fans across your face; the smell of Eddie's skin permeating all of your senses.

"That's not what you called me before."

A rugged hand enwraps your neck, squeezing softly at the sides, almost a threat. The rough touch makes you whimper. He's not constricting your airway, just letting you know whose in charge. As if there was any doubt.

"Please sir."

His eyes close as he grunts, suddenly pulling off of you. He rips the fastenings of your jeans open with an unruliness that has your cunt clenching, attempting to drag them off your legs along with your underwear. Eddie realises too late you've still got your shoes on and you huff a laugh at his obvious frustration. The laugh dies in your throat however when he uses brute force to pull your trainers off your feet, ignoring the laces. You whine at the display of strength, arousal gripping you so tightly that you feel it in your bones.

Laying on the carpet fully nude under his powerful gaze, you attempt to shy away but Eddie stops you immediately with a simple wave of his hand. He rubs at your sides, taking a moment to stare at your naked form shamelessly. You don't think anyone has ever looked at you this way, with such need, wanting you this hard.

"You're really fuckin' beautiful, you know that?"

You flush at the attention, cheeks burning. His fingers smooth down to your slit, groaning when he feels how wet you are.

Without warning he flips you over, pulling a shocked yelp from you. Rough hands grab your hips, manhandling you exactly where he wants you, dragging your ass closer to him.

You jump slightly at the first contact of his swollen cock, feeling the rub of steel from his piercing drag back and forth over your folds collecting your slick.

"You ready sweet thing?"

"Mmm please-"

He starts pushing into you and you gasp; you'd nearly forgotten how big he was. The push into you continues, his girth making you bite your lip, dragging against your slick walls. He wholly sheathes himself in you and you stretch around him, filling you completely; heart, soul and cunt, belonging to him.

Eddie's warm, firm hand strokes down your spine, coming to rest on your hip, thumbs rubbing into the doughy flesh, fingers gripping possessively.

He bends over you, messy hair trailing tickles on your shoulder, gruff whisper in your ear.

"You ok sweet thing?"

Your cunt is already twitching, zaps of pleasure dancing through your insides at each flutter of your walls.

Breathlessly you manage "yes, please, fuck me sir."

Eddie growls "fuck."

He ploughs into you, setting a gut-wrenching pace, slick sex sounds slapping through the apartment. Your arm grazes the coffee table and a pile of books tumbles down. You see a flash of a dragon on the cover of one. The carpet digs into your palms and knees.

"Fuckin' hell sweets, so tight, fuck."

A flash flood of passion flows through you, expunging any discomfort at his size.

Brutal moans blossom from deep in your chest, long and drawn out, shaking in pitch from each thrust of Eddie's hips. You feel Eddie's hard member persistently hitting deep inside, hard ball of metal from his dick piercing amplifying every move. Your high hits you quickly and without warning, a lightning bolt of pleasure rocketing out of the pit of your stomach, shocking through your entire body. A tsunami of slick arousal rushing from your cunt, nearly pushing out his sizable length from sheer force.

Eddie's groans are guttural, bestial in nature. He roughly pulls you bodily towards him until your back is flush with his sweating heaving chest, pecs flexing. One hand remains digging into your hip continuing his forceful pace, other hand pulling up to your chin, holding your head firmly in place whilst he babbles filth in your ear, making your walls tremble around him.

"Fuck, calling me sir. My good girl's dirty isn't she? My good filthy girl, fuckin' soaking me. Yeah? Pretty little cunt soaking me, oh fuck-"

His thrusts flounder briefly, his climax hitting him harshly, coming deep inside you with a brutish grunt.

Both of his arms wrap around your form, sweating bodies impossibly close, panting, coming back down to earth together. Smooth lips and rough stubble press against your cheek.

You move to pull away from him and the pain in your knees hits you suddenly, buckling to the floor with a rush of air from your lungs. Laying on the floor, boneless and weak, but giggling.

"Shit you ok sweets?" Eddie hovers over your chuckling body.

"Yeah, just my knees are fucked."

"Sorry, probably should have taken you to the bedroom huh." He looks embarrassed, hand stroking the back of his neck.

Scooping you up in his strong arms he places you on the sofa. He strides off, returning with a damp cloth. Tenderly cleaning your core, he moves his attention to your knees.

"How are they now?" Eyes wandering, examining, brimming with concern. The look makes you melt.

"Apart from wicked carpet burn, fine. I think I'll live" chuckling at your own words you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you to deliver a sweet kiss. He pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the sofa and leans down over you, forehead pressed to yours.

"So, am I forgiven?" Smiling with that cocky look of his.

You pretend to think for a moment.

"I suppose. But don't do it again."

"Wouldn't dream of it pretty girl."

********************

It's a couple of weeks later and you're standing in the tattoo shop where Eddie works, marvelling at the artwork on the walls. You hear the incessant sound of a tattoo machine and some generic rock radio playing in the background, other artists busying themselves with their work.

"You sure about this sweet thing?"

"Yeah I'm sure," you say shyly back, nerves getting the best of you.

"Do you see anything you like? Those ones over there are mine, I've got my portfolio too if you wanna-"

"I've already got a design Eddie."

He frowns, clearly not wanting to create someone else's art on your skin. Your cheeks flush, and you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket and wordlessly hand it to him.

It's his note, the beautiful drawing of a rose almost hovering off the paper. The reason you're dating.

Eddie seems taken aback, staring at his drawing as if he were looking at it for the first time.

"Oh pretty girl, are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure. Just like that please, it's perfect." You smile at him, your own eyes  betrayed your feelings, glossing over softly.

Smiling back at you, you gaze at each other for a moment.

Eddie coughs and looks away. "You want this in black and grey, or colour?"

"Hmm colour I think would be best."

"And where are we thinking?"

You point to next to your hip bone over your skirt, slightly lower. Eddie glances at the area and runs his tongue over his top lip, steel ball glinting.

"You know, that's a pretty sensitive area. Are you sure that's where you want it?"

You nod, eyes meeting his.

"Ok let's get upstairs, it's a bit more, private."

Leading you to the empty upstairs and across to his workstation, you're pleasantly surprised at how clean and tidy it is. You sit down in the big leather chair whilst Eddie sorts out the stencil and gets the inks ready.

"Ok so do you wanna just pull your skirt down a little or-"

You flip it up instead, given where you wanted it, it seems easier. Eddie's eyes are transfixed on your baby blue panties.

"Eddie..."

"Yeah, shit sorry, ok right here, yeah?" He traces a gloved finger where you pointed. You nod and he pulls the hem of your underwear slightly out of the way, kissing your hip bone.

He preps the area, lays the stencil down and turns the tattoo machine on. The noise buzzes through your jangling nerves making you tense up involuntarily. Eddie strokes your thigh, firm hand coming to rest.

"You gotta relax, my good girl, or its gonna hurt more."

You huff a laugh at the familiar phrase.

"Hmm I think you've said that before, about something else."

Eddie's eyes sparkle impishly at the memory. "Well I was right, wasn't I?"

He leans over to your face, turning the machine off for a second, and whispers, "are you gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Eddie, I- fuck, don't do that in public!"

He laughs wickedly, flicking the machine back on.

"Just stay still sweet thing, I'm starting now, 'kay?"

When the needle finally hits your flesh you're pleasantly surprised. Oh it hurts, certainly, but not as much as the buzzing made you think it would. It was more annoying than anything, a persistent scratch.

"You good sweets?"

"Yeah that's fine."

He leans over you, using his left hand to steady himself high up on your thigh. Heat is pouring off him, the grip of his fingers occasionally making you want to squirm. You're sure you're getting wetter by the second just by being in close proximity to him. There's something about him concentrating the way he was, entirely oblivious to the world and in his element, that made your heart swell.

Each word of encouragement from him, each check in was making your cunt throb, pulse in your core threatening to make you twitch under him.

"Sitting so still, doing so good for me."

"Atta girl, you taking the pain ok?"

"My sweet thing, doing such a great job."

When the outline is complete, he turns off the machine to check in yet again and you feel like you're ready to explode into a horny mist.

"Sitting so well for me pretty girl. Do you need a break?"

"No I'm good," you manage breathily. His eyebrows raise, taking in your flushed cheeks and wide glassy eyes.

'Are you enjoying this sweets?" Smirking, his eyes flit from your face to your baby blue underwear, smiling wider when he eyes the growing wet patch.

"I don't know, it's just, you're really close to, you know, there," you gesture downwards, flushing even further, "but you're not touching me and you keep praising me and-"

"Well you're taking it so well, being such a good girl for me, I've got to let you know right?" He bites his lip, flashing his teeth deviously.

"Eddie" You squirm in your seat, heat of his gaze too much to take. To your surprise, embarrassed, hot tears are starting to form in your eyes, unable to process so much praise and feeling all at once.

"Shush shush, poor sweet girl, don't cry. We've got the shading to do and then I'll reward you." He winks.

You nod dumbly, wiping tears from your eyes; a subby mess on his words alone.

Eddie gets to work on the colouring and shading, constant praises falling from his perfect lips.

You space out, endless accolades making your head fuzzy, taking you away from the perpetual pain. Little by little the background noises disappear, the radio downstairs switches off and the shop sounds empty.

You hear a disembodied voice from the vicinity of the doorway.

"Eds, I'm leaving now, lock up when you're done!"

"No worries bud!" Eddie shouts back, continuing to focus on the red of the rose.

Pain starts to mount again, relentless rasping of the needle starting to take its toll. You wince, doing your best not to tense. Eddie switches to white for the highlights and you hiss at the touch of the needle.

"Ok pretty girl, I know, nearly done I promise."

You nod, hands balled into little fists.

Finally after what seems like an age of little touch ups Eddie declares he is finished. He helps you up onto wobbly legs whilst you hold your skirt up awkwardly and waddle over to the mirror.

Gawping at your new ink, you gasp in astonishment. It's as if he'd plucked a rose at dawn, sprinkled with morning dew, and laid it carefully on your hip.

"Eddie, its perfect, it's incredible, honestly. Thank you." You can barely believe its real. Turning to Eddie you give him a kiss on his lips, soft and lingering.

"No problem pretty girl. Lay back down lemme wrap it for you."

Hopping back onto the leather chair, you lay back on your elbows, watching him cover your new tattoo with plastic wrap and surgical tape.

"Thank you again, I love it. Shall we go?"

"Oh sweet thing, you're not going anywhere."

You look at him in confusion. He takes his gloves off, hungry eyes transfixed on your heat.

"I've sat here, inches away from this pretty pussy, looking at this cute little wet patch and I can't take it anymore. I can fuckin' smell you sweetheart, it's not fair."

A flush blooms over the apples of your cheeks, thighs clenching at his filthy words.

"Scoot down for me."

You wiggle your hips until you're at the edge of the reclined seat, skirt bunching up in the process. Eddie kneels before you and peels your underwear off, carefully avoiding your new ink. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving the hip with the tattoo alone.

"Now I'm gonna be gentle and you can't move, ok? Don't want you smudging." He winks at his joke and starts pressing delicate kisses over your pussy, hot breath tickling you. His tongue pushes into your folds so slowly, running up and down with a languid place. You moan and shudder at the feeling, intensity magnified by how on edge you'd been, waiting for this for hours. Every agonisingly slow movement sent tingles to your core, warmth spreading to the tips of your toes.

High pitched mewls and whines fill the room when Eddie turns his attention to your clit, teasing it gently with his tongue stud, hard nub sending thrilling tendrils of pleasure deep inside you.

"Eddie, fuck that's so good." You whisper, eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie hums into you, continuing to make out lazily with your cunt, his own moans swallowed up by your heat.

Impossible, unimaginable feeling floods your system; it was as if every nerve was singing, blending together into a choir of pleasure. The intensity, the passion, the emotion he was conveying between your legs was pushing you to a precipice, looking down at your potential release from a dizzying height.

It was all too much. Tears fall down your soft cheeks, utterly caught up in so much feeling.

"Eddie, I can't, its, it's too much-"

Hot breath on your cunt, "it's ok, sweet thing, I've got you, let go."

He takes your clit in between his lips and kisses, and kisses, and kisses. Pressing his tongue to it one final time he suckles softly and pushes you over that edge.

Stars collide. Your release meanders through your very soul, ripping away any semblance of breath, clenching and coming with a silent cry, tears still falling. It flows, collects itself and continues, pleasure in perpetuity, leaving no part of you untouched by its warmth. The feeling finally dissipates, leaving you breathless, thoughtless.

You're not sure how long it took for you to return to yourself, but when you do Eddie's pressing the softest kisses to your cheek, lips, nose, even your eyelids. Your eyes flutter open, wet and glossy, and full of feeling for the man in front of you.

"Hey pretty girl."

"Hey baby." You smile softly.

He grins right back; its the first time you've called him a pet name.

"Stay at mine tonight?"

"I might have to, pretty sure that was the best orgasm I've ever had. I may need a wheelchair."

He laughs, cocky grin firmly in place. "I could carry you to the car if its that bad..."

"I'll manage I'm sure." You get up, wobbly as a baby deer but upright. He steadies you, strange look in his you're not used to.

"Eddie, can you pass me my underwear?"

"What underwear?" He's trying to pull a serious face but his mischievous eyes betray him.

"Eddie!" You hit him on the arm. He just laughs in response.

You huff, and smile, and squeal inside at the sheer joy of the moment.

Masterlist

❤ If you want to be added to my tag list please comment/reblog and say so sweet thing (tag list in comments as it's grown arms and legs) ❤

[skyesdaisys]

Hi! Love your work, could you write a dick Grayson fanfic abt him and a quiet female reader warming up to each other (set between season 1 and 2)?

yes, of course!!!! god, i've wanted to write for titans on here so bad i just didn't have the inspo so thank you<333

—

talk to him

titans dick grayson x fem!reader

sunmary: you weren't exactly much of a people person. especially since you were 1 of 2 adults living in a huge tower in san francisco, watching over 3 kids you don't really talk to outside of training. and the only other adult being closed off so who knows what'll happen when he decides to talk to you out of no where

cw: not much, there's just some fluff with a teaspoon of angst because of communication issues (they both suck at small talk and beyond)

a/n: idc what anyone says about this show, it's given me so much comfort and a lot of fun and likable characters. so i'm so glad i can write for them as long as you guys send requests for them. as well as other characters from other shows like yellowjackets and etc. also i love dick grayson, even though he can be a bit annoying in this show (that i can admit) but he's hot so ajsjfndmfmf. also, i'm sorry it took sooooo long, writers block got to me badly these past few months, so i apologize if it's cringey and awkward. but i do give the benefit the doubt here because this story is suppose to be like that (also the fact i'm projecting my "bad at small talk" trait here). two grown adults that can't seem to have a normal conversation, like at all

after the trigon incident you were dragged in by circumstance, you were the only other adult to volunteer to help dick with... whatever he was doing. you didn't have any life to go back to anyways, and you made a connection to everyone else so why part ways and it be unlikely to see them again. sure, you weren't particularly close with the kids, but, what are you supposed to do in order to bond with them? so that left dick in titans tower, but he wasn't as much of a talker as you outside of training.

everyday for the past few weeks have been, eat, train, sleep, repeat on a loop, no 'how was your day' questions, because the days are always the same so there wasn't any point of asking. and you could tell the kids were getting bored of it, very fast, and you could not blame them. being stuck in a repeating pattern with nothing else happening started getting old after the first couple weeks. so, you didn't really know how long it would take til something changed, it couldn't be like this forever.

during this time, you admired the grayson from afar, he was attractive, what else could you say? you weren't an idiot. and you also were aware of his previous entanglements with kory and you didn't wanna be involved in that. and, well... you felt like a teenage girl having a crush on a guy who was going through some shit, so it was better not to bother him.

and not being much of a talker doesn't make the conversation about feelings be any better. like, maybe this was attraction and nothing more? you were aware of the difference between liking someone physically and liking them emotionally (specifically in a romantic sense). but even as you admired him, you learn things about him, paying attention to the little things. deep down, he cared for other people, if he didn't, he wouldn't have taken rachel in and helped her, and he wouldn't have done the same for gar or jason either. people just have their own way of showing their love and care.

but your admiring wasn't exactly subtle. rachel had noticed it when you were looking at dick from across the room, talking with jason. the roth wasn't sugarcoating anything when it came to this, "you keep staring, you're probably gonna be capable of shooting lazers from your eyes." and you knew she was joking around but she caught you by surprise, making you face the young girl. "why is it any of your business?"

"because it's kind of sad seeing you pine for him like this." she points out, "and also, gar and jason made a bet whether or not you'd confess. we have eyes, you know?" and she lightly bumped your shoulder with hers with a smile on her face, "and i'm sure dick feels the same way, though he's not very good of showing it."

"that is ridiculous." you shake your head, "one, i don't like him. not like that. i just think he's cool."

"are you sure about that?" the roth rose her eyebrow, "talk to him." but you were not moving from where you were so rachel decided to take matters into her own hands, she then gave you a push (a literal one) towards him, and now you couldn't run away. all you could say was, "hey..."

"hey." he responded. jason just stood there awkwardly in between the two of you, "okay, well uh—" he pretends to look at a watch that's not even on his wrist, "look at the time, i must be going." and he had immediately ran out of there before dick tried to stop him. there was an silent pause and you were trying to figure out what to say, but before you could, he asks, "do you want some coffee?" all you did was nod. after that, there was even more silence, you two haven't had a conversation that wasn't training related in like, a while. it just felt like you were both strangers who didn't know each other nor were you fond of one another.

"you're just as bad at small talk as i am, huh?" you finally had spoken up. and dick just shook his head, "i don't know what you're talking about, i know how to make small talk."

"oh really?" you rose up your eyebrow, "okay mr. 'i know how to make small talk', what do you wanna talk about? and please, don't let it be training related. because if i have to hear you talk about that one more time, my head is gonna explode." you tried to look irritated, but he could notice a small smile on your face. then he immediately went into the 'deep, emotional' stuff, "you never told me why you came here. you just did, and i'm surprised you stuck around as long as you have."

you answered it anyway, because why not, "well, it's not like i have anywhere else to go." you set down your drink, making direct eye contact at him, "besides, the second i got here, and realized how big this place is and i have my own room... what, did you expect me to pass it up?" and you ended up making him laugh, which was surprising, "what is so funny, i'm just being honest." you were unsure why he was laughing, so you just took a sip of your coffee. he explained, "your honesty is refreshing, that's all."

"really?" and he nodded as a reply. you just sighed, taking your coffee and leaving. it's not like you had anything else to talk about and just sitting there would make it more awkward, so you just left. does it make it any less weird? absolutely not.

you guys didn't talk much after in the next few days, up until you decided to play hero on solo when you see a woman getting mugged by this guy in a mask. it was like one of the many movie cliches that you see brought into reality.

too bad it didn't turn out like expected, where you got shot in the leg. thankfully, the kids were able to track you down and bring you to the infirmary, gar was trying his best to patch you up and rachel was there for emotional support. as for jason... there wasn't much else he can do than just stand watch, up until dick had walked in with a worried expression, and the three teens immediately rushed out of there as soon as he walked in the room. you could've left if you wanted too but, obviously you couldn't.

"jesus fuck, you could've gotten yourself killed, what were you thinking?" all of his emotions were being let out in that moment, it was the most emotion you've seen him express towards you in like... ever. yet you couldn't help but be a bit sarcastic, "yeah, keep yelling... it's not like i'm literally a few feet away from you or whatever."

dick sat on the edge of the bed and started to explain, "sorry, it's just... when i heard what happened, i didn't know how to feel, or express it correctly." he gently set his hand on your injured leg, softly, "just if anything happened to you, i—"

"i'm tougher than you think, grayson." you reassured him, and you noticed a tiny smile creeping up on his face.

"i know it's just... i don't wanna lose anyone else."

you lean up a bit to set your hand on his shoulder, "i'm not going anywhere, dick." you then stopped for a second as you come to realize, "and we just had a conversation that didn't involve small talk. maybe i should get myself hurt more often." you were obviously joking at that last part, but dick's reaction to it was priceless, "i'm kidding. you are just... not what i expected."

"the feeling is mutual."

a part of you wanted to kiss him, that it felt right, but another part was saying how the timing of it all wasn't. and maybe these feelings you're having are actually real. because now, there was something in your heart that was growing that wasn't just admiration, and it felt weird, but a good weird.

maybe when the timing is right, they'll get to it, but until then, your growing friendship in the moment is enough for now.

[khristie16]

The Fast and Forbidden

Charles is a famous F1 driver with everything one could want: fame, fortune, and fans. But he is missing one thing. Being his new personal assistant changes everything for both of them.

— chapter 2 An unspoken connection gradually weaves between them—forged through chess, shared glances, and a mysterious musical encounter.

warnings: sweet af, sexual tension, invading privacy (not the intention), sentimental and romantic author's note: hi guuys, i missed you, uni gets the best of me the past couple months. I received some new requests and I have them all saved for future work. Don't worry, now I have more free time:) stay awesome! taglist: @buendiabebeta, @pondysselth, @clomo12345, @naty-1001, @maxv33rstappen, @f1lov3r, @cmleitora

The next day, I found myself 10,000 meters in the sky, going at such a fast speed that I was relieved my stomach didn't protest. Our destination was Charles's home. I'd never been to Monaco, and my curiosity grew as we got closer. What would it be like standing in the middle of a street, taking in all the beautiful scenery with my own eyes? I adore the sea and warm weather, the culture, and the food. I appreciate different things. That's one more reason I took this job — the chance to travel. It can really shake up your whole routine, but the opportunity to see Monaco and Singapore in less than a week was unimaginable just two months ago. Thank goodness this job pays well.

Watching Charles absorbed in his iPhone made me feel unwelcome. It seemed like I could make funny faces, and he wouldn't even notice. It wasn't a new feeling for me. Sometimes, during quiet nights, I wondered why he was so distant, especially when I'd seen him be a sunshine around others. Initially, I thought it was because we were purely business for each other. But that could apply to anyone on the Ferrari team. Maybe I was overthinking it, and the simple reason was that he just didn't like me. I decided to let it go; there were better things to focus on. Tilting my head, I wondered if things might improve over time. Silently grumbling, I readjusted my seat, still lost in thoughts about him.

"Hey, do you play chess?"

I looked at him like he was an alien and gulped nervously. Yes, I had played chess — once. And to top it off, I was still learning the basics. Not something I was proud of, but hey, not everyone can be Ron Weasley. I laughed like a maniac at my own joke, resulting in his raised eyebrows.

"Sorry… and no, I've never learned."

Surprise and interest showed in his body language as he leaned closer, his blue T-shirt moving against his skin. With a surprisingly high-pitched voice, he laughed.

"Really?"

Fire me or spare me, but please, not this. I didn't know where to focus first — on his beautiful dimples or the fact that he just laughed at me? The smile vanished from his face as he seemed to notice my confusion, but he still smiled with his eyes.

"I mean, I'm surprised. It's like when Carlos once told me he listens to jazz in the morning."

I burst into laughter. It sounded so much like Carlos.

"I just thought you played chess. You look so serious."

Okay, this is getting worse. I must have looked like a crazy woman with diagnosed schizophrenia, and he tells me I look serious? Tell that to a woman, and you shut her down completely. Readjusting my seat again, I focus on the rug under the wooden table.

"I can teach you if you want."

Lifting my gaze, I try to find some hidden answers behind his green eyes, but all I feel is a hot sensation in the pit of my stomach. Wearing a white tank top, I know it's not because of the fabric. He's genuinely smiling, and I take a pause to exhale before nodding my head.

"Do you like to play a lot?"

I ask to smooth things between us, but he just nods and focuses back on the chess pieces on the board. Turning my head to the side, I notice that the closer, the less cloudy it is outside, and I feel an energetic shiver run down my spine.

"I always win. But for you, — I'll make an exception."

My heart stops beating. Why is it so hot in here all of a sudden?

After we landed, our shared ride slipped into an uneasy quiet. In the midst of my spontaneous chess lesson with Charles, laughter and focus filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere akin to the scattered energy of someone wrestling with ADHD. Amid our animated conversation, I lost track of our surroundings; the outside world turned into a distant blur.

A smile graced Charles's lips as he locked eyes with me. In that shared gaze, a fleeting connection unfolded. Happiness shimmered in his green eyes, and an unexplainable urge to draw closer wrapped around me. It felt as if his eyes held a depth I yearned to explore. However, the moment dissolved abruptly. Charles, with a subtle shift in demeanor, reverted to his usual aloofness, extinguishing the warmth that had briefly ignited between us.

"I got my keys copied for you in case you need something from my apartment," he offered, extending the keys.

An unexpected gesture left me grappling with a mix of surprise and uneasiness. Taking the keys, I delicately stashed them into my bag, careful not to make direct contact with his skin.

"My driver will first go to your place. Tell him the address," Charles instructed. Uncomfortable, I shifted in my seat, seeking distraction by scanning the outside world. Families strolled happily, painting picturesque scenes. A flicker of yearning for such simplicity rose within me—an ache for a love that protects and cherishes.

"YN?" Charles's voice interrupted my reverie, demanding my attention.

"I don't have a home," I stated matter-of-factly, my gaze returning to the outside world. Despite the nonchalant tone, the admission carried a weight that lingered in the air.

"I need to visit some company for renting a flat here."

I took in a deep breath, feeling the cool air settle around me. My eyes drifted down, observing how the white tank top hugged my body like a second skin, accentuating the curves beneath. Fingers idly played with the fabric, a quiet excitement brewing inside. In my mind, thoughts twirled, a hidden longing to peel away the clothing, exposing the vulnerability beneath. And this is what Charles does to me. And it is getting dangerous.

"I know a place," Charles declared. He reached for his phone, dialed a number, and engaged in a focused conversation. His determined expression and the play of his toned arms intrigued me. A heat lingered in the air, intensifying the atmosphere within the car.

"Ciao l'amigo," Charles spoke into the phone.

Charles's words flowed, a steady stream escaping his perfect pink lips. My gaze fixated on his profile, an intense scrutiny fueled by a hunger simmering beneath the surface —an irresistible force tempting me to devour him, a longing I hadn't anticipated when accepting this job.

The struggle intensified, threatening to override the professional boundaries I had naively assumed would be steadfast. As Charles's eyes met mine, a sudden freeze paralyzed me in place. His gaze lingered, delight evident in the subtle nuances of his expression, as if he sought to unveil the secrets hidden in the depths of my eyes. The hum of conversation from his friend acted as a backdrop to this silent exchange, heightening the tension that hung between us. I braced myself in anticipation, uncertain of what he sought to uncover.

Abruptly, his attention shifted, his head turning back to its previous position. A wide smile adorned his face as he concluded the call, the sheer charm of it momentarily rendering me breathless. Even without facing me, he seamlessly transitioned to a task on his phone, leaving me suspended in a state of uncertainty and unspoken intrigue.

"I found you a free apartment. Do not worry about money," he said, his attention now absorbed in his phone, leaving me to deal with the unexpected twist.

Days slipped away, and the looming Grand Prix trip to Japan demanded my attention. I meticulously handled remote tasks for Charles, consciously keeping a distance to avoid the unraveling of my composure under the weight of desire. Knowing Charles would be engrossed in a morning squash match with his brothers, I discreetly seized the opportunity to attend to a domestic task: swapping clean laundry for the soiled.

Entering his apartment, arms loaded with bags, I navigated purposefully down the hallway. A distant melody reached my ears, halting my steps. Recognizing the tune, my thoughts paused, and I followed the enchanting notes to their origin.

In the sunlit living room, a grand piano stood like a silent sentinel. There, orchestrating a melancholic melody, was Charles. Our eyes met as I stood there, and he smiled in response to the unexpected serenade.

"That's 'Sadness and Sorrow,'" I stated the obvious, and Charles observed me cautiously. Surprisingly, I overcame hesitation, moving closer and placing my hand on the piano keys. Each note, played with sincerity, carried a hum of remembrance. Charles shifted, creating space for me to join him. As I sat down, my focus on the piano, he positioned his hands beside mine, and we began to play in harmony.

Eyes closed, I allowed the music to transport me, feeling the warmth of our synchronized notes. The vibrational waves between us painted an imagined scene, where I lay on the sea's surface, gently swaying with the waves.

The room resonated with harmonious echoes, our shared melody creating a tangible connection between Charles and me. Vibrational waves seemed to ripple, as if an unseen force wove a tapestry of connection, binding our notes into a seamless symphony. Amid our synchronized play, the world around us faded, and I found myself transported to a different realm.

In my mind's eye, I lay on a mat, gently drifting atop the surface of a tranquil sea. The sun cast a warm embrace, painting the water with hues of gold and azure. The waves, like delicate fingers, played a tender serenade, cradling my body with rhythmic caresses. I surrendered to the immersive sensation, the music becoming the gentle current that carried us on this shared journey.

With Charles beside me, the connection forged through the shared music was palpable, creating a timeless moment where the ordinary world ceased to exist. It was a serendipitous encounter, a convergence of hearts and melodies, leaving me suspended in the beauty of our shared composition on the sea of music.

A genuine smile adorned my face as we played, stealing glances at Charles. His concentration on the music was profound, but when our gazes met, I detected an ocean of emotions in his eyes. The desire to caress his cheek and offer comfort overwhelmed me.

Our fingers danced on the keys, minds lost in the melody. As Charles and I maintained our gaze, I discerned a myriad of colors in his eyes, each shade revealing a facet of emotion that resonated with the melodic symphony we created. In this suspended moment, his face drew nearer, an invisible force pulling us together until we were so close that our breaths mingled, and the air became a shared essence.

The piano keys, now a conduit for our unspoken connection, echoed the final cadence of the song. With a delicate touch, my right arm, closer to him, found a resting place on my thigh, bridging the physical space between us. As the final chords resonated, the room held its breath, encapsulating the unspoken intensity of our shared musical communion. And Charles, hesitating only briefly, mirrored the gesture, his eyes lingering on my lips.

"You're the boat I would protect in my full stormy ocean," he spoke, and the sweet sentiment ignited warmth within. In that moment, nothing else existed but him and his words, a connection forged through music and unspoken understanding.

[ariaste]

Hi! Regarding your recent post about how you taught your writing workshops, I was reading through it and was feeling very inspired (you sound amazing as a teacher), but I also really wish I had a community like that. Since I'm currently focusing on an original work, I was wondering how do you go about finding fellow writers/betas that you can trust with work and form a mutual writing relationship with? I've looked for and joined many communities like Nanowrimo and discord servers over the years, yet nothing seemed to click? So yeah sorry for the bother but I was wondering if you had any advice :D

Re: "you sound amazing as a teacher" -- aw thanks! I was an INCREDIBLE teacher. That might sound kind of vain to say with so much assurance, but it truly was the first time in my life where I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was doing a really, really fucking good job. (And that's WITH my anxiety, so like. Oof.) I just set out on purpose to be the kind of teacher I always longed to have when I was an apprentice writer, and that got me most of the way there. The rest was just spite for all the shitty creative writing classes I'd had before LOL. I'd already seen all the mistakes myself from the other side, so I just came up with better ways of doing things. And then day one of class, I had them all do a self-assessment of what they wanted to learn in the class, what fears they had, etc, and I was really struck by how universal the sense of insecurity and under-confidence was in all their replies. So that just confirmed what I already suspected, to wit: my ONE JOB (and again, this was a "writing and publishing scifi/fantasy" class) was just to hammer in the idea of, "Your ideas ARE cool, the things you think are cool ARE IN FACT COOL, you ARE allowed to write about queer dragons or whatever and that's an awesome thing to be doing and I'm HERE FOR IT." If the one thing a student takes from a creative writing class is more confidence in their writing and more trust in themself, then the goal has been achieved. If a teacher says anything else, we're verging on snobbery (Iowa Writer's Workshop can go get fucked btw)

ANYWAY.

Finding a beta you click with is a lot like finding a friend or a romantic partner who you click with. That is: there's a lot of fish in the sea, but not all of them are going to be right for you, and sometimes it takes a while to find that special person. It sounds like you're doing all of the right things, though, so just keep at it.

That said, a couple lifehacks: do NOT talk about your work with the vibes of "hey, i'm looking for a beta, does anyone want to beta for me?" because (at least in my experience) those acquaintances often turn out to be sort of transactional and shallow -- think of people who walk into any situation like "hey will you be my girlfriend? i'm looking for a girlfriend. do you want to date me as my girlfriend??? will someone please be my girlfriend?" rather than trying to make genuine connections with people as *people* versus the role that the girlfriend-seeker wants to put them in. (Exception to this: Fandom-specific servers where you are looking for a beta for a fic. Then it's less weird to ask out loud for a beta, because you've already established a mutual shared interest/passion. It's not cold-calling in the same way, you get me??)

Instead, aim to project vibes of "I'm having so much fun playing in my sandbox :) I am having so much fun by myself, maybe too much fun in fact [psychically broadcasting that the fun is in such abundance around here that there would be enough to share if someone happened to wander past...]" Post about your work, talk about it in public, give people little excerpts or tidbits you're proud of. Look for people who express interest in the sort of fun you're having, and then start up conversations about it. Look for people who are having the sort of fun of their own that you're interested in, compliment them on it and ask questions, and build a relationship. (If they're writing the sort of thing you're into, chances are that you're writing the sort of thing they're into. Not always, but frequently!)

Sometimes it is possible to take an existing friend who is interested in your work (or at least supportive of it and loving of you) and kind of train them into being a great beta reader even if they themselves are not really a writer. It takes a lot of self-knowledge of what you're looking for and what you need in terms of feedback, it takes some patience and trust in your relationship with them, it takes the ability to negotiate boundaries and ask really good questions, and it takes a friend who is game to try and who likes the sort of things you like. (Personal recommendation: Don't try to get feedback from someone who isn't even interested in the genre that you're writing. A dedicated literary fiction fan is probably going to have a REAL hard time appreciating your gruesome scifi horror book for what it is, and if they're not familiar with the genre conventions, their suggestions are predisposed to be kind of Weird and Not Right For What You're Writing. Accept their love and support, but also accept that neither of you are going to have a good time if they try to beta for you.)

Trying to build relationships in an open community like a forum or a Discord server is a good way to cast a wide net, but all deep lasting relationships happen on a single line between you and the other person, so look for opportunities to talk to people one-on-one in DMs to build that kind of creative intimacy.

It takes time! But if you're open about the things that are bringing you joy and you're talking about them and setting them out in plain sight, the right people will eventually be drawn to your joy/fun like moths to a flame. Humans cannot resist that shit.

If you've been doing that and it's still not working, check in with yourself -- is your project actually bringing you joy, or are you going through the motions? Readjust, reorient yourself, try again. Lean into it. Go hard or go home. If you're really truly genuinely having fun by yourself, then your eventual readers will too.

If you're doing all THAT and it's STILL not working (that is, if people are expressing initial interest but you can't hold their attention and they wander off once they read your work), then that's a signal that you've got a tension problem.

GOOD LUCK. You will find your people eventually, just keep going! :)

[genericpuff]

Rachel "Retcon" Smythe Strikes Again!

Okay, so I've been seeing pictures of Volume 4 of Lore Olympus floating around, and people are ALREADY FINDING RETCONS.

Most notably so far, some added panels in the Hades and Apollo confrontation that happens outside Artemis' house (when Persephone steals Apollo's lyre) in Episode 81.

This is the original scene, for anyone who needs a refresher:

Aaaand here are the panels that were added.

(all pictures of Volume 4 are courtesy @iwannagutyou on IG!!! thank you for giving me permission to use these! <3)

First of all, the art. It's so noticeably bad. You can tell Rachel has completely lost her ability to draw these characters in the S1 style, I'm fairly certain she took the panel of Hades from the old version and just copy pasted it to try and get around it (look at the posing) but it's incredibly obvious looking at that third panel that LO is not and can never be what it was back in 2017-2019. Those first two panels seem like they were copy pasted from the previous ones, which is just sad if those are the lengths she has to go to to come even close to replicating the older style.

Now, this just might be due to camera translation, it could very well look better IRL, but the colors just look so incredibly desaturated and the lines blurred out, to the point that people are doing double takes over whether or not panels have been directly changed - they haven't been, they've just been so sucked dry of their colors that they look off enough to cast suspicion.

If anything it's a harsh reminder that LO has kinda always had art problems, especially with its lazy humor and stupid meme faces.

Of course, to be fair, color loss can happen in print, but seeing how slapped together these books tend to be, I wouldn't be surprised if they just didn't put in the effort to convert the page art to CMYK or at least tinker with the saturation in editing some more to ensure it would come out more vibrant in print.

Now. Excuse me while I go on a bit of a crackpot rant here. Newbie puff pals beware, because this is gonna get dicey and you're about to learn where my tinfoil-hat rep comes from but I just have to talk about it.

Back to the added Apollo panels, where Persephone asks Hades not to hurt him and he looks nervous before she says "I just want him to leave".

Maybe it's just me, but it's a little weird that THESE are the panels they decided they needed to add. It's weird that she's asking Hades not to hurt Apollo when she's about to break into his car and steal his lyre just a few moments later. It's weird that the implication seems to be that she's referring to Hades' act of violence towards Tori... but Persephone doesn't know that's happened yet. So this feels like an unnecessary retcon that's doing more harm than good.

But I feel like the timing of this is kinda messed up as well, as this book released just days after the release of the last FP episode in which Apollo has his 'side' of the assault story told through his perspective, which is often considered a HUGE no-no in writing assault stories because it often comes with the implication that it's asking for empathy from the audience. We already know Apollo is delusional, we already know he thinks him and Persephone are meant to be despite her constant rejection of him, we didn't need a flashback from his own warped perspective explaining that very thing, the only purpose to do such a thing this late in the game would be to try and get the audience to 'connect' with him (it's giving S3 Bryce from 13 Reasons Why vibes). Now we have this scene of Persephone asking Hades not to hurt him (despite the structure of the episode being literally fine before, this change wasn't needed) getting snuck into the physical book release just a couple days after the newest FP tried to present Apollo in an empathetic light (and let me tell you, that's a whole essay and a half that I'll be getting into eventually).

Shit, if I wanted to get REAL Pepe Sylvia with it, I might say that hypothetically, the whole point of the random Leuce abuse episode - despite Persephone having no way of knowing what she attempted as Hades hadn't told her and she wasn't there to see it and we weren't shown her overhearing them in any way - and the following episode that was mostly padding of Hades and Persephone having sex - no consequences or follow-up whatsoever to the Leuce scene - was just to pad out the episode release schedule and buy time until the book came out so that Rachel could release that Apollo POV episode right before the book came out and revealed those new added scenes of Persephone asking Hades not to hurt Apollo, in what could be a sly artificial attempt at minimizing the SA plot so Rachel can finally just brush aside the one major plot point she regretted writing the most. After all, it wouldn't be the first time Rachel's controlled the pace of her comic to release certain moments at certain times that line up with IRL events.

But, y'know. I'm gonna quit on that thought while I'm ahead because it's probably making my credibility meter drop into the red. My ADHD has been real bad lately and it's really starting to show LMAO All ima say is that IDK who Rachel thinks she's fooling here, this kind of shit is stupid easy to fact check when the digital version of the comic is available online to read.

To end on a much funnier and lighter note, remember how Rachel tried to retcon the Demeter/Hera/Hestia relationship by changing the line "I miss my sisters" to "I miss my friends"? Well, there was one panel that had been missed in the webtoons version that still refers to them as sisters. You can still find this unedited line in Episode 78.

And uh. They forgot to fix it again for the book.

It's permanent now. That's permanent marker. It would have cost them nothing to find this in the webtoon version and fix it before it got sent to the book editors. Now it's gonna cost them thousands because the book editors didn't bother (or know) to check.

There's also this... weird shit going on with the speech bubbles. Like, they're REALLY FUCKING OVERDOING IT with the speech bubble outlines. I don't know who made this choice but it was a bad one. Gross. Don't do that. It looks so cheap.

But let's be real, at this point I feel like the book editors are just outright sabotaging Rachel because who the fuck calls themselves a professional when they do this shit-

Oh, and there's no bonus episode, just sketches. Which is fine. But it makes me chuckle to think that Rachel just didn't have time in her already razor-thin buffer to draw up a new episode to pass off as "cut content".

[smbiotics]

[A little snippet of what I've been working on the past couple of days. This can totally be read as a pre-relationship oneshot all on its own honestly, but I've got it in my head recently that an ensign Jim Kirk accepting an assignment on an entirely Vulcan-manned science vessel with Spock as it's captain would be incredibly compelling. Enjoy!]

He comes to in a room shrouded in darkness, the only hints of illumination from moonlight slanting through lateral steel beams framing the exterior wall like a decorative trim. Aside from this detail, Jim can sparsely make out any other features of his prison, though he does assess that there is another organic lifeform within the confines of the space fairly quickly.

With an undignified yelp, Jim startles backward at the sound of the creature breathing scant inches from him. A confusing jumble of limbs and the ache of joint over-extension follows, further disorienting the near-blind officer, until—

And thank God, actually, because Jim would recognize that voice over his own.

“Ensign,” says the voice, not without its fair share of exasperation.

“Captain,” he breathes, so greatly relieved to find he isn’t about to be eaten by some foreign predator in an undisclosed location. “Oh, fuck. I thought I was a goner for sure. Where the hell are we?”

Spock clicks his tongue, clearly displeased by the vulgarity but also not so much to properly chastise him. “We appear to be prisoners.” He says this in the same way most humans would informally follow up with, duh. Though he isn’t sure there is enough lighting for anyone to witness it, Jim grins triumphantly nonetheless.

Experimentally, Jim tests the feeling in his hands by wiggling his fingers. Above him, Spock hisses out something in Vulcan and one of his legs kick down and jars Jim, yanking on the juncture where their arms are still very, very attached. It’s a wonder his elbows don’t pull right out of socket.

A twinge in his arm reminds him of his rather precarious position. Spock seems to have gotten the better end of the strapped-to-another-person deal, since he has the good fortune to be able to lean comfortably against the exterior wall, legs extended and bent at the knee. Between which, of course (just his luck), Jim lies sprawled on his belly, yellow shirt riding up and exposing a strip of said torso to the cool ground below him. He has never wished he followed regulation more stringently before in his life; at least if he had in this instance, his tucked black undershirt would have saved him a modicum of dignity. Hindsight, twenty-twenty, whatever. Then, his attention is drawn to his hands, which are attached to some terribly tingly arms.

The metal cuffs—if they can rightly be called such—cover his arms to the elbow and cross at his wrists, entirely encasing every inch of skin between. Spock’s cuffs mirror his. At the palms, the cuffs wrap around only the backs of their hands, pressing their palms pretty snuggly together, right to right and left to left. As if the discomfort couldn’t get any worse, the connection of their cuffs extends to the wrists, leaving very little room for finding any position even remotely comfortable.

“Son of bitch,” Jim curses into the cement flooring with a regulation boot digging insistently into his side. Spock seems to shake out whatever the hell had briefly possessed him, because the foot retreats quickly after that.

“So,” he asks after several long seconds of breathing unevenly into the ground. “Is this the new normal? Will we have to learn to cohabitate? I’m kind of a slob.”

“Your incessant witticisms are unwelcome,” Spock states emphatically.

“They’re welcome everywhere, Captain. It’s a universal fact.”

“I do not doubt that you believe that.”

“Aww, you know me so well,” Jim coos, though the faux flirting does fall a little flat when he can’t flash his big ol’ doe eyes at Spock. “Look at us! We’re practically married already. Fair warning: I’m a high-maintenance gal.”

Spock doesn’t respond for a moment, and for a second Jim wilts, assuming he won’t rise to the bait. Then, as if the Vulcan just can’t help himself, he says, “Strictly for clarification purposes, I am compelled to ask: does your self-identification as a ‘high-maintenance gal,’” (Jim can sense the air quotes. They aren’t physical ones—he would feel them against his own palms—but they’re there, all the same.) “extend past impromptu quips, or does it, like most of your other unsolicited narrations, serve only to disarm?”

“Oh, now we’re flirting? The Captain thinks I’m disarming,” Jim sing-songs, then wriggles around inelegantly on the ground in an effort to ease the ache in his joints, trying to ignore the fact that Spock’s crotch is about half a foot from his face. After much uninterrupted shuffling, he lets out a frustrated grunt. He may not be claustrophobic, but anyone would be greatly agitated by the sheer lack of mobility being chained up from elbow to wrist creates. “Listen, I hate to be the kind of guy to complain, but I gotta get out of these cuffs. And, barring that option, I at least have got to sit up or risk needing a double amputation of the arms. Or insanity. Whichever comes first.”

Spock stays quiet, but he does shuffle backwards a touch before carefully raising their joined arms. The leverage allows Jim to get his knees up under him, then from there he sort of–pauses.

He’s got options, for sure, but none are exactly inspiring.

Up on his knees like this, fingertips pressed to fingertips, Jim realizes just how close their bondage forces them, especially in the search for comfort. He could sidle his knees up to press flush against Spock’s thighs. Fuck.

“Ensign?” Spock addresses drily, perhaps curious as to why Jim has stopped both his incessant speech and his restless wriggling all at once. He still can’t see much, not with the hailing dark of the room, but his eyes have adjusted enough that he can pretty clearly make out the milk chocolate of Spock’s eyes, and for fuck’s sake, that is doing wayyy too much for him.

But he’s gotta talk, or risk being caught staring like a creep.

“Hnngh,” he manages, then wishes he could smack a hand to his face. “Sorry. Something stuck in my throat. Dry. Dry mouth, ‘cause I’m thirsty.”

“You have been unconscious throughout the duration of our stay.” Like it’s some sort of vacation. “In this time, I have calculated that we are monitored every two-point-two-three hours. As they have each time before, I am certain that, during their next patrol, our captors will provide necessary sustenance that will reduce your discomfort.”

Jesus, like wading through shallow water every time he opens his mouth. “Wonderful.” Then, before he can think better of it, he asks, “Permission to straddle your lap, Captain?”

Although his expression does not technically change, Jim imagines it might take on an even more bored look. “Permission denied.”

“But Captain. Caaaaptaaain. Please. My knees are falling asleep.”

“Permission considered. Permission pending.” Spock pauses as if actually thinking, but neither his expression changes nor do his eyes even waver from boring directly into Jim’s. “Permission denied.”

Spock’s eyes widen practically microscopically, but Jim catches it because he’s not just looking; oh, no, he’s fucking searching.

“Don’t make me wiggle my fingers again.” It’s a pretty hollow threat in the scheme of things, yet they still drag a greater reaction out of Spock than anything else he’s said yet as his eyes dart down at their joined hands and back up again. Those brown eyes assess his, as if trying to pin down just how serious he is, so Jim (curious; always too curious for his own good…) allows juuust his pinky to barely, barely shift to the left.

“Permission granted,” Spock finally allows, a strange but unidentifiable quality to his voice.

Gleefully, Jim pushes higher up onto his knees and sways his balance back and forth to individually swing both legs over Spock’s. After some minor adjusting, Jim finally settles back onto Spock’s strong thighs and thinks (because he can’t say it out loud without probably being murdered), damn. Probably the first motherfucker to sit here, huh?

Spock says nothing, but it is clear he could be more comfortable, for sure. Which is totally fair, because sitting in his ship captain’s lap isn’t Jim’s first choice for leisure. Sure, he’s thought about it in more recreational settings. This exact position, even, though maybe without the excessive bondage. It's suuuper taboo—but that just makes the idea of it that much hotter, ‘specially for Jim.

And, fuck, for the life of him he cannot get those eyes out of his head; the eye contact is so focused that it bleeds everything to the wayside… to be fucked with those eyes looking right into his soul—

“James,” Spock interrupts his rumination, sounding strangled. Jim’s instantly on high alert, certain there is an immediate threat that he hasn’t caught onto yet, so he leans this way and that to look around. He doesn’t sense anything—a pin drop would be deafening in the still quietness of their cell. With furrowed brows, he returns his gaze to his Captain’s, and kind of freezes in place.

Because Spock is—no. Surely it isn’t possibly, but newly gathered evidence would certainly argue with him. In the dimness of the room, Jim can just barely make out a tinge of green dusting Spock’s face. He’s blushing. No fucking way.

“No fucking way,” Jim repeats aloud. “Vulcans can blush?”

It doesn’t occur to him, in this exact moment, to really consider the why.

Spock averts his gaze. Well. His eyes shift from making direct eye contact to looking at the space marginally to the left of Jim’s eyes. “No,” he admits. Then, just as quickly as he had noticed the distinct coloration, it dissipates like it had never been there at all.

“You totally made that go away. How did you do that? Do you just—suck it back up into your body, or something? Like breathing through gills?”

“A wildly inaccurate comparison,” he says thinly. “And assumption, for that matter.”

What Jim wouldn’t give to jab him in the cheek right now, superior officer be damned. He’d risk it all right now just for some good ol’ fashioned slapstick. (It’s been far too long since he’s yucked it up with another human in person.)

“Ain’t you cute,” Jim adopts a seriously terribly southern drawl. “Blushing ‘cause you got a hot piece of ass in your lap.”

Oh, and thus appears the eyebrow of death: Spock’s always so good at looking greatly disappointed without a drop of emotion altering his expression.

“What, hit the nail on the head, did I?”

“As there are currently no implements within our reach to carry out such an activity, I should say not.”

Jim leans forward conspiratorially. “Was that a joke, Captain? A–what’d you call it? Incessant witticism? Careful, sir, I think your fondness is showing!” He can tell that Spock is physically preventing himself from reacting in any way that could be considered emotional, which is so thrilling. If just a little teasing can get him riled up like this, Jim wonders what Spock would do with a mouth wrapped around his—

“Jim.” Uh-oh. That’s a, you’ve been caught watching porn on the school desktop, ‘Jim.’ Like a deer-in-headlights, he blinks innocently down at Spock. “I can only assume that you did not attend a culture sensitivity seminar regarding Vulcans prior to your assignment to my ship.”

Oh. That’s not exactly what he was expecting. “Sure, I did. It was required. I mainly slept through it, though. Memorized enough to pass the exit exam.”

Clearly frustrated and mad about that, Spock shutters between furrowing his brows and smoothing them to their neutral position. Very carefully, very slowly, like Jim is a child: “Vulcan telepathy is limited to touch.”

Jim blinks. Then, blinks again. And once more as he glances down to where their hands rest splayed palm to palm.

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Abruptly, Jim’s face flames up, a perfect parallel to his Vulcan counterpart just minutes ago. “Oh, fuck,” he acknowledges blandly. “Captain, I’m so sorry. God. That’s… well. That’s unfortunate, is what it is, that I didn’t know that like ten minutes ago. I woulda kept my, erm, impulsive human thoughts under tighter lock and key.” He drops his head backwards, staring unseeingly at the pitch black ceiling. “I’ve violated like… fifteen sexual harassment regulations.”

“Surely only fourteen,” Spock states in his typical monotonous tenor, and Jim bursts out laughing, leaning a little more into the Captain’s space.

“God, I bet you’d get crucified telling a joke like that to another Vulcan,” Jim teases, and he doesn’t really notice but their foreheads nearly brush with their renewed proximity. Any closer and the strain on their arms would probably snap Jim back into awareness, into how wildly unprofessional and inappropriate he continues to be with his fucking captain, but Spock has been nothing if not receptive to the attention—the flirting—the touch…

Their noses brush. Jim can’t tell if he’s the only one leaning in, but he can tell that Spock’s eyes have sort of gone half-lidded, that they continue to dart between Jim’s eyes and his lips, and if that isn’t an invite in and of itself—

But of course, this is the precise moment when the door swings open, and two large lifeforms enter with an imposing Vulcan woman trailing behind them. First Officer T’mock salutes Spock, and the hiss-and-click between his and Jim’s body precedes the dull thud of their cuffs coming loose and releasing them.

After that, well. It’s a whirlwind of labyrinthine prison cells and heated negotiating with the locals, but then they’re being beamed aboard the Duhal’im once more where they belong, and Spock doesn’t even look his way once.

Despite everything else that happened in that room, it’s Jim’s fingertips that tingle for hours after their hands separate.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Heya! I hope you're having a great day! I saw in your askbox guidelines that you're open to advice asks so I thought I'd drop by but please delete this if you're uncomfortable! I know this is a MASSIVE ask so I really will not be offended if you don't want to answer. Para in this context is meaning another character in my paracosm that I interact with instead of being. If anyone else sees this and wants to add their own opinions in the notes, please do!

I'm really struggling to figure out if I'm plural so I thought I'd get your opinion (/nf) given I've been using the resources off your blog for months LOL. I have a potential headmate who was originally a maladaptive daydreaming para. This para would be a fictive from a popular game. He follows the same archetype I've latched onto for paras since I was little & has told me he sees the other characters as similar to him when asked. I've been daydreaming since I was 4ish, he has been my para since I was 11. I'm currently 17. I'm going to bullet point real quick to stop it being an absolute wall of text! Reasons I have to believe he might be a headmate:

He often expresses different opinions to me or interest in different topics.

He seems to generally know almost all of what's going on/what has happened, but sometimes asks me to remind him or explain something (moreso for stuff several years back).

His voice sounds different in the internal monologue.

I think I've sensed him watching what I've been doing in the past & possibly felt him be triggered by stuff relating to his source.

One of the times he interacted unprompted was due to me being very negatively triggered.

He has gender dysphoria (see the bit below).

He's nothing like me identity wise. He's middle-aged and a cis guy and I'm fairly certain he has a different sexuality.

Reasons I doubt him:

He only speaks once prompted or once I think about him passively, excluding a couple of rare occasions. I very rarely hear from him unprompted at the moment unless I'm stressed.

He has never fronted fully. We might've switched once or twice in the past (though it was more co-fronting). It normally feels like the internal monologue switching to be his in the front & mine in the back. I'd say the terms non-possessive & monoconscious would be most fitting. I think us being able to switch on demand that early though feels wrong - though we can't always. Oh adding it here as it connects but not as a point against him: these 'switches' are sometimes accompanied by gender dysphoria, though I'm genderqueer anyway. His dysphoria is more for being male though (I actually realised I wasn't cis because of him abt 3 years back!).

I can talk to any fictional character I've engaged a lot with due to maladaptive daydreaming. I'm nervous I'm just daydreaming him tbh or forcing his responses bc sometimes he merges with my daydreaming and the lines blur.

I had a past episode where I thought I was a system a few years back but that was unrelated to him (though he was an 'alter' in that) and totally ungrounded in anything LOL.

As far as labels go, I think we might be median?? Perhaps OSDD but unlikely. I got a 35.7 on the dissociative experiences scale denoting OSDD but I got 21 on the MIID (though that felt heavily geared towards aggressive and/or childlike alters imo). I promise I'm not looking for a yes or no or a diagnosis or anything! Just any general opinions/pointers/advice you've got. It's good to hear the opinions of outsiders sometimes. Don't feel pressured to say yes either, I won't feel invalidated if you're like "urmm no that's definitely something else" because it very possibly is! If anyone else sees this and wants to add their own opinions in the notes, please do! This is all /nav /lh

hey, so we (and anyone else, really) can’t confirm or deny whether or not you’re plural. in the end, it’s going to be something you have to figure out or decide for yourself(ves). no one knows you better than you know yourself, after all, especially not people online.

plurality is an at-will label that anyone at all can use if they feel like it fits for them. it’s a label you can put on and take off at your own discretion as it works for you. if you feel plural, you’re welcome to call yourself plural, and you belong in the community just as you are. if you ever realize and decide that you’re not actually plural in the future, no harm done. it’s okay to question, and it’s okay to be wrong. it’s all a part of learning and growing as a person.

it is totally possible for someone with maladaptive daydreaming to consider the beings from their daydreams as headmates. in fact, paragenic as a term refers to systems whose plurality originated from madd or some other form of immersive daydreaming.

switching is not a requirement for plurality. our partner system is plural, and they do not switch at all. having imaginary friends or talking to characters in your mind doesn’t always have to be a plural experience, but it definitely could be. it all depends on your comfort level and how you and your potential headmates choose to identify. you very well could be a median system, if you feel like that label works for you.

as far as osdd goes, we will say that complex dissociative disorders (like did and osdd) do often arise from a history of repeated childhood trauma. these disorders form by helping children dissociate or disconnect from overwhelming stress or painful situations as a method of survival. it is absolutely possible to be plural or a system without a complex dissociative disorder, but it is not possible to develop a cdd without a history of repeated trauma in childhood.

if you suspect that you may have osdd, we can’t stress enough the importance of seeking outside help, preferably from a understanding, trauma-informed therapist or counselor. while we do believe it is possible and sometimes necessary for individuals to self-diagnose, healing from the complex trauma that accompanies dissociative disorders like osdd may require some form of outside guidance and/or support.

we’ll leave you with this post we have with resources for questioning systems. if you’ve been following us for a while, you’ve probably already seen it, but we’re sharing it anyway.

and of course, if anyone reads this who has advice for anon, you’re welcomed and encouraged to share :)

discovering and coming to terms with potential plurality can be a difficult, lengthy process. please don’t rush yourself on this journey, and give yourself space to breathe and process as you try to come to a conclusion about whether or not you’re a system (or a member of one). we’re always happy to help however we can if you have any more questions throughout this process and beyond. best of luck to you :)

[vickyvicarious]

Somehow Arthur feels very, very close to me. I seem to feel his presence warm about me. I suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give Love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills. I know where my thoughts are. If Arthur only knew!

I know there have been a bajillion thinkpieces written lectured and adapted about how blood giving or taking is sex and sexual appetite etc but man vampire lore is sleeping on blood being a vessel of one's love

So true!

Especially when we consider the difference between the vampires drinking vs. the humans transfusing. Like, I was musing about this exact thing the other day. With each transfusion, Van Helsing (et al) is performing a kind of medical vampirism. But there are a couple key differences between that and actual vampirism. And the love is the biggest one.

We see humans giving blood as an expression of their love. They are willingly sacrificing their own health to heal another. The first transfusion makes this extremely clear, with Arthur speaking of his devotion using the words:

"My life is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for her."

And that's before he even knows she needs it! Love and devotion and bleeding for another are already linked concepts in his mind, and this line makes the connection clear to readers too. As for the result - in this diary entry you quote, Lucy describes the effect as not only a physical boost, but a kind of spiritual/emotional one too. It's not just that she is physically doing better and feeling happier because of that. She is specifically thinking of Arthur after he has given her blood, and feels her love for him stronger than ever. There's a sense that his blood, full of his love for her, is in her veins now, and her love for him is strengthened by it. After Jack gives her blood, we get one of the best moments in their relationship, with the shared secret/smile at one another about the past failed proposal. I think this is such a wonderful gesture of friendship and platonic love. I wouldn't be surprised if Lucy is feeling closer than ever to him in that and similar moments too... and it doesn't have to be because of his blood in her veins, but couldn't that be a contributing factor? (We can also say maybe empath!Lucy helps her feel the effect of the emotion in the blood even more, but that's slightly beside the point.)

I've even wondered if perhaps in-universe, emotional connection makes a transfusion more likely to be successful. Remember, at the time the book was written, blood types had not yet been figured out, so the success or failure of transfusions was kind of a mystery (though only for another like three years after publishing). We can easily say "oh, Lucy is conveniently a universal recipient" and leave it at that. But thematically, it would be quite fitting if the closeness between two people makes them more likely to have their blood 'accepted'. It would also fit with the comments Van Helsing made that Arthur "can do more than any that live," or is "better than me, better than my friend John" when it's time for him to give Lucy blood. Sure, it makes logical sense for someone who isn't her doctor to do it, and he is young and healthy (and tall! more blood!), but there's also a sense that he has more 'right' to do so than the others, because he is her lover. If we run with that, the love linking them makes his blood more effective, or at least more likely to be accepted.

Now, let's contrast all of this good, love-filled blood-gifting with vampires, shall we? Just as Arthur spoke of his love in terms of giving blood, the vampires speak of taking blood in terms of love:

"He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all."

(Not to mention the whole "you never love"/"oh yes I can" exchange afterwards. That's an even more explicit example in a lot of ways, just a bit longer than this one line.) In a sense, vampires taking blood is an expression of their 'love'. But as I discussed in the post linked above, a vampire's version of love is predatory. It consumes. They don't accept blood that is willingly given. Instead they take blood, and forcibly compel people to 'offer' it to them by suppressing their minds/negative emotions in a hypnotic trance. This is where you could bring back the sex comparison, but only in the sense of an assault. They might make their victims come to them, but they aren't really consenting. There's a reason the word love is in quotation marks for them! And the absence of blood being willingly given means that rather than being a vessel for love like we see amongst the humans, instead any link created between the vampire and their 'donor' is very predatory. There is a connection created there, but it's one that is designed to make it easier to feed more, to corrupt their victim more. Maybe Dracula can feel Lucy in some way, just like she felt Arthur - but maybe it's more in the sense of him being able to know where she is or to influence her more. In fact, there is plenty of suggestion that some kind of psychic link is created between a vampire and their victim, one that can perhaps go both ways at times (such as Jonathan possibly getting a glimpse of Dracula's plans after being drunk from) but typically only serves to weaken and manipulate the victim (Lucy unable to remember or speak about what happens to her, down to the point of even hiding her bitemarks with her choker; if we go back to that Jonathan scene, his brain fever coming on so abruptly could be some sort of psychic attack/backlash).

There are also some interesting implications regarding spoilers, so I'm going to put those under a cut:

Firstly, Mina being forced to drink Dracula's blood clearly establishes a connection between them. It is explicitly a corrupting influence, and is described as being like a "poison" - very much the opposite of the strengthening connection Lucy experiences with willingly given human blood. And some of that is clearly just due to it being a vampire's blood, but maybe the fact that she's forced to ingest it against her will could be a factor too. Like, Lucy is unaware of getting transfusions, but they're all from people she loves and who love her, so her body doesn't reject them. I wonder whether, if someone really wanted to become a vampire and very willingly drank the vampire blood, then the process of turning into one might be easier or faster than the slow, disorienting decline Mina suffers in canon. Obviously how much human blood you have left in you and how close you are to dying makes a difference too, as seen with Lucy. And we don't officially know if Dracula made Lucy drink his blood too and that's always part of the vampire transformation, or if that was an extra magical measure against Mina. So it's getting way into speculation.

But the drinking blood = connection is definitely made clear with Mina. She is able to turn that against Dracula, so it at least can go both ways when the blood-giver is supernatural. I doubt it would go both ways with an ordinary human donor, but it still could support Lucy getting more connected with the people giving her blood. In fact, you could play around with that idea since she's also connected to Dracula as his victim.

.

Anyways, speaking of getting super far into speculation, let's dive a little more into the idea of a willing donor/victim for a vampire. For example, the reason a vampire doesn't get the loved-up connection is not necessarily entirely inherent to their nature, but to the behavior that nature leads to. Maybe it's the way they are preying on people and taking things that twists whatever connection is created into such a bad thing. And if so, what would happen if a human willingly donated their blood to a vampire as an expression of love?

Instead of taking, the vampire would be accepting a gift. Maybe then the love really would flow through. Maybe, even, this would mean that the person giving the blood didn't suffer as many negative effects, and the vampire drinking the blood would receive some of that more healing influence. You all know what I'm getting at. If Jonathan gave his blood to Mina in full knowledge of what was happening, would it connect her to him even more strongly? Would it, rather than hastening her descent into vampirism, conversely help her hold on to her humanity because she feels more connected to his very human love? Maybe he wouldn't suffer the same effects as usual victims - he wouldn't forget and maybe he wouldn't even feel as weakened as blood loss usually should make someone feel. Maybe he'd even get a bit of vampiric influence leaking back, but only the beneficial stuff.

It's not something I've ever considered before, but it could be a really fun idea to play with. You could even make a case for it in canon if you really tried, citing stuff like Jonathan's cold hands and flinging the coffin near the end of the book, and Mina's certainty about his location and safety. She feels the humanizing emotional connection and his presence; he isn't weakened and maybe even gets some vampiric strength/intimidating vampire aura when he needs it. Rather than a predatory connection, it is one which goes both ways and strengthens both, because it combines the supernatural elements of a vampire with the strengthening effects of willingly given love-filled blood.

That might only work in the short term, and the vampiric corruption would overwhelm and ruin things in the long run, of course. And you definitely don't have to go down that road at all in the first place. Or all the way - maybe you only like the idea of his blood helping her feel more connected to him/feel his love for her, rather than going down the whole rabbithole. But however much you use, it's a fun concept to play with, I think!

[maya-matlin]

hiiiii ashton <333 I know we've talked about it before but I recently was on a video and saw some comments that angered me and you know I ship leyton and brulian too but I just wanna hear your thoughts because you always give the best ones!! why do you personally prefer brucas over leyton? why don't you ship leyton? and what do you think about the comments from people saying how leyton were always supposed to be endgame even though s2&3 it certainly didn't feel that way!! and about the comments saying that chopia breaking up had nothing to do with it even though they broke up before brucas actually got back together and they could've very easily not put them together after chopia broke up if they wanted to lol I'm just very curious about your thoughts and don't really wanna discuss it in messenger tbh this is easier so I get all your opinions lol I love you so much and you always give the best responses and answers when I ask you things!! 💞💞💞

I literally don't, but thank you for saying that 💙💙 First things first, I did ship Lucas and Peyton in the past. So on some level, I understand the appeal because I also fell for them when I started watching One Tree Hill. Truth be told, one day I just snapped out of it. Before season 6 even premiered, I was watching my season 5 DVD and finding myself frustrated with the LP story line while appreciating the dynamic between Brucas. Anyways, since then I've watched every episode multiple times and analyzed both by myself and sometimes with others why exactly I don't root for Leyton and prefer Brucas. To me, they're representative of a lot of tropes that will never be my favorite. Meant to be from the pilot couples are always going to be a hard sell. The chemistry had better be something special and the ongoing story needs to be more than, "I immediately know you better than everyone else in your life after having a handful of conversations." There are always exceptions to this rule. Sometimes I fall for the ship fast (Stelena, sorry). Other times it takes until nearly the entire first season or until the second (Ephram/Amy from Everwood, Max/Liz from OG Roswell, Spelivia) for me to get past the beginning and appreciate what the couple is at the heart of it. Needless to say, this sums up Leyton (derogatory). So much of their connection is told to the audience rather than shown. From day one, it's automatically clear that this is the couple to root for. Their only real obstacle, Nathan, is a comically terrible, borderline abusive boyfriend, so the fact Lucas in early season 1 is the anti Nathan pushes him incredibly hard as Peyton's ideal match. Once Brucas starts up, there's an immediate difference in energy and chemistry. Both Lucas and Peyton take themselves so seriously. It's always deep feelings and angst and brooding and "oh, we want to be together, but the circumstances are just too hard." And meanwhile, it's only like episode 9. Brooke has deep feelings and her own insecurities, but on the outside she doesn't take life super seriously and is someone who acts rather than internalizing everything. Brooke's influence on Lucas's life feels like a breath of fresh air. Lucas begins to loosen up and see that there can be more to life than his preconceived ideas of how the world works and how everyone should be acting. On Lucas's end, he encourages Brooke to develop her intellectual side and see that she has so much more to offer than being the life of the party and someone who gets validation from sleeping with a lot of guys. Lucas is the first person Brooke wants to get serious with. Even better, this is a story line we actually get to see play out. When Lucas and Brooke talk about what they like about each other, it all tracks because we've been watching their attraction bloom and seeing how in a lot of ways, they're at their best together. Sorry, this is getting long. This is all solely based on season 1. By the end of the season, Lucas and Peyton cheat for the first time. This sadly becomes a pattern for them. Brooke is emotionally devastated. And though Lucas immediately seems to feel guilt over hurting Brooke, it takes him time to see how far he's strayed from the type of person he wants to be.

Season 2 is a massive gamechanger for Brucas. This is the first time they're truly able to be friends. Without the expectation of a relationship, Brooke and Lucas are able to connect on a deeper level. Yet again, this is something shown to us rather than told. This is the kind of relationship both took the time to develop. Much like in season 1, Lucas encourages Brooke to invest in her more intellectual, soulful side. Lucas himself works on being more selfless, taking the time to improve as a person. Unlike when Lucas pined for Peyton while she was dating Nathan and embarked on an affair during his first relationship with Brooke, this time Lucas allows Brooke's relationship with Felix to play out without any interference while still being a friend. Lucas is aware of his own feelings, but he also knows how badly he hurt Brooke in the past and has no reason to think a second chance is even a possibility. When Lucas kisses Brooke after months of close friendship and opening up to each other emotionally (albeit with Brooke understandably on guard post cheating and Lucas hiding his rediscovered feelings), it feels earned. The third season is a mixed bag. At its best, season 3 Brucas is a perfect mix of seasons 1 and 2 Brucas. Both seem to be equally emotionally invested in the relationship working out and view each other as basically their endgame. But the fun and the lightheartedness exist, as well. Brooke is still someone who brings light and fun to Lucas's life. On Lucas's end, it starts to get murky as the show gets closer and closer to the shooting episode. After spending so much time veering away from the possibility of Lucas and Peyton together with emphasis on Lucas's love for Brooke, the strength of the Brooke/Peyton friendship and even how Lucas and Peyton are actually able to be platonic, healthy friends themselves, everything gets destroyed so that the show can return to Leyton. On the one hand, it's not as though it's totally out of nowhere or implausible because again, the narrative went so hard in Leyton's favor during the first season. But at the same time, it doesn't feel believable to me when it finally happens. Lucas seems to flip flop from getting past his breakup with Brooke to declaring Peyton is the one he wants next to him when his dreams come true in mere seconds. The writers LOVE to make Lucas in denial about his feelings for Peyton. Past the first season, we don't get Lucas pining for Peyton. We just don't. We got Lucas pining for Brooke during season 2 and part of 3 and even Lucas wanting Lindsey back after she leaves him at the altar, but for the lion's share of LP's history, it's Peyton desperately wanting Lucas and somewhat being willing to sacrifice everything just for the chance of being with him. So because of this, Lucas becomes an almost passive love interest where he's told over and over again what he should want and what his true feelings are until he just kind of.. says fine, choosing Peyton. That alone is why I prefer Brucas. It's the more compelling story line and relationship. Plus, the chemistry.

And I hate to do it, but this vs this:

Chemistry is unpredictable, always up for debate, and shouldn't always be the deciding factor in what a person ships. My shipping preferences have been all over the place in this area. But when the writing is lacking and the chemistry isn't really selling the story either, these moments that are supposed to be powerful and come across as passionate somehow come across as phony and put on. In my opinion, Chad and Hilarie had buddy chemistry while Chad and Sophia had the passionate, in love type of chemistry due in large part to literally being in love and married in real life.

As a viewer, I really resent being told that Lucas was simply denying his true feelings for no other reason I can think of except maliciousness when he spent basically two and a half seasons wanting Brooke over Peyton. The romantic relationship with Lucas and Peyton during seasons 4 and 6 seems like the healthier option on the surface, but it comes back to how I feel about Lucas as a passive love interest and Peyton's arc being so wrapped up in whether or not she gets the guy. This is pretty much spelled out towards the end of season 3. During a conversation between Brooke and Peyton, Brooke confides in Peyton that during Lucas's absence she realized that she wasn't as reliant on his physical presence as she thought she'd be. From Brooke's perspective, all this means is that Brooke is somehow capable of loving and being happy independently of the man she loves. But on One Tree Hill, this is supposed to imply Brooke either doesn't truly love Lucas, is falling out of love with Lucas, or that Peyton loves Lucas more because she doesn't desire independence outside of him. It's a gross message to say the least. This brings me full circle, back to season 5. Between seasons, Lucas proposed to Peyton and broke off the relationship when she didn't accept his proposal. Objectively speaking, not the worst thing in the world and a valid thing to do if this is a deal breaker. But this causes the Lucas/Peyton relationship to be heavily imbalanced and in Lucas's favor over Peyton's. Lucas stops feeling like the kind of person who follows his heart and more this desperate guy who wants to marry someone to the point the bride doesn't actually matter. If I go along with the idea that Lucas was in love with Peyton throughout the intervening years, throughout season 5 and for the entirety of his romance with Lindsey, what does that say about Lucas? One, he's the kind of guy who is so out of touch with his own emotions that nothing he says should ever be trusted. Or two, he's an asshole and will willingly commit himself to another woman under false pretenses just because he didn't get what he wanted from his first choice on his terms. Peyton's love for Lucas is meant to be undying and unconditional, causing her to behave in such selfish, desperate ways. Lucas, on the other hand, proves that his affection for Peyton is very conditional. He's not willing to compromise. He doesn't want to wait around for Peyton to catch up with where he is.

And in the mean time, Lucas bouncing between Peyton and Lindsey actually means season 5 Brucas is a very good alternative for Lucas. It's all very unspoken, but the chemistry and the connection between Lucas and Brooke never goes away. Much like in season 2, the possibility of romance is very much off the table. Brooke returns to Tree Hill not to win Lucas back, but because she misses her hometown and sees herself settling down there. Because nothing is being pushed on either end, it's much easier for adult Lucas and adult Brooke to be friends in a way that's impossible for Lucas and Peyton. They're able to relate to each other outside of high school and their past romance. A flashback reveals that Lucas was the first person Brooke told that she wanted to have a baby. During the time Brooke is taking care of Angie, Lucas becomes the kind of person Brooke can depend on and lean on for emotional support. Even outside of season 5, there's a consistent theme of Lucas being the best, most selfless version of himself with Brooke. It's as though Brooke's influence in Lucas's life mixed with their season 1 history almost demands that Lucas be better when they're together. Both Brooke and Lucas are in the place where they're looking to settle down. In a moment that's kind of a contrast to season 3

Unlike in season 3 when Lucas was trying to fight for Brooke but kind of clueless when it came to working out what she wanted from him, this time Lucas realizes that no matter how strong Brooke seems to be, she needs him to show up for her. There will always be endless potential for season 5+ Brucas, in my opinion. Their strong bond and complementary desires for a future shine through even as the narrative reminds us over and over again that Peyton is the one who loves Lucas most and that anything that isn't about Peyton is merely "denial" or Lucas "hiding his heart." Anyways, Lucas literally fantasizes about marrying all of his major love interests, Brooke included. The dream sequence wants us to believe Brooke and Lucas want very different things, making them fundamentally incompatible. The entirety of seasons 5-9 disagrees with this, but Lucas still ends up with Peyton.

When it comes down to it, I don't like the people Lucas and Peyton are around each other. As friends, it's mostly okay. They certainly share common interests and Peyton lacks the trust issues Lucas's other girlfriends have considering she's always the other woman. But.. so much of their love story comes across as incredibly forced with so many holes in it. Their arc throughout the first six seasons does NOT hold water. Peyton isn't allowed to be a fully fleshed out person with goals that don't perfectly align with becoming Mrs. Lucas Scott. Lucas holds all the cards, resulting in him becoming far more selfish and almost childish in the way he acts like season 1 Lucas who is still butthurt his crush didn't want to commit to him after one make out session. Even in the final season, I don't see much if any growth. It's the final season for both characters and the show played out the beats of broken up Leyton, so they're put back together. So much of what happens between Lucas and Peyton is heavily reliant on the idea of everything coming full circle without any regard for how one or both have changed since then. Brucas doesn't have this problem. If nothing else, Brooke and Lucas's relationship goes through multiple changes, with each phase feeling much more mature and deeper than the one before. Even though their past and Brooke's trust issues are recurring problems, their actual dynamic always remains in the present.

As for your last question, I'll never know for sure what discussions were like behind the scenes circa seasons 2 and 3. But based on how season 2 played out, I think there's a very good chance the endgame shifted. The underlying tension and romantic affection between Lucas and Peyton was completely gone. Lucas realized he wanted to be with Brooke and never seemed to consider Peyton. Even Peyton, who has ambiguous moments that refer to possible feelings for Lucas even before the shooting, doesn't have this during the second season. She spends far more time pining for and loving Jake. When Peyton expresses displeasure over her relationship with Lucas, it's that he hasn't been the kind of friend that shows up for her emotionally. Lucas's response to this is to bring Jake back to town LOL. In terms of season 3, it gets confusing. Chad and Sophia didn't separate until multiple episodes into the first half of season 3. Meaning, the groundwork was already being laid for Brucas's failed friends with benefits/casual relationship to become a deeper romantic one even before Chad and Sophia split up. But at the same time, Lucas's friendship with Peyton was also being prioritized again with more references to their romantic past coming up outside of Brooke's insecurities. So with that in mind, it seems like LP was a possibility even as Brucas was rebuilding their relationship. However, I think the Chad/Sophia split permanently closed the door on any legitimate Brucas once their season 3 arc was completed. Personally, I don't think Peyton ending up with Lucas was set in stone until the end of season 3. Had Chad and Sophia never split up, I definitely think we would have seen another round of Brucas at some point because the chemistry alone would have demanded it. Plus, the gross producers capitalizing on the real life Chad/Sophia romance. In a universe where Chad and Sophia never broke up, my gut says Lucas ends up with Brooke. But nothing is 100%. To sum up my thoughts, I think there was a plan in place during season 1. I think another plan emerged during season 2. In season 3, the endgame was literally up for grabs. But Chad and Sophia's breakup sealed the deal.

I love you, too! I'm so sorry for making you read all this.

[salamie-baby]

I can't get my mind to settle tonight for sleep so I'm gonna write out something I had as a post idea for the past couple days and then schedule it for later

So, why "wolfdog"?

This is so much longer than I wanted it to be

I've used the term as a descriptor for my experience for half a year now and I think it fits well, but I believe it comes from a slightly unusual place. Essentially, I use the concept as a method of simplifying what I feel into something easier to convey. I feel I could probably separate the "wolf" and the "dog" parts from eachother if I wanted, but there's such a significant link between them that I don't feel I can say they're genuinely two different things.

They're both concepts and animals that I feel very strongly connected to and have for basically my whole life. I've grown up with pets always in the house and when I was little I openly called our labrador my sister, because as far as I was concerned she really was. I exposed myself more and more to wolves when I got Internet access in late primary school and they became a really big part of my life (somehow the autism wouldn't be diagnosed until years later). Dogs, wolves, canines were familial in nature to me. I was a very typical case when I was little, where I often chose to act more animalistic than human, because I found it easier to understand. I just kind of "was" one.

Now that I'm older and have significantly more "human" in my self concept and a more complex worldview I think I've gotten emotionally weird about it. I've always struggled with my mental health, and my lifelong reaction to hardship has been escapist thinking. I have several concepts in my mind of what I could do and where I could go when I get to the point where I can actually do my own thing. Despite knowing the things I want to do in this life, the fantasy of becoming a wolf in every aspect of being and fucking off into the forest never to be seen again feels as if it is what is really meant to happen to me, like a sort of cure all to my problems. It's become the ultimate symbol of true and complete freedom. Something I'm always looking to get closer to, but will never quite embody. Its not practical or possible.

Alright, so if becoming a wild animal really is my secret hidden ending, then what about the dog?

I think it's harder to describe but dogs are significant to me because they're the truest overlap between "human" and "wolf". If you put a wild animal inside, what makes it any better than a domesticated one? The only contrast between them is that one of the two hasn't learned to live by your rules yet. If I'm a wolf and I've been in a human house, in a human town, being made to try and do human things my whole life, doesn't that just make me a really big dog? I still hate being touched, and I don't really know how to talk to people my own age a lot of the time, but the collar is nice. Despite feeling more emotionally connected to my idea of what it is to be a wild animal, I feel it'd be naive to omit the fact that I do enjoy civilised comforts. I exist in a human world and a human body, and with it I can do things like drink iced tea and make art. Also, I like attention, I like following tasks I've been given, I like routine.

These are traits I have that apply in some, but not the overwhelming majority of situations. If I pretended as if I didnt enjoy my daily life at all, it'd be childish and ungrateful. In reality, I'm doing better than ever right now. Hence, "wolfdog". I didn't find it one day and feel spiritual resonance, but instead I found a logical descriptor of a thing that lives between the threshold of inside and outside. Domesticated enough that it'll roll over, but wild enough that it won't stop scratching at the front door. Always waiting.

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 26: In Which Soft Turns Sharp

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

"I have been in IT for years and I've never once actually seen this happen."

"How does this even happen?"

"It blew up, literally."

"Yo! That's uh... that's a mess."

You were currently standing in the middle of a category 5 disaster. The bottom half of your pants and all of your shoes were completely black; powder-coated by your lovely office printer you were just having words with.

Toner was spewed all over the ugly grey carpet like the remanence of a cartoon explosion. The coworkers and IT tech were standing around amused and befuddled by the whole thing.

Jeff nudged your arm with a giant grin on his face, "did you at least say 'bless you'?"

You wanted to groan.

"No, really though..." Jade, the IT guy asked, "what were you doing again before this happened?"

Another exasperated sigh.

"I've been having communication issues all morning with it and my computer, so after I got sick of trying to repair the connection through my server I came back here to see if perhaps the ethernet was disconnected. It wasn't. Then I was going to get into the settings to see if there was something wrong there, but the screen went all blinky and wobbly, then the fucker shit itself. That's it."

Kind of.

You left out the part where you grabbed the sides of the operating screen in a threat to rip it off it's hinges, then it exploded.

Jade mused on your explanation one more time while the other two morons were drawing finger pictures on the side of the printer with toner.

"Ok - as exciting as this is I'm gunna go and see if I can save my shoes from being stained forever. Bye."

With a huff you kicked off as much toner as you could and immediately headed out the door.

In truth technology had been acting really funky the past few days. First your phone started acting up; the screen would randomly black out while you were using it (the thing was barely a year old so you hoped it wasn't frying already), the location changed on you twice (once it threw you to Paris, the second time to Idaho), and getting your keyboard to work properly was an entire fight all on it's own. You finally turned it off for a couple hours and it seemed to help a little. Then, the clock on your desk started sucking batteries to death. Twice this week you had to change them to keep the damn thing correct. Your work computer had had a couple hiccups and now the printer. Was Mercury in fucking retrograde or some shit???

You didn't bother to tell your boss you were leaving and left the building without saying anything to anyone.

8 days had gone by without Alcina and you were missing her so badly. The bouts of unusual aggression were sporadic and it really wasn't like you, but you just weren't used to such strong feelings about someone and it must be making you a little weird. You guess.

A calmer energy seemed to be following you now but it didn't completely phase out the worry or aggravation. You began to feel better overall since the random muscle attack in your back which helped ease a lot of your tension, but still, you couldn't help but... wonder. You didn't know where she was but somehow she felt closer. You hoped she would be back soon. Sooner than later.

Suddenly your phone began to ring and you reached for it out of your bag.

It was Louis.

"Heyyy man, what's up?"

"I got you another cassette my friend; Miss D and the Pallboys in a rare recording done at a live event - interested?"

"What kind of question is that; hell yes I am - I'll be there in half an hour!"

"See you soon."

Ok, today was not a total bust.

-

The mirror was not as kind today as she was hoping.

Alcina looked at her naked body with a twinge of scrutiny.

She'd gone through all of this with no fruits for her labor. 

After Dmitri and her troops arrived 5 days ago the trail of evidence and any leads went dead. It had gone completely silent. No more attacks, no more sightings, not even a hint of action. While everyone was relieved it didn't sit well with anyone, but what were they to do? They'd scoured every inch of the territory through the sector where everything had taken place, and miles around that. 

Nothing. Anywhere.

The 'cave' itself proved pointless; it was caved in not a thousand feet from the entrance. Still, no one was convinced this was over and Alcina agreed. Dmitri and Sylvia kept several outposts active and would continue to do so for as long as they deemed fit.

The deceased mutated vampire lay in the bin hollowing out with nothing more of interest to study it seemed. No bugs, no worms, nothing exited his body to help Joel in his quest to understand him. His tests came up with very little information outside of a strange anomaly in the dead blood he'd collected, however it was nothing he had seen and without a live sample of possibly another mutated specimen he was hitting a dead end as well. How could he research a dead, dying crumb of evidence? Oddly though, when they put his body out to disintegrate in the sun, he didn't crumble to pure ash as he should have. His bones remained slightly in tact, which Joel collected to see if that could lead him anywhere instead.

Mother Miranda had finally been reached; she had indeed been on travel to Romania which is where Donna was finally able to speak with her. Her reaction was... limited at best. Unconcerned and satisfied they had it under control. Donna was unamused by her stance and Alcina couldn't have scoffed harder at her dismissal. She was nothing if not flippant unless it directly concerned her these days. She could rot in hell or Romania for all Alcina cared.

The suspiciousness of the ordeal had everyone who was aware remaining on high alert. This was far from over and neither clan was backing down from their posts to make sure whatever, if ever, something came next, they'd be more than prepared.

Thankfully no word had seeped into the underground and everything was carrying on as normal it seemed.

Alcina had returned home yesterday and was getting ready for a good nights rest in her own bed where it was quiet, and private.

Well, a little.

Donning her nightgown she clicked off the light to her bathroom and exited.

"Ai dormit pe partea asta aseară, e rândul meu," Daniela stated flatly. (You slept on this side last night, it's my turn)

"Conteaza? Încă dormi lângă mama," Cassandra replied, "sunt două laturi, poate s-o lase pe Bela să doarmă lângă ea în seara asta.." (Does it matter? You're still sleeping next to mother, there's two sides, maybe let Bela sleep next to her tonight.)

Bela sighed as she situated at the end of the very large king size bed, "e în regulă, sunt bine aici jos. Atâta timp cât suntem cu toții împreună, nu-mi pasă." (It's fine, I'm fine down here. As long as we're all together I don't care.)

"Dani este doar un nebun, vino să dormi aici." (Dani is just being a brat, you come sleep up here.)

"Nu sunt un nebun!" (I'm not being a brat!)

"Fetelor..." Alcina intervened as she approached softly, "într-adevăr acum, am destul pat și timp și cu mine să merg. Vă rugăm să încetați să vă certați." (Girls... really now, there's plenty of bed and time and me to go around. Please stop bickering.)

They smiled at her as she began crawling under the covers with them, nestling down with a smile of her own.

When Alcina returned home she hadn't had a moments peace since she walked through the door. Her daughters had warm blood waiting for her, not the wine, and tended to her every unspoken need. Which, they apparently seemed to make for her by the dozens. Donna had of course informed them of her attack and they were more fretful than she at the news. It was only expected they would be exceptionally doting to their beloved mother when she arrived home. They had nearly lost her once, many many years ago and the memories were still fresh and vivid in their hearts. The bond the 4 of them shared was deeply rooted and strong; Alcina may not be their biological mother in the human sense, but she was their rock and anchor, their protector and very much the loving, nurturing, caring and doting mother figure. While the girls were quite old as far as human standards go, somehow deep inside of them was still a childlike need and fondness with Alcina.

Cassandra had run her a bath, Bela washed the clothes Dani had packed and sent with Dmitri for her, Dani continued to bring warm blood on the hour and while the house was never truly a mess, it was spotless. Spot. Less. Alcina couldn't help but grin at their attentiveness. She jested perhaps she should get wounded more often... they didn't find it humorous in the least.

"Acum, fiicele mele... noapte bună, vă iubesc, dormiți bine," she cooed, caressing their beautiful faces one by one. (Now, my daughters... goodnight, I love you, sleep well.)

Exchanging kisses to the cheek they settled in, snuggling close to their mother as the silence of the room seeped in.

Cassandra, now on the right side of Alcina, caressed her arm softly, "esti bine mama?" (You're alright, mother?)

Alcina smiled, "da, draga. Dormi. Sunt acasă, în siguranță cu fetele mele. Totul este în regulă în lume," she whispered and kissed her forehead once more. (Yes, darling. Sleep. I'm home, safe and sound with my girls. All is right in the world.)

She felt complete. 

Almost.

She missed you. She needed you.

Tomorrow she would venture out to see you. She couldn't stand the distance from you any longer.

-

"More goodies for the pests, ey?"

You gave Malka a raised eyebrow as she scanned the bag of mixed nuts and dried berries.

"Those pests were here waaay before us, it's not their fault we moved in on their territory."

Malka broke her stern visage and smiled brightly at you, "yes yes, good good, you have a Yiddishe Kop my girl."

Malka was an old Jewish woman who ran and owned the tiny corner store a couple blocks from your apartment. It was your favorite place to get groceries and oddities. The produce was always fresh and she was constantly stocking the shelves with fun, niche little snacks from all over Europe and her home in the Netherlands. She'd adopted you as the neighborhood stray long ago and you happily claimed her as your long lost Bubbeh - her chosen term. She was small but a pure spitfire. Her hair was long and white with fading pepper streaks that she wore in a braided bun high on her head. Malka was a darling.

"I still think you should ween them off the dried fruit and give them fresh - it's good for the soul, you know," she advised knowingly.

You chuckled, "they like what they like, who am I to argue? Getting them off the pastries was hard enough!"

She placed the last of your things in your tweed bag and handed it over to you, "my pastries were the cause of several village wars, I'll have you know."

"Yes, yes, I know Sophia Petrillo. I doubt I'll ever see another twenty dropped on my doorstep until I treat them again."

"Ahaha," she cackled, "off with you now, enjoy your evening and give my best to the birds. Tell them Bubbeh wants a twenty dollar bill too next time."

By the time you made it to your block you caught their shadows overhead as they swarmed and landed in the trees in the courtyard. You smiled and treaded around back to the grass and benches on the other side. They followed with happy caws and grunts and coos.

You sat on the bench and watched them gracefully land at your feet as you opened the bag and began divvying out the goods.

You still couldn't tell them all apart yet but there was a considerably bigger one and a runt that stuck out the most. The smallest was easily the most vocal and it was skittish. The biggest one was very regal but had a playful side, you'd noticed. He, or she, would play with the baby squirrels in the neighboring tree, almost a game of tag, it was quite amusing to watch.

The gathering usually gave you odd looks from the passerby's but you got used to ignoring it. So you had a tiny army of crows, so what? 

Without giving away the whole bag you watched them trek around the grounds for a while enjoying the falling evening. It was getting a little cooler now, autumn was around the corner. Every season in New York was pretty, except winter. Winter could fuck all the way off in your opinion. 

You sighed. As the darkness shifted the hue in the sky your heart silently wished upon the universe that your Alcina was safe and would be back in your arms before too long. 9 days was a really, really long time at this point.

~

There was no way to accurately describe the sensation that coated you like warm molasses; it was slow in enveloping you and you became light headed, a fuzzy heat trickled through your system and your limbs felt numb and tingly. A smile erupted on your face and you instantly knew this feeling.

In a split second you were off your couch and headed for your room.

There creeping through your doorway was that tall black silhouette you longed and craved to see and touch for 9 too long goddamn days.

"Alcina," you whimpered as you ran to her and collected her in your arms.

She sighed long and heavy as her own strong arms enfolded you with haste. Your scent wafted through her sweeter than a summer breeze offering reprieve from the hot sun and she drove her nose deep in your hair.

"Oh... how I've missed you, draga mea," she whispered near your ear, feeling her own relief and satiation of having you back within her grasp, "I have missed you so much."

"I've missed you so much," your muffled reply came as you slowly inched your face around to claim her lips.

The two of you moaned softly and satisfyingly at the connection. Yes. This felt like home, this felt too good to be lost for so long.

Alcina carefully grasped your face in her cool hands, which you noticed were slightly trembling, and you looked deep into her stumbling slate colored eyes. Pools of ethereal eternity. Somewhere you wanted to be for the rest of your days.

"Hi beautiful," you smiled.

"Hello, dragul meu," she smiled right back.

You snaked your arms back around her torso and clung to her like she might slip away again. Not today Satan, not to-fucking-day.

Although, there was something amiss. Something not quite right. You weren't completely sure what it was but somehow your hands began to pull higher up her back where you found, under her leather jacket, an unnatural heat. And raised ridges of... something.

Alcina hitched as your hands splayed over her wounds and grabbed for your arms and pulled you away. The concern and confusion was not hidden on your face and she sighed, forced a smile and hoped there could have been at least an hour pass before this came to light.

Feeling the hesitation peel off her like layers of a wilted rose you stepped in a little closer to her, taking her hands in yours.

You could throw the thoughts of her absence dealing with something dangerous out the window all you'd like; they would return like a handful of sand to the wind and back in your eyes every time. You knew. You knew.

With a short breath you swallowed your worry, "I know you can't tell me everything, or maybe anything at all for that matter, but... what did I just feel?"

Exasperation was now the most common emotion she was friends with these days. Alcina didn't know how to tell you. It wasn't as if she could hide this forever. But she wanted to. Her healing was so slow - they should be gone by now, but they weren't, and she didn't want to be away from you any longer. Somehow this made her feel too vulnerable to you, a desperation to keep it locked away and never let you into this dark corner of her world.

"Draga..." she started, tossing her eyes away from you.

This was not something you would receive well, in fact she feared for how it would affect you period. How was she supposed to just brush this off as a; 'well, you see draga mea, I was attacked by a mutated vampire that nearly killed me and more lycans than I care to count, that may or may not have many other mates running loose that we can't find, and truly that's just where the story ends for the moment,' and expect you to have a normal reaction. And, at the same time, how could she just say; 'I can't tell you what happened and I'm sorry you have to look at these scars that looks like I fought 8 meet hooks, you'll just have to accept that,' and move on.

Alcina's pause made you lean in closer. You understood the barrage of thoughts you couldn't hear her fighting all too well, so, softly and carefully, you began to remove her jacket and moved to her tight black turtleneck.

Her body immediately tensed and an anxiousness wrapped around her, but what was she to do. 

Well, here we go, Alcina thought.

She allowed you to continue and it actually surprised you. You half expected her to grab for your arms again and immobilize your efforts, but she didn't.

As you stood behind her and lifted the soft cloth, the sight that assaulted your eyes sunk your heart to the pits of your stomach like a deflated lead balloon.

Did you gasp? No clue. But you felt ice shoot through your veins at the sight.

"My god..." you whispered, "Alcina... what - who did this to you?"

Your fingers were so gentle as they passed over the raised dark purple scars Alcina almost buckled. The caress didn't hurt but it felt like little sparks of electricity passing through her. Somehow your touch was the most soothing thing she'd felt so far in her healing, or, maybe, she was just starving for your touch more than she had been aware.

As your eyes wandered you could now see in the dim light that there were fully healed scars all over her. All in swipes of 4, like sets of claws. Eventually you just removed the turtleneck all together and rounded her to look back into her eyes. She wasn't completely dodging your glance, but she wasn't seeking it out either.

You tried to choke out more questions as you softly trailed your fingers over her arms, chest, and abdomen. What was there to say, how were you to say it? Suddenly another rushing wave of icy water pelted over you as the memories of that night you had your little 'muscle attack' just about drowned you. 

Did you feel this happen to her? 

Who or what could have done this? Was the war between vampires and lycans returning?

Your visage torqued the twinge in Alcina's heart. You were so concerned, plighted by a tied tongue. But also, something else. Alcina gently reached out to cup your jaw and offer a soft smile. Truth be told she didn't know what to say either. She didn't want to answer your question. 

In your short lived elation to see her you were unable to address the tiredness about her, but now you saw it loud and clear. Her eyes lacked the sparkle of light, her skin looked worn, her lips, thinner, her trembling hands alone should have told you how lacking her energy was.

Taking her beautiful long fingers to your lips you kissed them gently, repeatedly, locking her eyes with yours as you then began to move your hair away from your neck.

Alcina grabbed you up in her arms and held you, "dragul meu, please, I didn't come here to feed off you -"

"I know you didn't but you're depleted, I can tell," you shut down her argument softly, "please, drink," you urged, "I don't like seeing you like this. Please... I want you to."

She didn't budge.

Stubborn ass.

Accepting her refusal you secured your arms even more tightly around her bare torso and held her back. She may have won for now but you would give her your blood before she left, you wouldn't have it any other way. Softly you began pressing your warm lips against her bare collarbone and kissing her cool skin with revered tenderness.

Alcina closed her eyes and leaned into you, feeling you against her seemed to bring down all the pillars of worry and concern around her. But you, your offer, it panged her with guilt and remorse.

Pressing her lips to the shell of your ear she whispered softly, "you are not for my consumption, draga mea, you are more to me than what I think you realize and it pains me to think if I have lead you astray in that... you are not for the taking, for use, for simply delectable taste and pleasure. I love you, I never want you to feel less than my equal, for all sense and purpose of our differences."

You sighed.

"You big dummy," you muttered, pulling back to look into her eyes once more, "I love you too, I love you so much... you're my vampire and I'm your human; I belong to you because I want to. I'm not offering my blood out of - fuck, I don't know - pressure, duty, some form of guilt - no! I love you, I want you to feed because I want to take care of you, because I don't want to see you drained and weak, because your wellbeing is not only my job as your lover but my honor. You're a mighty Matriarch. You fight battles and command armies and rule over a literal underground city of vampires and lycans. I am a chaotic, dysfunctional, boring as fuck but loving human who was just lucky enough to be chosen by you - I can't offer you much, literally, I have like nothing of real value... but you've got my love, my dedication, my heart and blood and whatever else you want or need, ok?"

What have I done to deserve you? Alcina mused in the silence. You were the unintended enigma that was never-ending.

Carefully tracing her fingertips along the outlines of your face, Alcina leaned in gracefully to kiss you. Each caress of your lips together grew a little deeper and a little deeper, everything outside of this room ceasing to exist as she was once again back in the safest place she could ever imagine. Your arms. Your embrace. Your love.

Feeling the inevitable plume of heat deep inside of you, gorging yourself on everything that was this glorious woman, you urged and silently begged for her bite; pressing your body so close into hers, pulling her as near as possible, arching your neck as your lips escaped to graze her jawline. And then you felt the shudder within her; the release of the tiger that was prowling for blood with no need to chase.

Her teeth were sharp and precise and the painful pleasure coursed through you like your blood into her. Bliss, euphoric release; a chaotic intertwining of black and white, up and down, hot and cold.

As the sensation of heat poured down her throat, Alcina groaned out her long-awaited desire to taste you again. Your blood fed fuel to her fire like nothing else in this world, but within the rush this time something else was taking place. Her body began to burn. Her senses thrown into a frenzy. The striking, piercing sensation of an itch so violently unable to scratch tore through her and she ripped her mouth away from your neck with a pained wail.

Alcina's knees buckled and she fell to the floor with a thud.

[vincess-princess]

The Weavers

heehoo here goes my original wip i've mentioned a couple times. i know posting original fiction on tumblr is like screaming into a well but better try and fail than not try at all, right?

Genre: dark fantasy Description: Humans and alves have been waging wars since time immemorial. Peace seems impossible, since the two species can't even communicate with each other. But things may change after a human and an alv discover they have an inexplicable connection and try to turn around their common curse.

Ch. 1

It was cold that was driving him insane most of all. Radiated by the rods of his cage that never warmed from the heat of his body, it seeped through his skin, nestled in his bones, slowed his heartbeat and froze his very thoughts, turning them slow, fragmentary, incoherent. The sunlight reaching his skin never did more than slightly warm the surface, thought there wasn’t much sunlight at all here, the sky more often than not obscured by clouds – bad sign, he would think before, but it was for naught now: it couldn’t get any worse anyway. He never thought himself much affected by cold; turned out, he just didn’t know what real cold was, protected by mighty trunks of his home forest from the vicious gusts of wind and the chilly breath of the night. The humans dragging him around wore furs and lit fires, and sometimes the wind brought a whiff of heat they emanated, and fearsome as they were, he could almost understand why they would try to tame such a destructive force. He knew humans were plenty, but to breed so much they pushed out some of their own kin into the most inhospitable lands on the very edge of Laia Serra… He would even feel sorry for them if they hadn’t put him in the cage.

It was so small he couldn’t stretch his legs and so narrow he couldn’t flex his arms, and his body was losing its agility and strength, sucked out by the cold and the ever-consuming grey of the sky. Some nights he feared he would lose his fingers and toes, and when he breathed on them to warm them up, his breath came out chilly, as if his insides had already frozen up. Relief came sometimes in the form of the humans’ repulsive broth, where soft, soggy vegetables and grey, hardened meat swam around in oily water, but it was oh so warming and filling and did a good job quenching his thirst. He even swallowed some of the disgusting vegetables occasionally – one couldn’t survive on just liquid.

But as days passed and an all-consuming apathy set in, he found it harder and harder. His body was rotting alive. The skin under his nails turned a brownish, sicklish color, the corners of his lips chipped and bled. The bruises on his chest where the humans slammed him with a heavy metal weapon throbbed with dumb pain at every breath he took as his ribs shifted underneath, bulging unnaturally under the skin. The bracelets on his wrists burned his skin at first, so bad he couldn’t hold back tears, but now the pain dulled down – or the skin on his wrists was growing senseless, any of which was fine by him. It’s not like he had much left to live anyway.

He spent the entirety of his days in a trance, barely noticing what was happening around him. Occasionally a horse’s neigh reached his ears, and he never had much empathy for animals, but the poor creatures sounded almost as pained as he felt. He tried to reach them, but where once was a pulsing presence now was nothing. Neither could he feel the lizards and rabbits hurrying past, like an invisible wall separated them; neither could he feel the blades of grass piercing the earth, flowers blooming or bugs scurrying between them. Sometimes birds flew over his cage, landed on nearby cliffs, inevitably attracted but too afraid to land. They did not answer his calls, but at least acknowledged his presence. It was reassuring, in a sense; he was inside his body still, even though he sometimes felt so detached from it he could almost see himself from the side, plastered on the bottom of his cage, weak and pathetic. The best representative of his kin there could ever be, he smiled bitterly sometimes.

The Neiro was silent. Everything was silent. Except the humans, constantly chattering and gibbering in their harsh, loud voices, grating on his ears. Didn’t they want to shut up just for a second? To hear the rustling of the wind, the howling of the wolves, the flapping of birds’ wings? Was it that constant gibberish that drove them to violence? He wouldn’t be surprised much, as even what he heard from the distance of his cage was driving him insane. Humans avoided him like alves did wildfire, always approaching carefully, with blades bared; the one pushing the plate with the broth through the bars of his cage always prodded his weapon at him, scaring him away from the bars. Not that he ever tried to so much as wave his hand at them, but even him baring his teeth scared them to bits, causing another explosion of gibberish and screams.

At some point, he couldn’t keep inside solid food anymore. He attributed the constant nausea to bumpy roads before, but even now, when they became wider and more well-trodden, it refused to leave, forcing him to vomit anything not an oily liquid or yellowish water that he was given two times a day. When his vomit dripped through the bars of the cage, humans gathered around it, talking in hushed voices. Their overnight stays became shorter and their movement faster.

Sometimes they stopped in human settlements. The size of the first one shook him to the core – houses upon houses upon houses, big and small, and there must have been several hundred humans just gathered at the center of it; how did they coexist in such narrowness and overcrowding? He didn’t get to see much of them, thankfully: his cage was rolled into some sort of tent, and people were allowed inside just a few at a time, to stare at him and blabber their nonsense at each other. He didn’t care much, leaning on the bars of his cage with his eyes closed, his head aching from the stuffy air and the constant buzz. Sometimes little humans tried touching him, and only then did he react; baring his teeth or jerking his hand was usually enough for them to back off, though. A few settlements later, he realized that any idea he had of how big they could be was wrong, because that one was so full of people as a marsh was full of gnat, and the roads were covered with stone, as were some houses – didn’t living inside a rock get cold in winter? The routine was the same, though, and soon the amazement and surprise flattened out, as did any other emotion. He didn’t have enough energy to feel anymore. Everything he had his body used to breathe and digest.

How much time had passed – days, moons, years? He could no longer reliably tell. Sun rose and set, over and over again, and every day he struggled to notice the change. At some point, he realized he couldn’t move his legs anymore. That was not surprising. They looked like sticks, with bones bulging underneath the skin. He thought indifferently about what would it be like when the same happened to his arms. Damn this body, damn its hardiness. He should have died long ago. Why hadn’t he died already? Why was he forced to live still, through all this pain and silence? Was it for repentance? Revenge? Punishment?

One day, not particularly any different than any other day, they arrived at the biggest settlement he’d ever seen, and the shouting, rumbling of cart wheels and neighing of horses jolted him awake from his daze. He didn’t get to see much – he was rolled into his usual tent, but this time the stuffiness and the darkness didn’t lull him back into his slumber, as he hoped. Against his will, he stayed alert. Something was stirring inside him, an anxiety of sorts, something he never expected to feel again. He didn’t like it.

Humans started entering the tent, staring at him, talking in amazed whispers. He looked at them with narrowed eyes, forcing everyone whose eyes met his to avert their gaze. Something was going to happen. That anxiety never lied. Which one of them would be to blame?

Then there was an uproar of voices outside of the tent, and shouting, and clatter of numerous hooves against the paved road, and the clanging typical for humans who wore steel clothes. Humans were talking in hushed, scrumptious voices. Then he heard an ingratiating voice of one of his jailers, and he never even imagined this voice could sound so oily, almost like the broth they were feeding to him. Then another human entered – the jailer tried to follow them, but backed off at the single irritated wave of their hand.

Thick brown foot casings, wide leg wraps typical for short-haired humans, red and black tunic with long sleeves and a girdle, a metal weapon with the hilt instructed with silver. Fine, well-groomed hands. Sharp cheekbones. Straight, pitch-black hair. Pale skin. Slanted light gray eyes.

A flash as bright as the sun, and he was no longer alone in his Neiro. There was something else. Someone else.

The stranger gasped and staggered back, their hand grappling at the hilt of their weapon, their boots hammering heavily across the floor. The presence faded away as fast as it invaded, but it was there. It was not an illusion. Even if for a moment, it was there.

He looked at the human, and the human looked him right in the eyes, wide-eyed, mouth half-opened.

[alrightsnaps]

The beef you have with Anthony on twitter is very pathetic and also the fact that you PRETEND Violet has haters when all that happened is that maybe a couple of kanthony shippers have said she was a bit too harsh with him cause god forbids audience members feel more connected with the protagonist and not his mom. Also the fact you want Kate to share screentime with Mary and Edwina again when she was treated like crap by them is not it for someone who claims to love Kate. But I guess it's not surprising when you're buddy buddy with that selcouth account who not so secretly hates Kanthony and Kate and has polite convo with the bloggers who call Kate a homewrecking whore. You know your friend writes fic in which Anthony is beaten up and Kate continues to be miserable post wedding for the sake of poor innocent Edwina?And thinks Anthony should give a fuck about Edwina doesn't let him call her by her first name? Tell your friend he eyefucked Kate at the altar in front of her, let me assure you edwina lovers he doesn't give a fuck about her brattiness the majesty. Leave Kate and Kanthony out of your mouth.

aww how sweet of you that you think y'all are the first people to dickride for anthony at the expense of female characters! i can assure you that i've been beefing with his stans since before kate's casting announcement. kathonies are not the first to drag violet to defend him, or even the first stans to demonise their male fave's mother while excusing his own behaviour. sienna/anthony shippers did the exact same thing long ago painting violet as the evil hag who wouldn't let poor little anthony run off into the sunset with sienna in s1.

also why the fuck wouldn't i want kate to fix her relationships with edwina and mary? i've criticised edwina repeatedly for never apologising to kate since day 1. that's something we never saw in s2 so yeah, i definitely want to see that and i consider necessary for them to rebuild their relationship on better terms after the wedding fiasco.

what i consider hypocritical as fuck is being totally ok with kate forgiving anthony when he hardly did enough to deserve her forgiveness after all the pain he put her through, but drawing the line at her stepmother and sister.

anthony literally ruined kate in 2x04 and not only didn't assume his responsibilities as he forced simon to do with daphne in s1, but had the nerve to propose to her sister the very next morning. so yeah, if i can support kate being with anthony in the s2 finale when he was calling her "the thorn easily removed" from his and edwina's lives just two episodes back, because that makes her happy, i can sure as hell root for her making up with the women that have been her entire world for the past 26 years as well.

as far as i'm concerned neither anthony nor edwina did right by kate in s2. edwina because she blamed her for anthony's actions and was ungrateful, when all kate had done was sacrifice after sacrifice for her to be happy. and anthony because he never showed kate the respect he demanded men to show to his sisters and chose to go after her baby sister only to publicly humiliate both sharma girls in front of anyone when they were at the altar.

i'm old enought to be able to form my own opinion about characters instead of joining fandom groupthink or liking/disliking them based on how their fanbase behaves. if that was my criterion i don't think there's a single ship i'd support in the bridgerton fandom, considering that i disagree with most kathony and benophie stans on twitter for always coddling anthony and benedict and excusing their misogyny.

and frankly, i'm extremely uncomfortable with the way you and many kathony stans talk about edwina. y'all are literally victim blaming an 18yo child for falling for a grownass man who went after her and ruined her in the eyes of society. you constanly infantilise anthony when he has more privilege than 99% of men in england, while spending your time talking shit about a teenage girl.

that's not holding edwina responsible for her behaviour towards kate, it's misogyny, plain and simple. she has every right to treat anthony like filth for the rest of her life after what he did to her and be protective of kate, like kate was of edwina when anthony was courting her, after his abhorrent treatment of both sisters.

a 30yo man not giving a fuck about a teenager he strung along and ruined isn't the gotcha that you think it is. except you clearly have such a sexist worldview that you consider him to be the "prize" edwina lost and kate won, rather than a man who hurt them both deeply and took advantage of his privilege over them.

if i should keep kate out of my mouth for wanting to see her have a healthy and wholesome relationship with her family, so should you people for being ok with anthony doing the bare minimum to win her after the hell he put her through.

[yurisorcerer]

So, I've been sick the past couple days. This led to me watching the Code Geass compilation movies. I don't know, the brain works in mysterious ways.

God, Code Geass.

This was another one of those anime things that was just omnipresent for a while in the late '00s. I think it's held up a lot better than its one-time sort-of-rival Death Note, but that's a very low bar to clear (I do not like Death Note at all). Code Geass, or at least the refracted form of it presented here in these recap movies (and going off of my own memories of the original show), is a series I like but don't really....respect. I don't personally get that feeling super often, usually it's the other way around.

It's hard to pin exactly why that is. It's not the campiness---I love that stuff---and it's not the characters, most of whom I genuinely really like. I think it's down to the narrative and what comes out of that narrative. Code Geass' themes and *especially* its political ideas are very....haphazard? They're definitely there; the idea that power corrupts, the question of what it means to deceive, political ideas about war, genocide, colonialism, and so on, but they feel surprisingly incoherent for a show whose central premise builds off the fact that it's taking place in an occupied country. There's a very strong FEELING of there being a big struggle between ideas, but I think that feeling is mostly illusory. The show's characters end up being defined more by their personal connections. Even the proposed duality of Lelouch as the pragmatist and Suzaku as the idealist seems to exist mostly to be taken apart over the course of the story.

On the other hand, maybe that's a good thing? Maybe---intentionally or not---that's what we should be taking out of this, that big ideals tend to falter in the face of the much more immediate pull of the people we love and hate? I don't know, that feels like giving the series a pass in a way I'm not sure I'm totally onboard with.

I'm spending a lot of time criticizing it here, but I do actually like this series. I think for its faults it works really well on a moment to moment level and it hits just an absolute ton of my personal buttons; big mecha fights, rapidfire mind games, and a generally theatrical sense of characterization.

The movies also change a few things from the original series. Mostly these are for the better; Shirley survives the entirety of the recap films, for example, and the entirety of Mao's character and plotline are---thank fuck---ommitted. Some of them I don't really get; Nina is less driven by being a Crazy Lesbian TM which is a good thing for sure, but also the motivation that makes up for that (mostly just being a hysterical racist) clunks off the narrative in a really uncomfortable way, since the series doesn't really address it. Ech.

Also the pacing of the three films both individually and in aggregate is absolutely horrible, like, people complain about pacing in stuff *all the time* but this is some of the worst I've seen in a modern anime production. An advantage the original series had was that, for all its weird detours about, say, Kallen's mom being a fantasy-drug addict or whatever, you got to spend more actual *time* with the characters, so they felt a bit more fully realized. This is definitely a case where the recap films do expect you to be familiar with the original despite making some of those changes. Which is itself fair enough in of itself I suppose, they are called RECAP films after all, but it did make me cognizant of the fact that like, it mostly sort of smears over the reasons people got super attached to characters like (again) Kallen, or Jeremiah. They both get plenty of screentime in these movies and they're absolutely great in what time they do get (and this is the case for a number of other characters as well), but the sheer difference in how these things are structured vis a vis the original show does reveal a few shortcomings of the format. IDK, I feel like I'm writing in circles at this point and again am coming off as more critical than I want to be.

Let me talk about something I think really shines in the movies. You know who's great in these films? This fuckin guy.

Lelouch is, to me, a hysterical fucking character. Bundle of contradictions, impossibly cool loser, gay as hell but always ends up with a woman because Reasons. When I was a youngish teen and watched Code Geass for the first time I had zero idea who Char Aznable was, but, like, this is pretty uncontroversial, right? Lelouch Lamperouge is the millennial Char. He is our forefathers' accomplishments handed down to us as farce. I absolutely hate him, and I hate that I still think he's as super fucking cool as I did when I first watched this story at age 14. My favorite scene in all three movies combined was when he got stabbed in the heart and died, and many of the other scenes I really liked involved him doing something extra. I'm going to bet his death doesn't stick, given that the sequel film to this trilogy (which is an original story!) is called Lelouch of the Re;surrection. What is that semicolon doing there. I'm the last person on earth who should be talking about semicolon placement but come on.

Some other thoughts:

When I was in high school I got into an argument with a friend over whether Kallen's knightmare frame (god, the mecha are fucking called knightmare frames), the Guren, was the coolest giant robot of all time. I don't stand by that assertion itself, but I do think its big hand weapon the Wave Surger is one of the sickest fucking things in this or any mecha series

For being in large part about how colonialism sucks, this series sure isn't in a hurry to visit any part of the world that's actually affected strongly by it IRL, huh? I get that there are Watsonian reasons for this but c'mon.

Kallen and Lelouch's romance in this is even less convincing than it was in the original series which is honestly impressive

Opposite of the above, I find Lelouch / C.C. a little more believable this go-around. Not sure how much of that is it being meaningfully different here vs. me just changing as a person as I've gotten older vs. who knows what else

the entirety of the World of C stuff is still so fucking bizarre to me. it's been years and I still cannot figure out for the life of me why that was how they chose to resolve that whole thing. It feels deliberate, though, because it's not really altered in any major way here and Gorou Taniguchi did something similar in Back Arrow (it kind of fit better there because that show is just weird as hell to begin with, but still, the similarities are striking).

the battles in this are really grandiose and cool and carried the movies for me when the plot did not

I love Kallen so much you guys, you don't even understand

the above bullet point again but about C.C. this time

I miss the gratuitous Pizza Hut advertisements so much. I don't know why. The fact that I do feels like a sign that something is deeply wrong with me.

They cut The Table Scene. Because of Woke, I assume.

god this got long for me just basically being like "I like this but it has a lot of problems." Whatever, no one reads these LOL

[lets-dance-to-joy-division]

Screaming (gently) Into The Void Post:

Goodness, I really don't even know where to begin. This last 14 months has been a wild ride for me, as some of you who have followed me for a long time will already know. I never expected any of what has happened to happen, but I have to say that overall I'm really grateful for the opportunity for growth.

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When I left home last September, I was more or less a shambling mess of a human being. I was apathetic, cold, and depressed. I've been bouncing from place to place for my work for the better part of three years now, and it caused my issues to intensify, to the point that in November of 2020 my wife had to drive me to a psychiatric hospital to avert a suicide attempt. It wasn't my most shining moment, but it's the truth. I was prideful at the time, foolishly thinking I could handle what I was going through on my own, and refused continued care. I made excuses of being too busy and yada yada yada, but the truth is I was too scared to face my past.

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I left a few more times between then and September 2021, and I just completely shut down by the time I got to where I am now. After about a month of being here, I knew I couldn't handle it on my own anymore; this job has too many stressors, too many triggers, too much death and pain. I finally went after help. I started therapy and I was so good at it that one of my two therapists said I should go three times a week for a while! Jokes aside, I needed it. Things started to change in me. I started picking up old passions. I felt like I could start to breathe again.

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I became tremendously better at communicating with my wife and our relationship for the first time in a couple of years, really felt like it was going well, despite the distance. But the weight of sin is heavy, and you will always reap what you sow in the end. She expressed to me she needed to explore options outside of our relationship, it hurt, but I understood and gave her the green light to do so; we separated. I'm thousands of miles away and she had no evidence that my changes would be lasting on my return. I can't blame her; she put everything into us for three years while I was so broken and ungiving. My life and traumas had simply finally caught up to me, and the timing was awful; my refusal to do anything about it was worse.

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Things got pretty dark for me again, and my therapist suggested that I find an outlet to express my emotions, so for the first time since I was in high school I started writing poetry. I really didn't know what to do with it, to be honest, but I wanted someone to see it, to try and connect with people. Once again she came in clutch for me and suggested starting a anon blog, and here we are.

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You have all shown me so much love and support as I've been going through this journey of healing and self-discovery, re(dis)covery. I finally feel like I'm me again, something I don't remember how long it's been since I could say. You've messaged me encouraging words; a couple of you have even become some of my closest friends. You've been there for me in lonely and dark moments to lift me up and I just wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you from the absolute rock bottom of my heart.

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I start traveling in the next day or so, and I'll be back home in a couple of weeks. I mean, this truly, it's because of you wonderful people that I made it this far; it's because of you that I'm not scared to keep pushing forward. Despite the fact that I'm about to lose contact with my therapist and I'll have to start over with a new one. Despite that, at this point, my marriage is all but over. It's you lovely and beautiful souls that give me some hope, and let me know that

I am not alone.

and hey, neither are you.

BL