#get you a man who wants to learn how to accept love on your behalf!!!!!!! (and give it ofc)

[dindjarindiaries]

You reblogged that starter list and before I even saw your message, this one SCREAMED Din to me:

❛ if i could be a different person, i promise you, i would be.

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "If I could be a different person, I promise you, I would be."

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You looked up at the expanse of stars overhead and let out a soft breath. The slight sting of the night's chilled air nipped at your nose, but the way it filtered through your lungs felt relieving. This was the open air; it was much more freeing than the ship you had started to feel trapped within.

It was that ship's boarding ramp you were sitting on, and as you took a quick glance over your shoulder, you saw its owner watching you from within the cargo hold with a worried tilt to his silver helmet. Having been caught in the act, his armored chest rose and fell in a breath as he started to walk towards you. Your gaze returned to the sky above as you sensed his approach.

"I thought you were charting another course," you said as Din took his place alongside you. "We can't spend too much time here."

Din shrugged in your periphery. "An extra rotation won't hurt."

Your head snapped towards him as your lips parted in disbelief. "A rotation?"

Din's visor was stuck on the stars, but after a moment of you staring, he returned your disbelieving glance. "What?"

You chuckled and shook your head, returning your attention to the night sky. You closed your eyes as your heart began to beat more rapidly. The question you wanted to ask screamed within your mind, but it came out as a mere whisper. "Why?"

There was a pause before Din responded. "Why what?"

You reopened your eyes and kept them on the stars. Looking at Din would make you lose your resolve. "Why are you bending your rules?"

When Din remained silent for a long moment, you quickly glanced over at him. His visor was fixed on his gloved hands as he picked the orange-colored material on his fingertips. "We can afford the time, for now." When he continued, his modulated voice was even lower than before. "And you're happy here."

You furrowed your brow at him. "I'm happy regardless."

Din gave his helmet a brief tilt. "Sure. But..." he paused, as if musing upon something, "not like you are on planets like this one."

You didn't know what to say to that. The sweet inhale of the crisp air you took was enough to prove his words true. As you continued to stare somewhat dumbfounded at Din, he added more.

"You don't like being on the ship."

You instantly shook your head and willed the words to come, but they wouldn't. Your throat had closed up around your wildly beating heart as the truths you tied to each atrium and ventricle came closer and closer to freeing themselves.

Din took your silence as a much more disappointing reality. Even his modulator couldn't hide his hurt. "You don't like being with me."

"No." You couldn't have gotten the word out faster if you'd tried. "That's not true."

"It's okay. I understand." Din's arm rested upon his propped-up knee as he looked at the stars yet again. You watched his visor reflect them with fond admiration. "My lifestyle isn't meant to keep people around for long." He nodded, as if he was still convincing himself of such a truth. "I've grown used to it."

His words, a genuine and honest reflection of himself, shattered your heart enough to let the shards escape through the barrier your throat had attempted to create. Each beautiful truth began to spill out in a stained glass mosaic of the image you had crafted over the past few months. "Yet I'm still here."

That caught Din's attention. His visor found your gaze as you pieced your art together.

"I've felt trapped, yes, but not by you or your ship." You exhaled and watched your hand as you set it on the metal of the ramp beside you. It was just inches from Din's own. "It's a feeling. One that consumes me, really. And while it's centered on you, it's not because of you that I feel so trapped. That's only because I know the truth. I know your guard has to stay up."

You huffed and shook your head at yourself.

"It sounds ridiculous to say out loud, honestly, but... you deserve to know." The corners of your mouth pulled up in a sad smile. "Even if there's nothing you can do about it."

Din's visor never left you as he sat in the heavy silence that followed. Eventually, his visor lowered, his focus moving to his gloved hand as it closed the distance to your own. Only part of his hand covered yours on the boarding ramp as he spoke in the most beautifully honest tone you had ever heard from him. "If I could be a different person, I promise you, I would be."

You shook your head, your gaze also fixed on your hands as you did so. "If you were any different, you wouldn't be the person I've grown such feelings for."

You were delicate in the way you laced your fingers through his, allowing him to pull away at any point if he so wished. He made no such move, instead letting his armored chest rise and fall in a careful breath as your hands became fully entwined. After a few more quiet moments, he spoke up once again. "I can learn."

You looked back up at his visor and hoped your expression wasn't betraying your strong glimmer of hope. Din offered a determined nod.

"I will learn."

Your smile couldn't be stopped as you looked upon him much more favorably than you ever had the stars. "Yeah?"

Din nodded once more, resting your entwined hands on his armored thigh. "Yeah."

[imwetforyourmom]

hi can u do headcannons (or a fic idm) of like people pleaser!reader and bf!matt who like stands up for her or tells people off on her behalf?

I really hope this makes even the slightest bit of sense

thank you so much, I love ur writing sm🤍🫶🏼

people pleaser!reader x matt headcannons!

(I have never done hcs ever, so if its bad thats mb, also I didnt know if you wanted nsfw but I js didnt bc I dont rllt know how to nsfw people pleaser x matt but if tou want me to retry it dont hesitate to ask!!)

warnings: angst, swearing

a/n: I dont rlly know how to write people pleasers and such so thats why its short, but I can try again if you’d like, I also love this idea, thank you anon!! <33

~

- the second someone pushes you around and or walks all over you hes quick to shut it down.

“alright listen man, it was one thing when you told her to fuck off, but telling her to shut the fuck up is another. I need you to leave.”

- when matt notices that someone is using you to their advantage or even notices you going out of your way to please them on several occasions hes getting it done and over with, quick.

“okay. enough y/n, come sit with me. you dont need to do everything for that asshole, k?”

^ he made sure to say it extra loud so the guy heard what matt had said about him.

- after matt had told someone off for being rude to you, you sat down next to him with your head hung low and your eyes filled with tears of guilt.

“baby, whats wrong?” he asked, his arm coming over to your back and rubbing your shoulder.

“that wasnt nice of you to yell at him.. look at him, I feel guilty now.” you spoke, your voice slightly shaky as you motioned to the man whom was anxiously biting his lip with his mouth closed shut, after matt had told him to keep it shut.

“it also wasnt nice of him to yell at you and call you names, was it?” he grumbled, just looking at the guy made him angrier, especially knowing you felt bad for him.

- “no, no, if you want me to. I can!” you spoke, a soft smile on your face as you talked to the girl infront of you, in which the girl had a smirk on her face, catching onto your patterns.. doing anything for the sake of pleasing her.

matt, on the other hand, stood behind you and glared at the girl, his jaw clenching with pure irritation. matt cleared his throat, trying to get the girls attention. and once her eyes met his he brought his hand up and flipped her off.

- in ways of showing you he wasnt happy with what you were doing he’d do subtle motions with his hands or look at you a certain way. you’ve learned that his jaw clenched tightly shut and his eyes glaring at you, then a quick look at the person you were currently giving your everything, is a way of him indicating he wanted you stop what you were doing.

- watching you adapt someone elses personality to try and seem more approachable and less weird truly angers him, despite knowing he cant do anything about it. he feels you should know that you’re perfect just the way you are and dont need to be accepted by everyone, they should like you for who you are.

- “oh..” you mumble, your head hung low as somone insults you and your interests. you cant say anything nor do anything, its not in your nature. you just have to sit there and take it, in fear of disappointing them. and since matt wasnt with you, there wasnt any way in stopping the next few minutes of being insulted.

later that day, when you come home your cheeks are tear-stained, you have mascara running down your cheeks and your breathing is uneven.. theres no way in hell you’re hiding this from matt. you take gentle steps as you walk to his room, slowly pushing his door open and taking small sniffles.

with hearing the door creak open matts lips turn into a grin, that is, until he lifts his head up to the sight of you, looking like you just bawled for hours on end. he quickly tosses his phone on his bed and walks over to you, engulfing you in his arms. already knowing what was going on he didnt ask anything, instead just comforted you.

- “ok! im fucking tired of your shit dude! you’ve been bossing, walking all over her, degrading and just overall being a total dickhead to her!” matt yelled, finally getting enough of this kid being rude to his girlfriend. he stood up from his chair and walked over to carlos. he stood tall and high infront of him. y/n moved behind matt and grabbed his hand, holding it and lightly squeezing, at an attempt to calm him down.

“matt, baby, its okay. im fine. dont yell at him.” y/n whispered, your voice quiet as you spoke. you avoided eye contact with carlos. “no, its not okay! hes being a total asshole to you, y/n. you dont deserve to be treated like that.” he turned around to face you. his voice no longer being loud as he spoke with sincerity towards you.

- you being treated rudely didnt always end up with him yelling at someone. when he wasnt fuming with anger, he would grab your hand and hold it, rubbing his thumb gently over your skin, then pull you into him, in a sense of protection and to tell you ‘enough’ without speaking.

- matt would act almost immediately when he even sees the beginning signs of you starting to act and do everything possible for the person you’re talking to. he would lean down in your ear and mumble quietly, “relax, my love.”

- again, he would make sure to be extra loud about shit talking someone when calling you over to him just to make sure that they know what matt thinks of them.

“cmon baby, that poor excuse of a friend doesnt deserve you.”

“hes being an asshole, my love. dont suck up to him.”

tags

@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @genshin-addict @mels22lunchbox @ssilentzom @haunted-headset @dollyspsychoxo @sturnib-tch @b2cute @livvy4realll @graysturns

[sleepyfireball]

I loved Season 3 so much (Violet Bridgerton Edition)

If you haven't guessed (God help you) Violet is my favourite character and I have a lot of thoughts about her storyline in Part 2.

First her storyline with John and Francesca. Something I really enjoy about Violet is that she is not perfect, and she actively learns from her past mistakes and tries to do better. That being said, she does still make mistakes. While she is significantly better this season at not pushing her children too hard in the marriage mart, she still does push Francesca a bit. I think she recognises that Francesca loves John, but she is not sure if she is in love with John. She is hesitant to speak to the Queen on their behalf, mostly because Agatha point blank tells her that the Queen will sniff out her doubts, even though Violet said her doubts do not matter in the face of Francesca's happiness. However, I do think Violet benefited from hearing that falling in love can look different, it does not always have to sudden and instantaneous and loud. Violet has a habit of expecting her children to experience love the way she did and it is important for her to recognise that her loved experience is not the only experience of true love. Also, Francesca forgave Violet, which I think was really important as well. An important part of growing up is realising that your parents are people too and as such, make mistakes. The scene of the two of them playing the piano together will live happily in my heart forever, as will John's acknowledgement of Violet's role in her children's lives.

I also found it quietly funny that Violet told Francesca she stumbled over her words the first time she met Edmund, then, not 5 minutes later, was stumbling over her words when speaking to Marcus. Not to mention that in part one, Violet had stumbled through her disastrous introduction to Marcus in the first place.

I love love loved seeing Violet and Marcus's story play out. Daniel Francis and Ruth Gemmell have amazing chemistry together and honestly were amazing in their scenes together. The way that he was constantly seeking her out at social events and he came to call on her was so sweet; even if Violet was so horny watching him eat that little dessert. I think Marcus should definitely be the one to tend her garden and I loved seeing them dance together. A romantic dance for the first time in 12 years for Violet. I enjoyed that she looked nervous but also excited to get to dance again. I also enjoyed that they put their relationship on the backburner to sort out their own issues. That's a really healthy outlook and I love that their communication is strong enough that they were comfortably able to talk about it. If I had my way, before season 4 we would get a prequel series about Young Violet and Edmund, paralleled with Violet and Marcus's proper courtship.

Marcus's scenes with Agatha were also top tier. Daniel Francis and Adjoa Andoh blew it out of the water, particularly in the scene where they both want to go after Violet when she's upset at the Mondrich ball. I feel like that scene hit really hard after watching QC:ABS and seeing just how miserable Agatha was in her arranged marriage. Also, seeing Agatha desperately trying to throw widows who are not Violet at her brother in the hopes that he would get distracted was hilarious, but I did appreciate that he did not waver in his feelings for Violet once. That is exactly what Violet deserves, not some wishy washy man who can't commit, like we were worried he would be, due to the rake comments from Part 1. I really appreciated that Marcus went and apologised, to resolve the matter almost as soon as he found out why Agatha was so angry at him. (her holding a grudge against a 10 year old is mildly hilarious, even if it leads to some pretty bad consequences) and that Agatha was willing to accept his apology and looked most pleased seeing him and Violet together after they had made up.

Now, Violet and Agatha's scenes. Oh my god, Ruth Gemmell and Adjoa Andoh give a master-class in acting because the two scenes they share, in Ep7 and Ep8 respectively are truly some of my favourite from across the whole show and spin off. This friendship between Violet and Agatha means so much and it is clear that neither of them want to jeopardise that friendship. The scene is Ep7 where Violet assures Agatha that their friendship is non-transactional is so important because all her life, Agatha has been told that in order to receive love, she has to provide something in return. Violet tells her, in no uncertain terms, that they will remain friends even after there are no more matches to make. For me as someone who struggled to make true friends for the longest time, seeing this relationship onscreen made me cry. And the scene in Ep8 where they finally actually talk about the discoveries made in QC:ABS is amazing as well. The cinematography in particular for this scene, I adored. The moment Agatha acknowledges that she loved Violet's dad, the camera hides away, behind the couch. When looking at Agatha, the camera is hidden away behind Violet's head. It feels like we are barely supposed to see that scene, because the two ladies are barely supposed to be talking about it. The filmography made the scene feel voyeuristic in a way, like the audience was not supposed to see it. This isn't even to mention the insane acting. I genuinely feel like I am just watching a conversation occur naturally between two people, not a scripted scene that is being acted out. The fact that they finally acknowledged everything from QC:ABS is also monumentsl as it means that Violet and Agatha are willing to move past that and continue their friendship, no matter what. Having Agatha say she will choose Violet over Marcus should he handle things wrong felt so wonderful as well, especially when you have the juxtaposition with Penelope and Eloise and Colin. And panning over to the hat at the end of that scene was wonderful. Not to mention the whole rest of that scene focused on Agatha reassuring Violet about Francesca and John as she had been doing all season.

If I could change anything about this I would add in two scenes. 1. Agatha consoling Violet after she runs out of the Mondrich Ball and 2. Getting Violet and Colin talking about the Whistledown reveal, because we were robbed of Ruth Gemmell's wonderful acting for that scene. I also want to know what was in that letter. I also would have liked to see Violet helping out a little more for Colin and Penelope, but I understand why she brought in Kate and Anthony to help him out.i would have loved more bonding scenes between Penelope and Violet and also Penelope and Agatha, but I was just glad we got the small crumbs of those relationships that we did. Three things I loved, when The Queen told everyone who was not a Bridgerton to leave, Agatha stayed right there and the Queen did not dare question her. And Anthony being overprotective over Violet and Kate telling him to chill. I do wanna see his reaction if we get Violet and Marcus seriously courting through. And the rest of her kids reactions to cluing onto Marcus was basically good for her, which I was very happy about and felt really healthy for their family dynamic.

I could talk about these three actors and these plot lines until the sun burns up, but that'll do for now

[feelinungry]

and i will always, always, be defending the "plot-holes" that are not actually plot-holes at all. i've seen people on facebook complain so many times about the ending of the game - about the siege of talmberg to be more exact.

"just attack it", "just take it down", "why doesn't divish just do it", "ohh his wife he can't even fuck! nobody gives a damn", "henry doesn't even really care for radzig at this point" etc.

and i have to go back to that one solitary thing this game literally cannot exist without: love. it's the main aspect, it's the pillars the story stands on, it's everything.

medieval movies and books like to picture the old times ala skyrim: "my son was very young when he died. but he did so while doing his duty. he fell for skyrim! he fell for the empire! i do not mourn for i am proud!"

"oh, i loved my father more than anything. but he is gone now. that is life."

it is. but. hear me out. people back then - were actually just like people now. we break down when we lose someone we adore, cherish, love, protect. no matter how stoic we may be, we don't take it lightly, do we?

so, if you think about it, is it a plot-hole, when divish refuses to attack his castle because

it's his home and he loves it

his wife is in there

his friend is also in there?

robard would not attack if it were divish in there. radzig would not attack if it were henry in there. hans would not attack if it were hanush in there. istvan would not attack if it were erik in there. captain bernard would not attack if it were hans in there.

it all comes back to love. and wanting people you care about safe.

martin running back to certain death because his wife is in the village when the cumans attack.

both parents worrying about nothing but their beloved son even while they are being brutally murdered.

everyone on talmberg willing to lock henry up just to keep him away from skalitz (for reasons yet unknown).

theresa making a last stand for someone just as lost as her.

the understanding he's met with when henry comes and admits his failure to radzig, the fact that he went against direct order. (nothing, absolutely nothing else but radzig being in debt to martin, or radzig being someone close to henry, could explain the understanding, the acceptance, and the outcome of the whole situation. how do you think henry - who is just a young man, not a hero, not a dragonborn, not a chosen one - would get away with all this?)

henry backed out of the night raid on talmberg because hans was wounded and wouldn't survive long enough for the mission to succeed.

hans (in one of the outcomes) carried him out on his back, saving his fat ass. no time for glory, no time for saving the hostages when it's suddenly your best friend who is on the ground and bleeding out. he might have succeeded with the mission. yet he didn't hesitate when suddenly it was him who was put in the shoes of those who just wanted to keep their loved ones safe. it was stephanie for divish (he approved the raid). it was radzig for henry (he was the one who went first and most willingly). and it was henry for hans (who immediately backed out on henry's behalf). all those actions were based on love.

would you attack talmberg, knowing there was someone you loved? someone you wanted to know better, someone you wanted to learn how to love, someone who could have been much closer if he only tried? someone you only just met?

the whole story starts with love, continues with love, ends with love. it is everywhere you look and you don't even have to romance anyone to see it, to feel it. it is in the npcs' lives, it's the motivation behind so many actions. it's in henry's decisions. in your decisions.

because, don't you just love this game?

[turbulentscrawl]

Identity(V) Headcanons: Naib Subedar

yall know the drill ;) If you like how I write the characters, consider sending me a request or matchup!

I also don't really have the patience to sit on my posts for a few days and check for mistakes, so forgive my typos hahah

-Naib got into his line of work out of necessity, not desire. He has never enjoyed taking lives…but he is both very good at it and very professional about it. He’s survived so long, in part, by being good at compartmentalizing his emotions. Work is work, and life outside is not, and he’s somehow managed to separate the two without separating his mental state. Nevertheless, he’s a very different person when he’s on the job and he would prefer that his loved ones didn’t see that.

-Outside of work, Naib shares Norton’s sentiments of all life being created equal. Unlike Norton, however, he uses this as a motivation to protect people rather than concern himself with revenge. That’s not to say he won’t step in if someone is out of line, but he is primarily focused on contributing good to the world in his free time.

-That said, Naib’s moral compass has become a bit warped over the years. He does his best to be a good person, but at a certain point someone can have so much blood on them that it starts to color their vision. The opposite of rose-colored glasses, if you will. He is, however, an accurate and consistent judge of character, so he often thinks about his course-of-actions in the frame of ‘would my mother be proud of me for this?’ That helps a lot with any difficult decisions.

-Naib “gets along” with most people. Being rough around the edges as he is sometimes makes it difficult for people to tell where they stand with him, but in truth he’s very vocal when he doesn’t like someone. It generally takes someone intentionally and repeatedly antagonizing him before he starts to develop a negative opinion. Otherwise, he maintains politeness.

-He is very slow to let people in, however. Naib’s life is dangerous and fleeting, so even when he likes someone he’s hesitant to get close to them. Outside of the manor, he’s a genuine slow-burn sort. A real “we’ve known one another for years and I’ve liked you for almost as long but I wont let myself have you until it’s entirely too much to take and I initiate an explosive night of passion” sort. Inside the manor, though, I think it’s more of a “we take comfort where we can get it, and then it slowly becomes real” sort of thing.

-Used to being the man of the house, Naib has a habit of trying to speak on behalf of or otherwise handle people’s problems for them. Again, he’s a good judge of character, so he’s pretty accurate in gauging how people would want situations handled…but this can still cause tension with friends and partners who are more independent. And if you talk to him about wanting to handle something yourself? There’s a non-zero chance he’ll go behind your back and take care of it anyway.

-The best love languages for Naib are Gift Giving and Words of Affirmation! He likes receiving thoughtful gifts—specifically ones that help in his everyday life, or resolve an issue he’s having. (Even if that issue is just “I’m hungry” and you pick up some of his favorite snacks.) He also likes little trinkets that he can easily carry around to remind him of the giver when he travels. Naib also tends to give kind words the benefit of the doubt, so he accepts verbal affection without argument or doubt. Everything he does is for his loved ones, and he likes to know that he’s appreciated, loved, and missed when he’s gone. Letters are amazing too; he keeps every letter and picture he receives and treats them with as much care as possible.

-Naib could not be close with someone who has a problem with his work. He understands why they would, he himself is rather tired of it.... But he’s been doing this for too long and is in too deep to leave. He and his mother cannot afford for him to quit being a mercenary and take the time to try learning some other skill that may or may not keep food on the table as consistently. You don’t have to like his work, but it can’t be something you hound him about. If you don’t talk about it, neither will he, and you can both just pretend it doesn’t happen.

-He’s a walking garbage can. I mean it, he can and will eat anything provided to him. He has preferences of course, but after years of food insecurity and then subsequent years of service-provided meals, he’s learned to not be picky. He also never outgrew the habit of rationing and hiding food in case of emergencies, and is an avid believer in the 5-second rule because he dislikes wasting food.

-Because he eats so much--and in spite of having irregular sleep patterns—Naib always has a lot of energy. This is useful for work and matches but also shows itself in other ways…such as being a very animated conversationalist. (per the stageplay lol) It’s only obvious when he’s moderately comfortable, but Naib might legitimately be incapable of sitting still when he’s not on guard.

-He’s pretty bad at making jokes. His sense of humor came from his years in the service, surrounded by brothers-in-arms. As a result, his idea of good-natured joking is completely ragging on people. Norton is the main person in the manor who gets this, but it leaves most other people to wonder if they’re actually friends or if they hate one another.

[sometimesibewriting]

No Goodbyes (An Uryu drabble)

💙sfw little drabble I made while taking a break from editing and finishing up a new one shot. 💙

Set after the blood war arc, no spoilers

❌No warning as well

📃Wordcount: 836 (short n sweet)

Angsty but ends in fluff

I only reread this a couple of times so apologizes if there are any huge spelling or grammar errors in the fic.

Ichigo took Uryu by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "What do you mean there's NO POINT."

"I said what I said, there's no point in telling her.” Uryu held Ichigo’s wrists trying to pull them off. “I also don’t want to influence her and have her change her decision.”

“Still you're not even going to try?!?" Ichigo’s grip loosened but his voice stayed sterned, Uryu stayed silent.  He hated when Ichigo got angry on her behalf, it made him feel less than and dumb. 

He didn’t want to change her mind. She had decided to go back and learn about her people and who they were. If she wanted to take back the throne & get married that was her decision. He didn’t want her to lose such an experience all because of a love confession

 Especially when he didn’t have the opportunity himself when he found out his people were still alive. Besides he was Quincy, if they were to get together before she left she probably wouldn't be accepted. 

"Ishida, answer me." Ichigo shook him once again knocking Uryu back into reality. 

Uryu ignored him. “Fine don’t answer me but when she comes back with someone don’t be mad. It’s not her fault your scared.” Ichigo roughly let go of him.

If Uryu was a different man he definitely would have punched him, but he let him go he saw no point in violence in a moment like this. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and left.

______________________________________________________________

Uryu walked not knowing where his feet were taking him..at first. It became clear when he stood outside her door. He should turn back immediately he thought, his body betrayed him as he knocked.

I'll say goodbye that's it, I’ll say goodbye and leave that was his plan.

She opened the door. 

"Ishida? " She said somewhat confused. "Hey. I." The words caught in his throat. He swallowed. "Wanna come in? " She asked she knew Uryu was a man of few words, so she didn't see his actions as weird. 

They walked into the living room that was being packed up. Uryu made sure the door closed behind him and turned around coming face to face with her. This was supposed to be goodbye, but he couldn't form the words to say it.

He looked at her and remembered everything they have been through. From how they met, to how they became friends, to how he realized he loved her. How he ended up betraying her and having to gain back her trust back.

“Uryu.” She said to him snapping him back to reality, he had been staring at her this whole time. “Are you okay?” She put her hands all over his face. “Your skin is paler than usual but your temperature is fine.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Uryu suddenly blurted out his voice raising slightly, she froze looking at him but smiled. “I’m going to miss you too, I’m going to miss all of you.”

She then walked away picking up something and walked around pretending to look for a spot to put it. Not wanting him to see her upset, Uryu leaned up against a wall watching her.

“Can you promise me something?” She suddenly asked.

Uryu perked up at her question. “You have my word.”

She smiled to herself, it was very him to just say yes to her without knowing what she wanted. “Promise me you’ll find someone.”

He now looked at her with confusion. “A very nice nurse girl, maybe from the college you're going to. Someone who can keep up with your personality.” She didn’t notice that she was gripping what was in her hand, trying not to cry. 

Uryu walked behind and put his arms around her, she gently placed the object down as he put his face in her neck. “I refuse this.” He whispered.

“Why?” She asked tears slowly falling. “I’m not going to see you for a long time, you shouldn’t waste your time waiting for me.”

So she knew this whole time Uryu thought to himself

“It’s only going to be a year.” He turned her around so they were now face to face. “You can forget me in a year.” Tears were now falling, Uryu put his hands on either side of her face and whipped off her tears.

“I’m not going to forget you in a year or two and I don’t want to be with someone from school, I want to be with you.” She paused when he said all that. She had only seen him get emotional once, and it shocked her as if it was the first time.

“I love you…” Were his next words as he leaned in and kissed her. “I have for a while.” He said against her lips. “But don’t let this confession change your mind, 'cause I’ll still be here when you get back. I’m not going anywhere.” Uryu leaned in but this time he made sure the kiss was harder.

[crazylittlejester]

since it’s almost Hyrule Warriors anniversary…do you have any lttc warriors facts you’d like to share 🤲 also I’m going to draw him as part of my drawing links from different links meets thing I do for each game’s anniversary. It will happen I promise you so uh. idk if you have additional facial descriptors for him that you left in the other posts 🤲 but I’m pretty sure I can draw him accurately enough with the information already provided 👍 anyways, hope you have a good rest of your day!

OH BOY A CHANCE TO YAP ABOUT MY BLORBO!!!!!!

- Zelda keeps trying to promote him and he keeps refusing and she’s so frustrated by it, but he refuses to accept a promotion for something he doesn’t believe he accomplished

- He genuinely thinks he’s so sneaky with the lifts he has in his boots, he’s genuinely convinced no one knows

- Proxi can acknowledge how much he’s grown, but she still sees him as her wet cat son who just desperately needed someone to look out for him. She’s very proud of him, but she still thinks he’s ridiculous

- It took him a hot minute to become fluent enough in ‘hyrulian common’ (english) to be able to understand fast conversations with slang in them and to be able to speak back and converse with other soldiers at that level because it’s not his first language (this is why he sometimes stares at people with an incredibly blank expression during the war, he doesn’t always understand what they’re saying). Proxi continued to speak on his behalf until he’d perfected a castle town accent as well because he didn’t want anyone knowing he didn’t grow up within Hyrule kingdom

-Regularly abuses the fact that the general public has a certain image of him in their minds, and when he does not meet that image he can literally walk around wherever the hell he wants without being recognized and it’s so good for his mental health. He’s still paranoid and worried, but people just don’t recognize him because they hear all the tales of a strong, confident young man and Warriors is actually fairly quiet and comes off as a bit shy, plus people just aren’t expecting the hero to randomly be walking around on his own. Without the make up, fancy clothes, and boots and all that, he can just walk around markets like a normal person, and without the green tunic, Mask can too. So he’d pretty regularly just take Mask around towns to buy sweet treats and they both got to experience what it might’ve been like for an eighteen year old to shop with his little brother

- During the war, he and Ravio got quite close. They’re a dangerous combination and make each other worse

- He and his Zelda are incredibly close, they’re extremely good friends and they like to get together every so often and just YAP

also for any additional descriptors: LTTC Wars looks pretty much exactly like how I headcanon LU Wars. He was deadass created from You’re A Part Of Me Wars when I one day sat back and went “oh my god at this point I’ve just made my own guy-” the main difference between LTTC Wars and You’re A Part Of Me Wars is that LTTC Wars grew up outside of Hyrule Kingdom surrounded by a different culture and he struggled a lot more with a language barrier when he went to Castle Town (while my version of LU Wars grew up IN Hyrule Kingdom and had to struggle with learning his mom’s side of the family’s culture while being unable to fully interact with it), and a few details of the war. But physically they’re the same guy, so my pfp pic could be used as an additional ref if you needed :) THANK YOU FOR DRAWING MY GUY I LOVE HIM VERY MUCH

i love to stick lttc wars and you’re a part of me wars in a room and see what happens, they’d both hate it but I think theyd have so much to say

[thecameronchronicles]

Revelations

TW: Smut. Language. 

SUMMARY: Topper learns of the true nature of your relationship with John B while your ‘husband’ makes it a point to prove how devoted to you that he truly is, learning something about you in the process…

WORD COUNT: 1600

*Requested*

xtom-darling-x17 asked:

Hey, can I please request John B x Reader, where the scene where Topper comes on his boat with Sara but instead.. it’s you but you never disappeared, staying with them on the dock in the morning. Topper comes by being his jealous self and You blurt out that John B is your husband.. I really need to see Toppers Reaction! Thank you so much.. later that day, John B finds out that a man has never ate you out, you two had sex before but not oral.. John B blows your mind with his tongue.. if you want you can include that  they had sex too!! Thank you so much, I love your writing.. 🥰

Revelations

“Save some of him for the rest of us…” JJ teased as you had kept John B wrapped in your desperate embrace after he’d returned to you after being imprisoned. Not a moment spent apart in which your loyalty waivered, but it was not enough to keep Topper from trying to intervene to someone he believed he was still entitled to. The sight of his boat visible as Pope would comment something beneath his breath before pointing to the dock.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay…” Topper ignored John B’s presence entirely, even if he was glared at by the recently renounced criminal. 

“I’m…”

“Problem?” He asked when looking at John B. 

“I mean, you COULD keep your hands to yourself…” He warned as you stood before both of them, the bravado sweltering as they towered over you, the tension enough to make you anxious as you cast a look to the other pogues as if silently asking for help, their feet at the ready to intervene if things got out of hand as Topper was without his usual brigade of fellow kooks, including your brother. 

“Didn’t realize she had a leash-”

“Just keeping her away from trash-”

“Oh really? And what makes you better? Huh? I just came here to check on my friend-” John B scoffed at the title. 

“Stop it…both of you…” You turned to Topper. 

“Really, I’m fine…Thanks for checking, but you could just call next time, you know…” You reminded him as you attempted to diffuse the situation, but the tension that had been created with or without your presence was too thick for words to penetrate. 

“I just worry about you…You’ve been through so much…” You understood why Topper cared about you. It was a relationship that may not have been lengthy, but it did mean something, even if it wasn’t true love, it was admiration and respect to a certain point. But it still paled in comparison to the life you had with John B. The way his arm around your waist or look from across the room held more chemistry than any intimate moment between you and your ex. 

But still, neither one of them could accept that one was your past and one was your future. Where Topper believed he was protecting you, John B believed he was speaking on your behalf, maybe even more of his own. But it built such an argument that JJ kept John be held back and Kiara and you held your hands to Topper’s chest. 

“One day she’s gonna see that all you are is a mistake! I’m not saying she’ll end up with ME, but she’ll definitely find someone better than you!”

“Oh really?!”

“Yeah, really! You’re nothing to her, and she’s smart enough that she’ll get bored and-”

“Topper!”

“No, look, I’m just looking out of your and he’s just dragging you down…and I just need you to know that I’ll be there for you…You’re nothing to her! Just a guy she’s-”

“He’s…” You looked between the two men, who couldn’t be any more different, and yet held your romantic interest at different times within your life, one more intense than the other. But because of this, the words left your lips before you could stop them. 

“We’re married!” Everyone stood completely stunned, JJ having made some remark about the lack of a bachelor party and Pope and Kie sharing a look of disbelief, while Topper stood dumbfounded. 

“You-You’re what?”

“We got married.” John B now pulled you to his side, a weak smile across your face as Topper would just continue to stare, trying to find how your words made sense. He knew the words, they were in English, yet they couldn't have been true. It was as if any small fraction of a chance he had to have a life with you was now impossible.

“How?” He finally asked. 

“Beneath the stars…on the ocean…” You relived the moment as John B and you shared a loving gaze that only frustrated Topper further. 

“So it’s not legal then.”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“I’d say it does considering-”

“Please, Top, just…just go…I appreciate you wanting to be there for me…but-”

“You’re gonna regret it…all of this…You don’t belong with them…”

“Yeah, I do…” You corrected as he would shake his head, return to his boat, and disappear on the horizon while John B held his arm proudly around your shoulders. 

After the details of your matrimony were offered to the pogues and you were finally allowed a moment alone, John B was desperate to prove his affection to you. Having been apart for a multitude of reasons, mostly his imprisonment, you were both eager to share an actual moment of privacy. And he was quick to take you to him as the door closed behind you both. With fingers wrapped in your hair, you felt his tongue glide against your bottom lip as he’d pull apart to speak, only to return with an even deeper kiss. 

“I love you…So goddamn much…and I love that HE knows…I love that they all do…that you’re mine…that I’m yours.”

“John B…” Your hand came to his chest as he paused for a moment to assess you as your fingers played with the buttons of his already mostly parted shirt. 

“There WILL be questions about it and judgment-”

“Let them. It doesn’t matter. But just know…” You were pushed playfully onto the bed, his body hovering over you as he teased your lips. “I do intend to make it legal…” His brow flexed as he kissed you until you were flat against the bed, his hands gluttonous for you until you were left in only your lingerie. 

“God, I missed this…” He smiled as you nodded, biting your bottom lip, as he moved over you for another kiss, hand to your cheek, before a final peck, would bring him to his knees between you. 

“Wait…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I um…I don’t know how…”

“All you’ve gotta do is lay there, baby…Let me show you JUST how much I love you-”

“No…” You spoke quickly, taking hold of his thick tresses before pulling yourself towards him, close enough to feel his scoff.

“Nobody’s uhm-” His brows raised as he looked between your legs before scoffing once more. 

“HE never did? I mean…I know we talked about you never-But he didn’t…” You pulled your arms across your chest in embarrassment. 

“Do you want me to?” You slowly nodded as he pulled your arms apart and laid you back flat. 

“Then let me…” He kissed your lips, moving down between your breasts, his hands firm yet cautious, as he played with your nipples to such a degree that your hips were now moving against his chest. 

“I love knowing I’m the first one to make you come like this…” He lowered between your legs, pulling one over each shoulder until his breath teased your exposed heat, dripping with anticipation, “And the last…wife…” His brow cocked before his tongue made his way against you. Your back arched immediately as he flattened you with a forearm across your hips. Your body was eager and reactive, grinding and twisting in desperation as he nodded and moaned against you. 

“Fuck, you’re so sweet…” He pulled apart to make this very remark, before you led your hands through his hair. 

“John B!”

“I love when you scream my name…” But you were quick to cover your mouth at the thought of the other pogues possibly in earshot of your coming orgasm. 

“I think we’ve earned it, sweetheart…they know what we’re doing…so let them know I’m making it worth it…” You groaned, his fingers twisting your nipples as his other hand set around your thigh, pulling your legs wider for him, as he devoured you completely. The tremors of your orgasm crashed quickly as he nodded, endorsing you with nothing more than the loving circles made of his thumbs and the enthusiasm of his quick tongue. 

“Was that-”

“Fuck me…Please, John B-” He scoffed, cockin ghi shead as he removed his shorts, pulling them clean off of hsi hips as you guided him inside of you. 

“I love you, baby…” He spoke against your lips as you arched your back to the familiar fullness of his cock, only a handful of instances you were able to recollect due to the larger than life events that kept you unable to enjoy one another as you could in this moment, but basking in him irregardless. 

“Til death do us part-” He nodded to your words before bowing his head into you, your fingers running through his hair in that loving hold to your chest, as he shuddered through his own release, a final kiss of pure love sent to your lips before you were wrapped in one another, never to be separated again. At least, if you could help it…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[sleeptowns]

a year (or so) of fics, in retrospect

once every handful of years i remember to look back at the collection of projects i’ve finished recently and to simulate a critique as if i’m an art school student — and also as if i’m the haunted teacher’s assistant who wants to be gentle on the prof’s behalf but actually hates your work and also i am the other students who have been sitting there for seven hours straight and can’t offer much more except say, “it’s fine.” a one-man critique day, all parts played by me. 

sometimes i do this and the last period of writing has been drier than a pizza slice left in the winter sun, but this time i’m lucky that these last couple of years have been the closest i’ve had to a writing pax romana.

with that said, i’m not entirely sure how valid i am whenever i think these days that my writing has gone through some drastic changes in the last year; i’m not even sure if it’s accurate to call any of it growth, though i’m aware it’s the sort of thing i won’t have a clear perspective on until a few years after the fact. but i do know that i’m lucky to have so many works to act as markers for different periods of my writing, and while it’s far from a sure method of evaluation, there are parts there that i’m able to at least assess, if not outright measure. in the last year or so, my fics have started mutating towards — not really a separate sort of output than my previous ones, but definitely older somehow. older and quite different because of it: stylistic choices i would have steered clear of before, failed and/or lacklustre genre explorations, even relationship dynamics that were previously unfamiliar territory. my most recent fic feels like a culmination of all my attempts at wrestling with my writing in the ring, and now that it’s a few weeks behind me and i get to look at it with fresh(er) eyes and accept that it’s my favourite child (i’m sorry flls... you’re not too far behind), it’s also reminded me that i have a now overdue fic roundup to write. 

tangentially speaking, it’s interesting that you never really hear about self-taught writers. self-taught artists, yes, and self-taught musicians, but never quite self-taught writers. i don’t exactly purport to have taught myself everything i know about writing, and i know you can’t really be self-anything as a writer; what i lack in technique and finesse learned from proper writing classes, teachers, and/or workshops, i owe to the media i’ve consumed, good and bad, as well as to the creators i love and to all the thoughtful readers i’ve had over the years. if i’m self-taught in any way, then the self as a teacher was reared by countless others who have honed in me a limitless capacity to be an observer to stories, mine and all else. 

this post is just a roundup of all my fics from december 2020 to january 2023, including only the ones with enough substantial content to write about, which disqualifies a lot of the fics i left at one or five scenes max but qualifies the ones i abandoned at one chapter. just a little something for me to reference as i figure out where to take my writing next and hopefully move towards some kind of ✨ growth ✨ lol 

・・・・・・

FIRST LOVE, LATE SPRING december 2020 to march 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | dual pov romance, multimedia (?)

i covered a bit of the early chapters and conceptualization for flls in a separate post, but as i was reflecting on how to write a continuation, it occurred to me that if there’s a clear before and after to the current state of my writing, then the first portion of flls chapter five is where i’ll find it. 

when i was drafting my 58393th version of that chapter — nothing was working, none of it was the right vibe i needed, most of them too detached or too on-the-nose but never the perfect middle — i happened upon trying second person pov by accident. i’m not the biggest fan of second person (though to be fair, i don’t think anyone is) but by that point i was so sick of writing and rewriting this one section and not getting anywhere that i wondered if i should just lean all the way into that disgust. why not do something i hated entirely? and act of desperation as that was, the moment i started writing in curt, nauseating second person, i knew it was the right choice. 

the thing about writing flls!yuuji is that he felt both alive and unfamiliar. flls!megumi was easier to understand, even if he was trickier to write — but yuuji, i had to really work to get to know. one thing about him that i knew to be careful about from the very beginning of jjk is that it would be too surface level to think this boy is an extrovert. yuuji is usually painted as an energetic, sunny person, and i don’t think he’s not that, but there’s something about yuuji that’s also very internal and almost innately… isolated? i don’t know if that’s necessarily the right word, but there’s a lot about him as a character that’s out of view or grasp, which ironically i find people taking at face value. in flls, he required a lot more balance than megumi, who was a dam waiting to be relieved of its duties. flls!yuuji knows who or what he is — how could he not, when he’s never had a choice but to be this person, this kid who lost his grandpa, this kid who needs love but doesn’t know how to ask for it because he doesn’t even know there are forms of it he can ask for? 

how to write a character like that? how to nudge someone who doesn’t reveal even at his most revealing towards the christmas eve fight i had set up in the beginning of flls chapter one? back before chapter six of flls came out, i saw a lot of people argue that megumi and yuuji just needed to communicate, and yes, of course they do, but i was also very adamant as i started chapter five that the real tragedy about them is that communication will do nothing in the end. even if they magically became master communicators about their needs and wants and insecurities, none of it will change the fact that neither of them are ready to love and be loved by the other person. at least not in any way that constitutes a relationship that feels like love. 

i think that’s the key to writing the relationship in flls. it was never a question that they loved each other, and how much. never. this is probably the first piece of ~growth i appreciated about flls. it would be easy to write a romance where the main conflict is them not knowing the other loved them back, but flls got rid of that quite early. i left no room for doubt — or at least this is the hope — that flls!itfs loved each other in a way no one else would be able to compare to. they’re it for each other. but if it had been as simple as portraying that, then i never would have finished flls at all, and it definitely wouldn’t have been my longest fic at the time. 

instead — what if it was a given that they loved each other, and it still wasn’t enough? what kind of story can we spin about that? what kind of questions and answers can we find?

that’s actually such a pretentious way to frame that, but the fact of the matter is that i needed to not waste space now that we’re five chapters in. this is the beginning of the end. how do we shift gears and take the tone of the entire story along with it? i don’t know if there’s something about second person pov that’s just inherently full of dread, but it did quite a bit of work in chapter five. it felt disembodying for me as a writer, and i could only hope the same for readers. i was really, really worried some people will give up reading altogether thinking all of chapter five will be in second person, but i didn’t want to compromise. it was going to be second person for most of their real relationship or nothing: vaguely dissociative, intensely drained, with no room to actually enjoy being each other’s boyfriend. the main challenge was to not go from zero to a hundred in a snap. i had the room to do so in only one chapter, but i had to find a way to keep a tight rein on the pace or else the whole fic will fail. 

there also had to be love. and longing. and a desperation to make it work. i think that was yuuji in a nutshell — someone desperate to make it work, whatever this thing is. that’s what constitutes his strengths and his weaknesses, in canon and in flls. i wanted to find a way to make that palpable to a reader the way it was palpable to me while writing yuuji in second person. somewhere along making sure to tether myself to him by knowing what pieces of media he’d reference (high school musical and fullmetal alchemist) and his life outside of megumi (work, basketball, tea with nanami, skateboarding), i had to also drown with yuuji in the hope that the reader would follow. chapter three afforded me the luxury of only examining yuuji from the omniscience of a writer writing in third person — i could dismantle him through the therapy scene, could show myself and the reader a way to understand him, but i could not take us there to where he is. 

i don’t know how successful the second person pov was, ultimately, though i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t what i thought was truly best at the time. it probably wasn’t that creative to anyone but me, but it gave me a nudge towards different ways to explore… vibes. atmosphere, maybe, is the more formal word for it. if not for the second person pov choice in flls, i wouldn’t have been nudged towards kamo’s newsletter to act as the midway point of the story, the last palate cleanser i’ll allow myself and the reader, and i never would have written please let me love you forever and days of brutalism and hairpin turns the way i did. i owe a lot to that tiny but crucial choice, as does flls as a whole. everything that followed that section — the fight, the aftermath of the fight, the breakup — relied on it to make themselves work, and it’s funny (and valuable to note) how it’s something as seemingly inconsequential as a pov choice that set the tone. 

especially because there’s nothing special, really, about those following scenes. the christmas eve fight, megumi’s conversation in the car with geto, the break-up itself — all of it followed my standard flow of dialogue. sure, there’s more tension when you’re writing an argument, let alone when writing scenes that will inevitably lead to a break-up, but all scenes, particularly dialogue, have to feel fraught with some kind of energy and inevitable anyway. for the remainder of chapter five and six, i just coasted on the tone set up by the beginning of chapter five, and that’s knowledge that has served me quite well since. atmosphere goes a long, long way, and with my writing style, a healthy balance between dialogue and introspection will take me the rest of the way to the finish line. the part of flls that i’ve heard people find the most heartbreaking were also its simplest. all of chapter six is dedicated to one wedding, and chapter seven to one evening. i wish i could say there was a trick there, that i agonized over how to write such important scenes, but my personal takeaway is that there is no trick. the point is that you get the story to a point where those scenes write themselves; there’s nowhere else for the flow to go, and geto’s gentle unpacking of megumi, the last few scenes before megumi and yuuji break up, and the bittersweet reunion after two necessary years — i can only hope they carried a sense of “this is the only way it could have gone” the way they did for me. geto doesn’t tell megumi anything we don’t already know from earlier chapters, if only just now put into words. megumi and yuuji also don’t tell each other anything, in the breakup scene and the getting back together sections, that we haven’t already gleaned from them. from the moment kamo’s newsletter ended and we headed into act two — everything was just wrapping up what i left for myself.  

it’s worth noting that i did try to complicate the final chapter a bit. i tried a split pov between yuuji and megumi at first, as a way to finally reconcile their two perspectives, but that felt too cheesy. i tried an outing to nagoya for nobara’s birthday, tried to divide the pov amongst the people in their lives (junpei, nanami, nobara, etc), and even to do my usual cyclical structure of starting with the same image we did in chapter two, this time in yuuji’s funabashi apartment — but those all felt too on the nose. i trusted my flls readers. maybe that’s what all it came down to. i trusted them to know these people, and this story, and i didn’t want to do too much and compromise that trust. and in the end, i would argue, returning to simplicity made the story what it was. 

something i love to think about is how to explain my fics to others. i know it’s been said a lot that the ao3 tagging system has convinced a mini generation of writers that tags and names of tropes are all you need to pitch/be pitched a story, and i wholeheartedly agree. or i might just be terrible at advertising my work, with an obnoxious aversion to learning how to do it better to boot, but to be fair, i think my premises are all just as boring as they are ridiculous. flls is a college au with two friends with benefits turned fake boyfriends turned real boyfriends turned exes. that’s it. there’s nothing else in the plot but that. yet it’s a lot more to me than that, and sometimes that’s all you have when you send a story out into the world. the knowledge that it was briefly yours, and now it isn’t, but that doesn’t at all devalue what you’ve taken away from spending time with it. 

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US april 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | short form, childhood friends

this is one of a handful of attempts at writing a trope i don’t love all that much, inspired largely by the atmosphere in “horatio” by t.j klune. i was very conflicted about this fic when i first published it, primarily because it was so short and written in a sparse style i didn’t know how to evaluate, and partly because it didn’t feel substantial. in a post i’ve put on private since, i’d written: 

what if i repeat the same themes in another context? that doesn’t make the theme carry any less weight as long as i put heart and sincerity and compassion into how i’m writing about it. there’s something that is equally as much self-deprecation as it is borderline vanity in me placing these rules upon myself. i’ve always known i wrote first and foremost out of love, out of what makes me excited to write — and that still applies here. i was thrilled to be able to experiment with a short, snappy fic. and that’s far more important, isn’t it, than whether i’m writing a different dissertation angle on love or friendship or family or career? it doesn’t feel like it, no, but it should, because i know it is. i know that what matters to me is that writing is fun and compassionate, and i know that as long as one person finds comfort in a world i’ve built, it’s enough.

i don’t sound very convinced there, and i wasn’t. i still don’t know what to make about us. i like that it’s short, and i endeavour to write more short fics with nothing specific or significant about them — but it’s hard to stomach its existence, let alone see it as something to love. it just feels so… not empty, but definitely less than what i’m used to asking from myself. it’s short, it’s sweet, it’s snappy. it’s also formulaic in its own sparse way, and i think it works because of the sweetness, but the truth is that if i hadn’t written it for itafushi week, i would never have greenlit it for publishing. i still wrestle nowadays with wanting to delete it, but it matters so little to me that i can’t even justify that much. it’s a weird limbo of a story, though i still hope to explore this kind of writing more in the future. 

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SOME KIND OF WE june 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | sequel to existing complete story

broke my own rules here by revisiting a story past its run, but to be very fair, it was less out of sentiment (though there was also that) so much as me startling at my first proper reread of the latter half of flls and realizing there are still unresolved arcs for megumi because the final chapter set two years later only had yuuji’s pov. not many of them, and none especially urgent, but i thought it would be a good opportunity to reorient the story to something quieter and more mature than what the central conflicts in flls left room for. i’m not convinced the back-and-forth between pieces of their recent few months being together and the present evening worked as seamlessly as i wanted it to, but it was still a nice opportunity to use a non-linear narrative to explore the growth and development of a relationship that i left at quite the bittersweet open-endedness. what was only delicately certain by the end of flls was made concretely certain through some kind of we, even if it did run a bit too sentimental and saccharine. but i think it can be forgiven, considering what yuuji and megumi went through in flls proper. 

the main challenge of this fic was figuring out which portions of their life post-flls were worth including, and the first draft had five potential sections:

tokyo, for megumi’s first visit back after moving to chiba, mostly dedicated to him realizing that home — after being rooted for so long to this city, this one apartment with his dad, the same neighborhood and transit lines, to the gojo-geto household — now finally belongs somewhere else, with someone else. 

funabashi, most of which was preserved in the version that was published. 

sendai, to visit grandpa itadori’s grave, which i decided to streamline into a single scene at the end of the final some kind of we draft to cut away the excess and break it down to the core of why i wanted them to make this visit — which is to hammer home for yuuji that he isn’t alone anymore, that he has someone taking care of him and loving him without fail and with care, and to give megumi the agency to solidify, for his own sake, that he’s someone who means the whole universe to yuuji. enough that what place is his will always and solely be his, and enough that megumi will be allowed to love and take care of another person in a way that’s both eternal and an ever-evolving work in progress. 

okinawa, for a trip that was only referenced as a backdrop in the final version but that i still like to think a lot about even now. a cc anon said once that the gojo-geto household must be so lonely with all the kids grown up, but as i talked about in another reply once (it’s too far back for me to have time to dig out at this point), i do love to imagine yuuji and megumi being uncles to the next generation, even if not outright parents themselves. sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of giving as someone who was denied so much as a kid until you see someone so young, a stranger to the world, and know what to give them precisely because you didn’t have it once. and between yuuji not having much family and megumi’s life being complicated by the fact that he has too much family, i think they’re well-equipped to be uncles to tsumiki’s kids and beyond. and i was tempted for a bit to show this in the annual okinawa trips i mentioned in the final version of skow, but there just isn’t enough space without becoming superfluous. 

kuantan, to visit nanami, mostly to reconsolidate the rather serious interaction megumi and nanami had in flls into something gentler, considering he’s still family to yuuji and while nanami might say yuuji doesn’t need his blessing, yuuji will want it anyway. i never did end up writing this part, so it’s not exactly canon to the au and i’m hesitant to make it so, but the idea was to end with megumi asking for both nanami’s blessing and help to propose to yuuji on that malaysia trip.

the end result for this fic was a little lesson for me in cutting and cutting and keeping my hand light on the source, until i’m left with what i consider necessary. the final version of some kind of we is more a collection of vignettes than a straightforward account of megumi and yuuji’s life together post-flls, which i found much more strangely fitting. i feel like i spent so much of flls trying to get them to a point where they’re ready to be with each other, and i just wanted to dedicate skow to them not just making it work but building love on top of the foundations they secure. it’s one thing to portray that through a whole fic dedicated to each milestone; it’s another to write ordinary moments that are made extraordinary because they have chosen that for and with each other. neither of them say i love you out loud in the entire fic, but i wanted there to be no doubt that they do say it. that they do love each other, and that this part isn’t the obstacle it used to be. they’re just some kind of them, together, and this time it doesn’t feel bittersweet for me to send them off to the world for good knowing there’s love falling out of the spaces between each vignette i wrote. 

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HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND october 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | fantasy au

yikes. one of two fics in this round-up that i abandoned at chapter one. started this because an idea occurred to me while reading the atlas six, wrote until i had to stop, then didn’t look back once even when it would have served me to. 

i flew too eagerly close to the sun with this one, truly, but as far as intentions go, i think both my mind and heart were in the right place. it’s quite clear where this one went wrong: i had neither time nor the energy to dedicate to it; i started it on the same whim i start most other things but this time didn’t have the passion for it — and i confess i just didn’t have the patience required to work on writing the story i wanted to write.

it was also one of those lessons in how often big ideas — or an attempt at them — cannot sustain a story. i had what i thought were clear ideas and intentions about the themes i wanted to cover in this one (the downfall of religious devotion, reconstruction, academic institutions versus personal/individual responsibility, all of which just look like buzzwords now that i’m typing them out, omg), but it just didn’t leave room for the kind of story i like to write. i guess my main takeaway here is that the pitfall of high(er) concept genre stories is that you have to make space for the world at the cost of room for character writing; it’s just the nature of how much space in the narrative you can allot for each individual aspect of the story, and with stuff like fantasy and sci-fi, the worldbuilding takes up a significant amount more than your run-of-the-mill slice of life story where the only world i have to worry about sketching is where someone lives and works. 

i do like some parts? it’s kind of crude, how i tried to reconcile my writing style with genre-specific bits, but it’s not all terrible. this sequence is alright:

Megumi was seven the first time he restored something. 

Every part of it had been an accident, and he remembers it now only in fragments. The wet rag in his hand as he wiped down the dining hall tables, having to climb the chairs to get to each corner. The horrible echo of something shattering in the kitchen, where Tsumiki had been tasked to do all the dishwashing for the evening. The panic on her face when Megumi got to her, both of them crowding around the shards of ceramic left by what was once a plate. The spill of harsh candlelight from above the sink, the harsher shadows it sent dancing around the broken glass. 

But he does remember the remembering. The knowing of what the plate had looked like once, the image behind his eyes anchoring him in place as he latched onto the curl of the shadows on the floor. It would be more intuitive, more rudimentary, than anything he’d learn to do later in life, propelled by the worry on Tsumiki’s face and the footsteps he swore he could hear coming towards them from the other end of the servants’ quarters they called home back then—but it had taken only a single blink for the shadows to cover the plate, tighten around it into darkness, and then retreat to where they were, leaving a clean, untouched plate in the middle of the kitchen floor. 

it could be better, but it still could be worse. and i do like the overall architectural imagery and how i managed to scrounge up some standard fare coziness somewhere in the cold, almost-medieval setting. 

as far as disastrously failed ventures go, this one could be a lot more embarrassing than it is. i’m not mad at it. it’s far from good enough, and if i didn’t write it in such a frenzy, i probably never would have allowed it to be published. but. it’s a useful failure. 

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PLEASE LET ME LOVE YOU FOREVER march to june 2022, blue period trial element | five-character gen dynamic, multimedia

what a... headache of a project. bit off more than i could chew without choking and decided to take even more bites each new chapter because why the hell not, apparently. i do appreciate how un-edited this fic is, despite it all. it feels the most bleeding-heart of all my fics from this past year or so, and it’s nice to look back at this and know exactly when i shifted my approach to it altogether because, again, why not. it’s such a valuable “why not?” to have. it’s nice when i don’t feel quite as… under surveillance? when writing a story. and i get to just go off the rails a bit. a lot, actually, with this one. it’s nothing crazy because i don’t think i can write anything crazy (though i think hairpin turns had blinks of it), but there’s definitely plenty of choices that i’m surprised i decided on with a sober mind. 

to be fair, they weren’t exactly mindblowingly successful. if i were to rate this fic out of five, despite all my fondness for it, i’d maybe give it a 2.75. it’s a well-earned mark, and i have a special soft spot for people who have read it, but i’m not mentally proud of it. emotionally so, maybe, in whatever way i can be, but if this fic didn’t feel so intimate with a much cozier readership and comment section, i’d be a lot crueler to it than i am, i think. as it is, it makes for wonderful conversation and reflection for me, and it’s always fun to consider how a story about a disbanded idol group became a metaphor for childhoods lost to growing up too fast and also involved alternate universes. 

but cycling through five povs really is too much, i think, and if it was exhausting for me to write then i imagine it was just as exhausting to read. a nicer alternative would have been to stick to one pov for each chapter, but even that was a lot to juggle considering there were also smaller dynamics going on in the background with each character. within the core group of five alone, there were thirty-one variations of scenes to write, including individual introspection and pairs — and that’s not to take into consideration trios, or groups of four or the whole five plus a secondary character, for example. i don’t know how i pulled off my usual character study here. i don’t know if i did. 

another thing about this fic is that i’m still not sure why a time loop didn’t work. i wanted it so badly to work. i thought it would be fun, but i guess time loops aren’t necessarily compatible with prose. there’s something about repetition and looping that’s best visually, but even if i had been able to stick to imagery and vibes, it would have gotten tedious at some point for me and a reader considering the quantity/length i tend to need. just something to keep in mind if i get the urge to keep trying time loops in future works and wonder why it’s not sticking seamlessly. as with a lot of things in life, if you have to force it then maybe it’s not meant to be there. or maybe you have to go shortform, narrow down the playing field?

one thing i’d commend this fic for is how it managed to unpack so much between dynamics that barely exist in canon. that, and how it managed to pack so many formats into one story — song lyrics, album reviews, tweets, a play, nonfiction, a profile, wikipedia pages, messages, i don’t even know how many more — while maintaining a semi-cohesive tone throughout. there was a lot of fun there, in figuring out how to adapt your typical characterizing to a format you haven’t tried before: how would kuwana write a preface to hashida’s book? would this particular character include rhymes in their song lyrics, or are they more of a diaristic stream of consciousness kind of lyricist? what medium best translates this character’s personality? what medium best conveys this dynamic’s under-the-skin knowing of each other? who sees more than the others, and how can i show that without using the same structure of two or three characters talking in a setting that doesn’t change? 

my favourite part is probably the fake album review at the top of chapter four? there’s something giddying about the research-like quality of figuring out how to perfect the tone that music reviewers tend to default to, but also sobering about how easily adapted this fake idol group’s history is from real life. the easiest part of the entire fic was making this group feel real to me, situated in the real life history of j-idols and beyond, even if i admit to shying away from being explicit about the worst things that would still have been grounded in reality. some references to real life idol incidents worked a little too well, but there was also how clean it felt to spin fictional lore for this group in that fake album review. from their individual songwriting styles to tobi’s own background in-story to the kind of themes and concepts a faux pretentious pitchfork reviewer might like to talk about — it was just incredibly fun. i don’t know when else i’d get the chance to write something like that. everything else paled in comparison to it soon after, though i do also tolerate whatever my writing was doing at the end of chapter five, even if some parts of that chapter also feel lacklustre through a hypercritical lens. it doesn’t hold up under extremely rigorous scrutiny, even if i consider the fact that i’d just wanted the fic wrapped up as soon as i could at the time. it could be better, more so than all the other fics in this post could be better. but i don’t mind too much that it isn’t better. i mind it a little. just a little. but its flawedness is also what forced the multimedia format to happen in the first place, and that, i like a lot.

there’s a fair amount that this fic did quite more than alright, i think. if nothing else, it was useful as a playground that i didn’t have to be too finicky about. it will be one of those projects i’ll look back at someday and laugh deliriously over because how did i think that was the only way to make it work, but with the facilities i had at the time, it’s definitely not a shitshow. it has a lot of heart — which doesn’t necessarily redeem awful works, but in passable ones, those parts of the writing meet each other halfway. please let me love you forever holds its own weight, which is plenty more than i can say for most of my other experiments. plus it contains a background relationship that is not at all the focus of the story yet will probably haunt me forever. it’s always the ones you least expect to matter that will ripple further down the line, etc.

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LOSER TAKES ALL july 2022, tomodachi game trial element | soulmates, mystery au

another unpublished little guy left to rot at one complete chapter. i don’t really have any huge problems with this one, just that i tired of its demands very quickly and didn’t have enough attachment to the dynamics in it to muster up any motivation for. but tomodachi game, and especially yuuichi and kei, are so uniquely positioned for a fic like this, and i don’t resent past me for approaching it this way at all. is a soulmate bond that fosters a telepathic link between people who come back from a brush with death kind of an unhinged premise for a mystery au? yes. but so is remodeling a breakfast restaurant with my mom and the guy i didn’t know confessed to me in high school and who is now literally displaced in more ways than one by said remodeling, and even also acting is all i know so here i am trying to find the love of my life by dating anyone for an entire month on a first come first serve basis only to be shocked when that doesn’t work. 

again. boring yet equally ridiculous elevator pitches. if i cemented anything for a fact from this abandoned wip, it’s that my premises have always been questionable, and that time and time again, the only path forward is to lean all the way into it — which i did with hairpin turns, thankfully. hand in unlovable hand and loser takes all are apart by about a year, and there’s palpable change here in my approach to worldbuilding even if i abandoned each for unrelated reasons. granted, i might just be better suited to one side of speculative fiction than the other, but that’s such a copout. when it comes to trying new things in writing, the “if he wanted to, he would” logic applies, even if the he in question ultimately finds that it doesn’t work the way he wants it to (like in hand in unlovable hand). 

loser takes all worked fine for me, and i loved the inherent intimacy in having two incredibly smart and perceptive characters in each other’s minds while trapped in this soulmate bond that isn’t necessarily romantic. not to mention yuuichi is a deeply unwell person, and his ways of showing attachment to kei range from drastically protective, such as offering to fire the receptionist that was rude to kei, to:

Sometimes, watching Kei asleep right against him, Yuuichi wants to press his lips against Kei’s pulse. To feel it warm and alive under his mouth, to hear that little sigh of ticklish laughter Kei does if someone so much as runs a soft cloth against his neck. 

And sometimes—sometimes Yuuichi is also seized by a strong thought, a strong urge, to sink something sharp into that pulse. His teeth, a fork, a shard of broken glass. Sink it in hard, deep enough to leave a bloody bruise, a scar, a puncture. Hard enough to maybe even sever that heartbeat, to tear it, slit it into silence somehow. Hard enough that it feels almost the kinder choice to imagine himself wrapping his hands around Kei’s neck—tightening them without hesitation, itself a mercy of a kind as the blood quickly drains out of Kei’s cheeks. Yuuichi imagines then how Kei will struggle, whether he’ll kick or bite Yuuichi, if he’ll reverse their positions with one twist of a martial arts trained body, or if he’ll just accept it, resign himself to it knowing that not even this, if it’s Yuuichi, could possibly be meaningless.

But it would be. It would be meaningless to kill Kei. Meaningless because Kei is singular in his position within Yuuichi’s life, loyal and intelligent and a force to be reckoned with like no one else is, not even Yuuichi’s sister, not even the only friend he trusts most. Meaningless because every time Yuuichi pictures it, every time he wonders if he’ll have it in him to press two killer’s hands around Kei’s neck, it doesn’t take long for the accompanying sting to come like a splash of boiling water on exposed skin. A kind of scolding, a kind of reminder, that just as much as it would be difficult for anyone to kill Kei—so impervious to physical harm, whose broken bones and bleeding wounds will always heal even if he jumps off a twenty-story building—it would be just as difficult for Yuuichi to do him harm and survive it without any damage done to his own heart at his own hands. 

the temptation to keep writing this is not entirely absent, to be honest. but a mystery takes care and attention, and i just don’t have that in me the way this story deserves. but this fic was delicious to write, and i think it gave me a hunger to write more dynamics that feel just as juicy. dynamics that aren’t necessarily geared towards healthy love, but ones that ooze if poked anyway. 

i definitely want to revisit the telepathy plot device i explored here someday, but for now, this fic, abandoned wip as it is, is kind of the goldilocks midpoint between failed venture (hand in unlovable hand), almost-passable venture (please let me love you forever), and basically there if being there counts taking your literal first baby step into a new frontier (days of brutalism and hairpin turns).

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HONORARY MENTIONS

i don’t mean to ignore the canonverse fics (here and where you are, i’ll give you something so real, detour, and the two manhwa fics, that is) out of favouritism, but i’m afraid there’s nothing much to say…? not that these weren’t lessons in themselves, but canonverse takes a quarter of the energy and brainpower to write, and i’ll be lying if i don’t go about them essentially all no thoughts, head empty. i talked a bit about here and where you are here, while the logic for detour, which i was happy to write for and based on exchanges with a friend, is pretty self-explanatory. i did love getting to write a character like loid (and i’m relieved that the chapters that follow the ones i took into consideration for that fic hold up the characterization i imagined for him) + it was interesting to give sexual content and the philosophy of desire or whatever a shot in i’ll give you something so real. they were effective at what i needed them to do — which is, really, just to check the temperature of the water. i always feel so rusty when any amount of time passes without me writing, and these small, low-maintenance fics work as a burst of ice cold water before jumping in. i don’t value these fics any less for their place in The Process, and i might even be extra happy when someone likes them, but as far as Advancing The Craft 🤢 goes, all of these are simply necessary bridges to get to the next checkpoint. sometimes you gotta scratch the tip of the pen before the ink starts bleeding like it’s supposed to. words are the same. it takes a while each time to get my writing to a place i recognize, and sometimes a while is an entire fic before i can write the next chapter for an ongoing multi-chaptered story.

(that said: shoutout to the particular flavour of introspection in detour, within which my favourite line was written the literal minute before i sent it off, and a big heart emoji for the fact that i’ll give you something so real unfolds in a span of barely half a day. both are very interesting to think about moving forward.)

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DAYS OF BRUTALISM AND HAIRPIN TURNS january 2023, blue lock trial element | a romantic triad, sci-fi, memory loss (finally!) 

my angel. my darling. my love. who is far from being perfect but is the closest i’ve had to at least being sure i won’t just wake up one day loathing the soul out of it. i’ll laugh at it, probably. i’ll think it’s hilarious and cringy someday soon. but it’s a work i can’t not appreciate wholeheartedly. 

my cc tells me that the first time i put it on record that i won’t mind doing a blue lock fic is may 16, 2022, and the fact that i didn’t even make it a year and did so in the most Hard To Pitch If This Was An Actual Novel And Not Just A Fic For Fun way possible is worth at least a salute of disbelief, i think. my journal from my writing hiatus also tells me i’ve been trying to make memory loss work since 2020 and managed to scratch the itch minutely with here and where you are (which is… a pretty janky piece of work, looking back now) — but i’m just really, really content, even proud, of how i managed to weave it into a fic adapted from a story about football battle royale. 

it’s almost kind of unnerving how satisfied i am with the premise of hairpin turns, even if the execution leaves quite a bit to be desired — as it always will, really, and therein is the joy of finding the next writing project. i laughed a lot at myself while writing hairpin turns, and of all the inside jokes that my works started as, this one is by far the fic to feel most like it — a fun little joke that got funnier and funnier the more of it i wrote, and so i wrote more, chasing that laughter until it was time to catch my breath. and i think with how much i require writing to feel urgent and single-minded to be fun, there’s a part of me that’s easily... bored, for lack of a better word, when something doesn’t give me that. without this fast-paced almost-violence, i get bored and restless, the way i was around all the projects i had lined up after please let me love you forever. i’m making a face as i type that but maybe i just mean to say that there were a good few months there where nothing scratched the itch in need of stimulation. i’d write scenes and they wouldn’t be awful, wouldn’t even be bad, but they weren’t exciting to me. they weren’t thrilling. they didn’t feel like i was dissecting anything, just poking at skin with a scalpel and rolling my eyes when i didn’t draw blood from a dead body — you know? 

but projects have an uncanny way of arriving in your life when you most need it, and just when i have peeled and replaced my wallpaper and assembled and reassembled my keyboards and poked at this manuscript i refuse to rewrite until i did a warm-up that felt substantial enough, the blue lock anime started airing. i knew vaguely what dynamics i wanted to write even back when i had only the manga, but i know i could not have tortured this fic out of me then. not before please let me love you forever, not before loser takes all, not even before all my failed attempts at pitching speculative fiction stories to myself at 3 AM and gritting my teeth at my own disgust. the best aus fall into your lap fully formed and fully realized before you even know what you’ll be shaping it into; they’re a little predestined that way, and aus might be why i owe fanfiction my certainty that the author is just as possessed by the narrative if the narrative has its own pace and direction. i think that’s logic that should be applicable to original projects as well. 

i did hesitate in the very beginning of hairpin turns because sci-fi was such a huge deviation from my comfort zone and i have the misfortune of being both a taurus sun and an enneagram type five. i’ve never tried writing proper sci-fi, not even a little, let alone enough to be comfortable with knowing where to start something that wasn’t merely regular slice of life with a slight sprinkling of specfic. i was sure my writing style wouldn’t be a good match for it. i still don’t think it’s a match, necessarily. my prose is a bit too sentimental for some of the demands sci-fi asked of me — and that’s fine. i wouldn’t know the precise nature of that incompatibility if i hadn’t jumped into the pool of sharks and came out of the tank somehow, disbelievingly, friends with them. i began wary of relying too much on technobabble since i’m not exactly the most stem-oriented person around, but even the background of this au wrote itself, half because blue lock was a shockingly perfect match for the world i had in my mind and half because i found that the technology i imagined for the plot was both possible and easy to break down into the narrative. even now i’m still shocked at how scientifically sound the core pitch of the story is, and the fact that it married itself well to both the overarching plot and the character dynamics i wanted to highlight was just icing on a cake i would have tried to politely finish anyway. 

it could very well be that hairpin turns is just a fluke, its parts too seamlessly glued to each other that i’m not sure it could have been anything else except luck doing the work there, but i think there’s also credit to be found in how nothing is sacred in blue lock. these are characters who have done ridiculous things and said ridiculous things, and it was a matter of matching their energy. therein is the same lesson from loser takes all: if i’ve always known that characters decide the pace, tone and atmosphere of the story and everything else in it, then doesn’t it also go to say that in order to write a story far out of my comfort zone, i need only start with characters far outside of my comfort zone?

i think with au fics in particular, a lot of the work begins with justifying why certain things are in character for them in this universe based on what we know from canon. but because those boundaries are expanded by what blue lock innately is, it doesn’t feel as weird to posit something like, what if you and your android bf get tasked with rescuing his older brother’s android bf and find out along the way that you might also both be in love with your childhood best friend? as with most other of my initial ideas, this quickly spiraled into something significantly different — which luckily for me included the memory loss idea that i’ve been wanting to explore for forever now. proper sci-fi was the perfect backdrop for it, and bachira the perfect person to willingly do it, and isagi and rin the perfect people to be left in the aftermath of that loss. stars aligned, truly. i’m incredibly grateful for it. 

whatever challenges i encountered writing this fic had nothing to do with writing it. it was as smooth to write as it was an absolute pain to edit, because the three povs are so vastly different from each other, and with no outline to mentally check each time i add a new scene, i was reliant on going back and forth again and again to make sure the worldbuilding is cohesive and the plot is coherent. at some point i couldn’t look at it anymore, and it might even be a testament to how much i appreciate the fic that i still can’t look at it now yet cannot deny how fond i am of the final result. 

with sci-fi in particular, it really is a case of faking it till you make it, and whatever lies don’t feed into each other, you can always revisit and adjust later. that’s the common sense magic of fiction, i suppose. there’s a degree of patience i held onto writing hairpin turns that i wouldn’t have had with any other previous work, and i think it benefited me more to have all three chapters written in varying increments, out of my usual linear order, than publishing it chapter by chapter. i had all the room to experiment — what does the world look like in 2070? is 2070 even the right year to set this in? is there anything big happening around that time period? how does the lingo change in the time between present and this potential future? when i run into things that feel too out of my depth to write, like isagi’s pov for instance, do i actually have a justification for saying no other than how it will be easier than trying? are there benefits to giving bachira the final chapter that i’m being biased against because i think it would be a challenge? and between all of these choices, how do i adapt existing blue lock canon, from their playstyles to the favourites listed in the egoist bible, to worldbuilding in other forms of media that i’ve always wanted to try a different approach to? 

i used to think it was unnecessary and superfluous to go into writing something while getting bogged down by stray facts about characters, in both fic and original projects, but at the same time, it’s truly the tiny details that will humanize more than knowing a character’s birthday or what traumatic events lie in their backstory. tiny details that breed more tiny details, until it’s about the fact that bachira and isagi are childhood friends in this au yet when we meet bachira again he’s calling isagi by last name, or how rin understandably questions the validity of his own humanness because we can only assume sae had recreated him in grief or defiance against mortality or whatever other emotion that we’ll never know for sure because we only ever see sae in this fic through rin, and that matters a lot more than if i gave sae a pov — and yet rin manages to love through the small things, in how the warehouse is in an eternal sunset waiting for bachira to return to him and isagi. it’s about how first love, late spring was about learning how to love someone else the way they need you to when you weren’t loved the way you needed to be, but hairpin turns is about how spending your whole life never questioning if you were loved can rob you of the facilities to put a name and shape to what you feel for someone who’s always been in your life. the things you don’t take for granted, necessarily, but you do love for granted by not calling it love.

hairpin turns is about the pieces obscured from view and all the more present because of it. it’s about lost memories, the phantom outline of a person like a haunting. it’s about how sae never once appears in a direct scene yet he looms over rin’s existence. it’s about how rin’s chapter represents the past, isagi’s the present and bachira’s the future, but time matters little in the end — how could it weigh any more, in a story about memory? it’s about the uneasy momentary peace that’s the only scene we can count on as a happy ending. it’s about the lengths you’ll go to get the chance to be ordinary about your love, even if all else about it is unconventional. 

and yet above all, what i like best about this fic is that it works towards questions that feel like being given answers. some of my other fics try to provide answers to its characters and the readers they resonate with, to give them a way to be well-equipped to move forward, while a few other fics settle on non-answers because uncertainty is the only ending there is. but hairpin turns moves outward only to ask more questions, questions that are the answers and the thesis, yet in a way that isn’t strictly open-ended. and i have no fucking clue how i managed it, but this feels like the target i’ve been itching to catch sight of this entire time. this is the kind of story and process i would like to aspire to this year, and even though it had taken me 80k to glean what i needed from it, i’m glad i stayed with this fic as a warm-up. 

anyway. this got a bit away from me, and who knows, maybe this level of pretentiousness is only because i’m still riding the high of affection for my most recent brainchild to make it to college — but i’m not totally blind to the flaws in hairpin turns. the execution of the ending itself is clunky, not because it doesn’t resolve anything but because it does, and by then, the post-rescue section has gone on for long enough that even an ending feels like an epilogue. the story overall lacks complete confidence in what it is, with some parts shadowed by a slight hovering hesitation and others weighed down by a heavy hand showing too much kindness to my non-confidence. it’s never too heavy-handed, and definitely not so much that i’ll send it to the bin, but enough that if i want something to pick apart, there are stray choices hiding in places that i’d circle as an editor for feeling too sentimental, or the tone too dissonant with the pacing, or, ironically, not explored enough. in the genre i’m used to writing, the adrenaline rush is in finding the right balance within a new choreography for a dance style i know well, but in my first real foray into speculative fiction, i think i was just trying to find my footing the whole time. i’m still surprised i made it to the other end of the tightrope, honestly. i didn’t expect to applaud myself for the bare minimum, and i still don’t. 

but all of this is a lesson for me, too. what i do know is that it’s interesting to tell a story about what’s missing, about the unsaid and the unseen, and if that’s what it will take for me to rediscover excitement in what i write so that i don’t have to sink back into the ennui of these last couple of months, then that’s a pretty darn fun goal to spend the rest of the year unpacking. 

[ruminate88]

Ya know, often men are NOT as emotional as women. However, men are allowed to cry and be sensitive. There’s a misconception that men have to be so strong they can never cry. They can’t show emotions… There is the men who don’t know how to show emotions becuase they’ve been conditioned from a child not to. I’ve dated many men who don’t show any emotions at all, while I’m extremely emotional and sad for them. I cried on their behalf!!! 💔💔💔💔

To the men who are beyond nice, gentle and emotional: You are very strong and manly. You are special but you are an easy target for selfish women to take advantage of. Just as I was a target for selfish men…. You are NOT WEAK or without a spine just because you find yourself with a girl who uses you. Your kindness is special and rare. I don’t always meet many gentle and kind men who aren’t ashamed to cry but when I do, I think highly of them…. My husband was the 1st man I really dated that openly cried out of sensitivity in front of me. Wow. All of my exes were selfish and jerks.

women: you are not a doormat just because you want to love and support a man. Just because you wanna create a home for him and take care of him. That’s lovely 🥰 You just need to learn how to respect yourself first and learn which type of men have your best interest.

men: you are not spineless for wanting to work to provide for a woman and supply her needs. To protect her is wonderful and VERY MANLY. 🔥 You ALSO need to learn which type of women will respect you and have your best interest.

When a man doesn’t want to cry in front of me, I respect that but would always hope they feel safe enough to. One of my exes told me about all of his childhood trauma and while I’ll never know how much of it was legit or a “sob story”, I felt so sad for him and instantly wanted to take care of his heart and heal him… When I couldn’t, that hurt me so much. I realized “my love” wasn’t enough for him and it made me feel bad about myself. I’ve had to accept that hard truth and let that ex go. He ghosted me and while that was a slap on my face, I had to move on and get over him. My love is enough for someone and there is nothing wrong with me. Although my exes were very critical and made me feel bad.

We can’t control the actions of others. We can’t change each other. We can only change ourselves and be our best. Just because you are willing to love and take care of people, doesn’t mean they will receive it or reciprocate it back. I know that breaks your heart but know that you are not weak or stupid. You are a kind and loving person ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 Don’t lose your ability to love and care about others!!! 🙏🏻 I’m trying not to lose that as well. I’ve been in more than one toxic relationship with an emotionally unavailable man and it has impacted me in various negative ways but also has taught me a great deal about myself and about people in general. I’m still learning and don’t have all the answers.

[hypergamiss]

What do you think of the fact that we never truly know anyone? And that people show different parts of themselves to certain people?

I have a close male friend who treats me absolutely amazing. He is genuinely a great man and I have a hard time saying that about most men lol. What really drew me to him was his desire to protect me. He has always stepped in when other men were getting a little too hostile with me. He taught me self defense and how to fight.

When I moved several hours away, he took time out of his day to move me and then drove back like it was nothing. He's just an all around good guy. But there's one thing that bothers me, when he doesn't like a woman he will call her a cunt to her face. Other women around us will usually call him out, while I just sit there and let him say it.

Since I've been friends with him, I feel like I shouldn't be bothered by the way men treat other women. As long as they treat me right, why should I get upset? He would never talk to me like that. Men pick and choose which women they want to respect and I feel like that's none of my business. Getting upset on behalf of other women over stuff that didn't even happen to me, has completely exhausted me over the years. I'm tired of doing things in the name of "solidarity".

They say one persons trash is another persons treasure. I've seen men be extremely abusive and evil towards one woman and then be an absolute angel with the next woman. I see it all the time on TikTok. Women crying about how their ex is doing all the things she begged him to do for years, for this new woman. Some say, just wait they'll show their true colors eventually. But sometimes it doesn't happen.

I know this probably sounds horrible, but it's a conversation that needs to be had. Many women aren't willing to accept that their Prince Charming has probably treated other women like shit in his past. Very few men have been "good" their entire lives.

You raise a fascinating point about the multifaceted nature of people. We all wear different masks in different situations. It's true, we never truly "know" someone completely. I think this is yet another way us humans and the life we live can be so convoluted. Your example sheds a negative side to this, but I do believe that different people bring out different sides of us all. I'm much more relaxed and witty around certain people because I trust them a lot, and more reserved with those I'm simply not that close to. This feels like a very philosophical ask and I love it.

Your friend sounds like a loyal protector. His chivalry and willingness to help are admirable qualities. However, the stark contrast between how he treats you and other women is concerning. Disrespectful language towards any woman raises red flags, even if it's not directed at you. I understand your thoughts on the whole situation and how it can feel perplexing to say the least.

Exhaustion from feeling obligated to be constantly outraged can be real. But witnessing blatant disrespect can also be a call to action. It's not just about blind "solidarity," it's about upholding basic human decency. I think that your feelings are valid, but personally I wake up and choose to make this world a safer and better place for women in any way that I can (including making time for this blog).

I've seen a number of those videos that you are talking about. I believe that not all of us humans are blessed with guidance growing up and it transpires into our love life as adults and we end up paying for it. Men can certainly do a better job of leaving alone women that they don't have genuine intentions for and women can also do a better job at learning how to love themselves more and have iron clad boundaries. We simply don't know what we don't know until we unfortunately go through the hardship of learning it all, unless we have a support system to warn us and teach us otherwise. Some people even do have a support system and get their fair warnings, but simply don't learn until they physically go through all of the heartbreak anyway. So yes, one persons trash is another persons treasure because you will never be cherished if you stay in a situation that no longer serves you.

The "Prince Charming" ideal can be a dangerous illusion. Most people have a past, and it's not always picture-perfect. So I agree with you, most men are simply not good people. Us women greatly benefit from keeping the focus on ourselves and simply existing. Let the men do all the hard work and let them prove to you that they deserve you by going above and beyond with their ACTIONS. A man will literally do anything for a woman he truly loves, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

[lostelfwriting]

angst prompts: dream is physically assaulted or roofied (your choice on how far it gets) in the new inn and hob finds out later, after the fact

Thank you for giving me permission to do what I do best! :D This gonna be dark and very much Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, so everyone please curate your own internet experience!

Btw, I'm still accepting prompts!

TW: noncon, self-harm by proxy, mentioned vomiting

Other notables: Human AU, they are in their 40's, now proofread and uploaded to AO3!

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

Morpheus sat at his usual table in the corner of the New Inn and watched Hob work. Every time Hob laughed with a customer or grinned at a colleague or his eyes sparkled as he pulled off a defty trick while mixing cocktails, Morpheus's heart lurched. He was still, even after all those years, very much in love with his childhood friend.

He kept those feelings safely under the lid even though he knew that Hob may eventually feel the same about him, if given time, and he would not be opposed to finding out together. But because what was between them was still fragile, Morpheus decided to wait. Another year or two and they could try again. He had learned from his mistakes. He had come back to Hob. He had apologised. All that work couldn't be thrown away for the sake of his greed. He could wait, and if eventually Hob began to feel the same about him, they could finally be together, as they were meant to be from the start.

As if pulled towards him the same way Dream was pulled towards Hob, the pub owner basically danced towards his table with a colourful drink. Dream preferred whiskey on ice over sweet drinks, and Hob knew that, so he frowned in confusion even as he pretended to be working. That was his excuse to come here almost every night – he was working, using the white noise of a public place to help him focus. His notepad, however, lay untouched for hours most nights as he allowed himself to stare and fantasize.

"A nice gentleman bought this for you, said you have very nice eyes," Hob winked at him as he placed the drink down in front of Morpheus.

"I am not interested," Dream said flatly. "And I don't like cocktails. You know that, both of it."

"I know," Hob said, his way too excited grin softening as he schooled his erratic mood. "I couldn't turn him down on your behalf, but you don't have to drink it. I can give him a partial refund if he's too butthurt about it. But you know, isn't it nice that you got bought a drink?"

Dream had no idea what was nice about it. He didn't suffer self-doubt about his attractivity or his ability to get a partner if he wanted to, even though he was not in his twenties (or thirties) anymore. The man who bought him the drink, who kept stealing glances at him now that the drink was delivered, was young, could as well be Hob's student. Dream cringed at the idea of being pursued because of his age instead of in spite of it. But maybe he understood what Hob meant.

"I suppose," he admitted with a sigh. "I should probably politely turn him down and…" He wondered what the right thing to do clould be. What would Lucienne do? "Offer to buy him a drink in turn? The one with Lucky in the name, so he has better luck next time?" He smirked sarcastically.

Hob laughed and shook his head, his eyes fond when he looked at Dream again. "Sure, you do that. I gotta go back, but if you need anything, give me a shout." And with that he was gone again.

Sighing again, Dream eyed the cocktail varily. At the end of the day, it was one of Hob's creations – cocktail nights at the pub were his idea, after all – so he could at least give it a try and give his friend feedback. He glanced at his work but decided that he had done enough for today – he had filled five lines of the notepad in total, though soome of them with only a single cipher or letter – and put it away. Lifting his gaze, he caught the eye of the man who bought him the drink and he raised the glass into the air in a mock toast before he took a sip. The young man smiled in a way that would probably be seductive and sexy if Dream was interested in him at all. To his disappointment, it didn't end at that and the man stood up from his chair and walked ower to him.

"Hi," he said with another vaguely seductive smirk. "So, what do you think? It is one of my favourites here." To Dream's barely concealed dismay, he sat down. Only the fact that he wanted to be on his best behaviour for Hob, especially at his pub, kept Dream from shooing him away rudely. He could try to make polite conversation. Matthew would be proud.

"I am not a fan of cocktails. However, this one is nicely balanced. Not too sweet and not too bitter." It was a compliment to Hob's skill, but the man took it as if Dream was complimenting him. "I prefer whiskey," he added as he put the unfinished drink down.

"Oh, same, actually," the man laughed, raising his glass that he brought with himself and sloshing the amber liquid around. "So, what is your name?"

Dream attempted to sigh subtly, but it was probably still noticeable. "That is not important," he brushed it off, giving up on the polite part of polite conversation. From up close, the man couldn't be older than twenty-two, twenty-three, but was probably younger than that. "I appreciate the gesture but I am not interested."

To his surprise, the man took it well, with only a small disappointed shrug. "Aw, sucks," he shrugged again. "Well, at least I gave it a try. So, now that that is out of the way, can I buy you a drink as an apology for this?" he gesticulated between them.

"There is no need," Morpheus assured. He was surprised by the younger man's mature reaction. He did not expect that, but perhaps that was prejudice. "I am not offended. It is just that I really have no interest in… anything."

The man chuckled. "I get it, I really do. But still, can I? I'll get my favourite whiskey for us and you can tell me if it's good or not. My friends hate it, but I'm pretty sure it's the finest you can get here."

Well, if that was what it took to get rid of the man, Dream could do it. He nodded and watched the man basically bolt out of his chair in excitement. He tried to remember if he had ever been like that aroud people that he was interested in and… Oh no, he definitely had.

The whiskey was fine. Ha has had it many times, sharing it with Hob. He gave his opinion on the beverage and chatted to the young man for another minute, but as soon as he tried to steer the conversation away from alcohol, Dream stopped him with a raised hand. "I am not interested in a conversation," he said bluntly, aware that he was coming off as arrogant. "Thank you again for the drink."

"Sure," the man said, looking disappointed. One more expressive shrug and he was finally gone. Dream sighed in relief and picked up the glass. He had only taken one sip with the man, but now he could enjoy it while reminiscing about the times he had drank here with Hob.

The glass was empty soon, and Dream relaxed into his chair for a second. But then he noticed it. A buzz, bluriness, and not from the alcohol. Different, strange, something he had never felt before and yet knew exactly what it was.

Fuck.

It was getting worse fast, and Dream grabbed his bag without thinking, heading for the door while he still could. Hob wouldn't be mad that he had left without saying goodbye – it had happened before. What would definitely make Hob angry, though, was if Dream got roofied at his pub. People would notice even if he tried to be subtle about telling his friend. Hob would have to throw the young guy out and people would film the conflict and the pub would get a bad name. Hob would blame him. No, he couldn't allow that, he had only just gotten Hob back, gotten his life back on track and could finally pursue his happiness. This wasn't worth the risk, he could and would deal with it on his own.

The cold air helped for a bit. Morpheus breathed deeply and kept a swift pace even as his sense of balance, direction and purpose began to leave him. Where was he going? Didn't there use to be a path? How much did he drink again?

"Hey, mate, are you alright? I'll help you get home, okay?"

The voice was familiar. The face, although blurry, was familiar. Young man, could be a student. His hands were wrong on Dream's arm and way too strong. Dream's brain screamed danger but his body grew more and more limp, compliant with the steering touch. He did not remember much after that.

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

Dream woke up and fell asleep again multiple times. Even when the drug left his system, even when the headache passed, even when he started noticing all the discomforts of sleeping in the, fuck, tall grass who knows where, he did not open his eyes. He wished to sleep, so he slept.

But eventually, the sky turned bright and he knew that if he stayed any longer, people would find him. People would see him. As long as he kept his eyes closed, reality was just a dream, but if people saw they would make it real. He forced his eyes open and forced his body to move, to pull up his pants, straighten his shirt, check his bag that had been lodged under his hips for his keys and wallet. Everything was in its place. There was an ache deep inside of him unlike anything he had ever experienced even with unexperienced or rough partners. He got up and walked.

By some miracle, or perhaps thanks to muscle memory, Morpheus arrived to his apartment. He closed the door, locked it, and he didn't emerge for a week. At the end of the first day, his phone ran out of battery in the middle of the twenty-eight frantic call from his employees. The doorbell was disconnected with a vicious tug at the wires that powered it on the dawn of the second day. At some point, he killed the electricity in the whole house by running the tea kettle, toaster, and microwave at the same time, and he didn't bother to fix it.

When it was more than a week since he last visited the New Inn but less than two weeks, Morpheus emerged from his house dressed in his usual work clothes and headed to work. He answered no questions, worked until all work was done, and then headed home. The fuses still weren't fixed. The house was smothering hot thanks to the record-breaking summer heats, and empty, and dead, and he couldn't. So, he turned around and walked until he found a bar. He drank until he became brave. He found a man who was interested in finding out exactly how brave he was, how long until he would cry. He returned home early in the morning and felt a little better.

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

Somehow, time became meaningless while it also meant everything. It was more than three weeks and less than five. Numbers. There had been more than twenty men, some repeatedly, often more than one in a night and sometimes none as he collapsed in his hallway at home and slept until it was time to work again. Except for talking to these men, he had spoken only sixteen words out loud, none of them to his colleagues, only to a pharmacist and to Hob.

"I am having a rough time. I do not wish to talk." Twelve words. He looked pathetic but just alright enough when he said them that Hob accepted them. Every day, he reminded Dream that he was tere if he wanted to talk but he didn't have to. Hob was glad that he chose to come to him, if only for a while. Only until the clubs that Morpheus frequented became busy and he could go in search of the next scumbag that he would let take advantage of him.

Every time he staggered home with an ache in his ass, he felt a little more alright.

So why wasn't he okay yet?

Morpheus began to worry that he would never be alright, but he couldn't allow that. No, if he just found the right formula, he could fix it all. He could come back to Hob whole again and give him all the love tha he had been harbouring for him for so many years.

Hob.

Hob had been there that night.

Perhaps…

***********

The smile on Hob's face when Dream spoke for the first time in weeks chipped away a bit of the hollowness and hurt that Morpheus carried. Not nearly enough, but it was a hint that Hob was the one who could fix him. He was certain of it. It had to be true. It had to. Because if not Hob, then there was nobody left, and whatever broke loose that night would remain broken forever, and then he would not be able to give all his love to Hob. It had to work.

Dream refused to talk about what happened and Hob didn't pry. They talked about Hob's plans for Halloween. It was far away, but he was full of ideas. The summer was over but the New Inn kept many of the people who used to frequent it for its cocktails in the warmest months of the year. Business was great. Dream ordered a celebratory bottle and drank all of it alone and then some.

Hob was angry when he closed down half an hour early, dragging an uncooperative Morpheus up the stairs to his flat. Dream mentally patted himself on the back because his plan worked. Hob would fix him like none of those strange men could. His stomach twisted and he threw up as soon as he found himself in Hob's bathroom, but then he was able to clean his mouth with Hob's mouth wash and strip his clothes, leaving them behind. Hob was nowhere to be seen but that was okay. Dream knew where his place was by now, having been told almost every night by strange men with rough hands.

"Jesus fucking Christ, pants!" Hob swore when Dream was halfway to his bed. He would be on his hands and knees in the middle of it by now if the world could stop spinning for five damn seconds. He turned towards Hob and frowned at the furious expression on his friend's face. But no, wait, that was okay. That was what he needed. It was what would fix him.

Sauntering over to Hob, Dream fell to his knees gracelessly, older bruises on his knees being renewed. Before he could open his mouth, Hob was pulling him roughly back to his feet. "No no no, you are not sleeping on the floor, come on!"

He misunderstood. Dream tried to explain, and his friend's rage grew, yet his touches remained gentle as he guided Dream to the couch in the living room. There was a bucket next to it and a glass of water on the coffee table next to two pills.

Dream knew what to do, having done that multiple times in the past weeks. He put the pills in his mouth, chewed once or twice, and swallowed. Hob gaped at him.

"What the fuck, Dream?! Those were for the undoubteldy awful and well deserved headache you'll have in the morning."

The words made no sense, especially since the next thing that Hob did was push Morpheus down on the couch and hold him down when he tried to sit up again and entice Hob to finally do what he undoubtedly wanted to do, what all men wanted to do to Dream.

"Close your fucking eyes, idiot!" Hob growled, and there it was. Dream complied even as his whole body shivered. As soon as his eyes fell shut, the world stopped spinning so much. He fell asleep almost instantly, dragged down by the alcohol.

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

For the first time in a very long time, Dream woke up with no new ache between his legs. As always, he chose to drift for as long as he could, keeping his eyes closed, existing in a dream-world that was real and warm and pleasantly empty and away from the nightmare-reality that was full of hurt. Occassionally, there would be footsteps and huffs and sighs but nothing that would pull him out of his peaceful place.

When he was ready to collect the pieces of himself, Dream opened his eyes and blinked in confusion at a glass of water, a pitcher, and two pills of aspirin. He didn't usually do that; he never had the presence of mind to plan for the morning after. He took it, nevertheless, drinking until the pitcher was almost empty.

"Well, look who is awake at two in the afternoon."

Hob.

All pieces fit together and Dream realised where he was. He wasn't at home. He wasn't even in bed. He was on a couch; there was a bucket vaguely smelling of puke next to him; and he was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that definitely didn't belong to him.

And he wasn't hurt.

Frowning in confusion, he looked at his friend and asked: "What happened?"

Hob scoffed, and his face was not friendly, not fond, not amused. He was angry. Something in Dream shattered at the sight.

"What happened?" he raised his eyebrows at Dream. "From my point of view, you got absolutely shit-face wasted yesterday, couldn't get home on your own, couldn't tell me where you live. I took you here only for you to get naked and try to blow me or something. I thought, you know, we all have our horny drunk stage, right? But—" he cut off, shaking his head and averting his eyes that were suddenly glistening with tears. "But then you started talking. It didn't make sense. But you were asking me to rape you. Not fuck you but rape you. You kept saying that word. What the absolute fuck, Morpheus?!"

Something was telling Dream that he should feel ashamed, but he was only confused and scared. He had screwed up. He should have known Hob wouldn't be interested in helping him. He was a mess. And maybe Hob didn't feel anything towards him anymore and only wanted to be friends, so Dream's attempts to fix himself for him were not appreciated.

"I am sorry," he said numbly, standing up on wavering legs. "I will get out of your hair."

"No!" Hob growled, blocking the door with his stronger, wider body. "I have spent months assuring your friends and family that you're alright, that you're just going through some stuff, probably a depressive episode, and they have believed me! But that was a lie, wasn't it? You aren't alright and it is not depression. What is it, then? Drugs? You chomped down fucking aspirin yesterday."

"It is not drugs," Morpheus said quietly, still confused. Did Hob not know? Everybody had to know, right? Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw it. It was so obvious, the black mass of goo inside of him that covered his organs and bones and joints and his mind.

But he never told Hob. He never told anybody, for that matter. Maybe Hob didn't know. Of course he didn't know.

"I was working on my recovery," he explained. Had he really said the word rape yesterday? He couldn't say it now and didn't remember saying it in the past weeks.

"From what?!" Hob snapped impatiently. Then, as if he had been slapped, he winced, face going pale, mouth slack, his arms, previously crossed over his chest, falling to his sides. "Dream…" he said quietly. "Have you been raped?"

And Dream, grateful that they were finally on the same note, nodded. "Remember the man who bought me a drink?"

Hob blinked. Blinked again. Shook his head. Blinked.

And then he blew up.

"Fucking hell, Dream!" he yelled, his voice taking on a high, hysteric pitch. "Please tell me that you aren't saying that he slipped something in your drink, please!" He was so angry and Dream trembled but took it all with a weary face. "Are you telling me that he roofied you in my pub, raped you, and you just went about your day?! He still comes to this place, Morpheus, he is a regular! Fuck, how many people did he rape?! Why didn't you tell me about it?!"

Dream felt something in his chest crumble. It was a strange feeling, kind of like what dying must have felt like. Like his soul left his body for good. Hob was so angry with him. Hob hated him. And Hob was right – how many were raped because he didn't speak up? All this time he had been selfishly trying to help himself while he should have been doing so much more. Was he realy unfixable? Not just this wound that he carried from that night, from the morning when he woke up in tall grass, but his other flaws, the ones that his friends claimed were getting better. They weren't. He was a selfish, arrogant, greedy prick.

"I have made a mistake," he said, surprised at how quiet his voice was. He could barely hear himself. "Have no fear, Hob Gadling. Nobody will learn that this happened to me at the New Inn, but I will—" He choked on his words. No, he can't report it. He cannot. But that is what he has to do, for Hob, for everyone, right? "Your business will not be de—"

"Shut the hell up!" Hob hollered hysterically. "Shut. The hell. Up! What are you talking about?! I don't give a shit about the inn!"

Dream looked up for a second, not aware that his gaze had fallen to the floor at some point. There were tear streaks on Hob's face. He was red from the screaming but looked more sad than angry. His hair was messed up from hands running through it. For a second, Dream let himself remember the times many years ago when his fingers ran through those hair. But that was gone.

"I tried to protect you," he said lamely. Then he shook his head, gathering himself. He needed to leave. Hob would ask him to leave soon, Dream was damaged and filthy and bad for Hob's business. He should leave London. He should leave Britain. He should leave.

"Protecting—?!" Hob gasped angrily, but then he deflated. "Dream?" he asked almost softly, almost. Dream didn't deserve even that.

When hands landed on his shoulders and began to steer him towards the couch, he jostled so hard he almost elbowed Hob. It was too familiar, too wrong. But Hob soothed him and continued to herd him to the couch until Dream was sitting, staring numbly at the coffee table.

Hob took several deep breaths. It sounded like he was just a step away from hyperventilating. But he got a hold on himself. "Okay, so…" He took another deep breath. "I am sorry. First of all, I am sorry for how I just reacted. That was wrong. All of what I said was wrong. I was in shock. Am in shock. But that doesn't matter. Or maybe it does, but the point is? Dream, I am not mad at you, it was not your fault, and you don't have to do anything that you don't want to, though I will ban that guy from the inn."

After a while followed a gentle: "Are you listening?"

Dream heard him but the words didn't stick in his head, like most things in the past weeks. Everything got covered in the black goo and slid right off. He could barely keep a thought.

But suddenly, that changed. Hob said more gentle, soothing words and cupped his cheeks, turning Dream's face towards his. Looking into Hob's eyes, urged to breathe in sync with the man, kept in place by the gentlest hold, Dream slowly felt the fog stirring. It didn't lift piece by piece but all at once, once it was ready to leave him. And when it lifted, he blinked and found himself in his friend's living room being held so gently, as if he was something precious.

For the first time since that fateful night, Dream burst out crying. He crumpled into Hob's arms as the last string holding him up snapped and he had no more strength in him, no more energy. Hob gathered him into a bear hug and held him and held him and held him and it didn't hurt. It was warm and soft and gentle and only firm enough to hold the fractured pieces of him together, not so strong that he would fracture further. A pained howl left Dream's lips when he realised that this was the first friendly touch that he had had since that night.

With the tears that had been held back for months came words. "It hurt," he blurted out, because suddenly, he needed someone to know. "It hurt, it hurt, it hurt."

"I know, love, I'm so sorry," Hob soothed, rocking him from side to side like a babe.

"I couldn't fix it. I tried but it didn't stick. I can't fix it, Hob."

"You don't have to fix it now. It takes time. It can take years. Eventually, you will heal, but you can be sad and hurt for as long as you need right now. You can cry. You can hurt. You can hide here when you need it. I'm here, Dream, I'm here. I'm so sorry that I didn't notice sooner."

"Don't leave," Dream pleaded, because that is what his mind somehow interpreted from Hob's words. "Don't leave me."

"Never," Hob swore, cupping his face again and looking into his eyes. "I am here to stay. I'm your friend, Dream, and I lo—"

Hob stopped himself before he could say it, but Dream heard it anyway. The shock of those words stopped his hiccuping sobs and tears. He stared with wide eyes at Hob's suddenly uncertain face.

Tentatively, Dream said it. He had to, now. He needed one thing in his life to be good. "I love you, too."

Hob began to cry again. He let out an ugly laugh-sob and shook his head before he held Dream's face in both hands and kissed him. It was just a gentle peck on the lips, a butterfly touch, but it was enough to convey all the emotions.

"I love you," Hob said through more laugh-sobs. "This is the worst time, the worst love confession in the history of the world. But I love you and I can't take it back because I will never stop loving you. I've loved you all those years. You, we, I think we were just made for each other. I'm so sorry I hurt you, Dream. The fact that something happened to the love of my life and I didn't prevent it snapped something in me. It won't happen again, I promise, just don't leave me."

Dream actually laughed. "Never," he promised. "Hob, I, this—" His breathing quickened as all the things that needed to be said swirled in his head in a violent, all-destroying vortex.

"Too much, I know," Hob soothed, hugging and rocking him again. "It's okay, I've got you. We've got all the time in the world, love. We will figure it out. For now, all you need to do is breathe."

Dream obeyed, taking deep breaths as Hob quietly counted them out for him. Once in a while, he buried his nose in Hob's tear-wet shirt and mumbled his mantra into Hob's chest. "It hurt." And Hob nodded, he knew, now he knew and Dream wasn't the only one carrying the weight of the pain.

"I know, love," Hob murmured into his hair each time, pressing gentle kisses there. "I'm here now. You're safe. I'm here. We will figure it out together, later. For now, all you need to do is breathe. You can be sad. You can cry. Just breathe with me so I know that you are here."

[g0sts]

Guillermo, salmon, coconut, death 🥥

jamie u MENACE droppin all three ask memes at once, come over rq i just wanna talk (talking is code for fist-fighting you on behalf of how long this is gonna be)

(from this ask meme, this other ask meme, and this third one!)

first up Let's Talk About Gyemmo!

My favorite thing about him - he's Nice, sort of, when it benefits him, but he's definitely not A Good Person. he's just like me in that he's got that baby-faced Charm combined with a polite disposition that enamors people to him, but he's ruthless. he's just sweet about it. only this bitch can give up almost everything in his life in pursuit of pure selfishness and then struggle to accept that there's consequences ♥

My least favorite thing about him - mans has got to stop Leaving For Good For Realsies This Time at least once a season (twice in season two!!), he's gonna be the boy who cried Gone For Ever ('whale eyes at the coming finale but pretending i don't see it' voice)

My favorite canon relationship - you know im a nandermo bitch. they make each other worse and they might just turn out better for it. it's like watching two dogs who both want to play but are both just doing the little bow thing bc neither dog is taking the bait to chase so they're just whimpering and pawing at each other thinking "why doesn't he wanna [redacted] 🥺" it's pathetic, sort your shit out guys

My favorite non-canon relationship - That Year In London With Nadja. they never showed it to us but we all know it happened. they did mani-pedis and nearly killed each other multiple times and then she hired him as her accountant

The sexuality I headcanon for him - baby boy canonically gay and that's such a win ♥ i do hc him as trans but you knoowwwww that's some juicy little projection i like to do~

What I’d do if I could spend the day with him - in all honesty i do not anticipate that we would get along! like if i'm lucky he lures me home to be dinner but probably we would end up somewhere with a line unable to surpass our own giant social walls enough to do anything Cool. like, ok. is this pre s5? if i watch someone take a fork and knife to a burger i am Leaving Immediately

Random fact about him I like - the little snippets we get about his family life and what he gets up to off-camera. tell us more about the meat dress for your cousin's quinceañera!! u freaque, gimme more of this shit!! i'm obsessed!!

OK WE MADE IT LET'S GOOO

Salmon: How many pairs of sunglasses do I own? triangles, tiny shades, blurple circle shades, alien circle shades, ghosts, cat circle shades, and i think i still have the coral foldable shades but i haven't seen em in a while? so 6 or 7. for now.

Coconut: A subject I enjoy learning about crafting historyyyy how shit's madeeee show me the machinesss show me vintage vintage patterns, show me how vikings made yarn and then make a scarf out of it

AND LASTLY

Death: 3 things I wanna do before I die 1) go to New York City 2) get a tattoo 3) i wanna get married 👉👈 specifically i am holding out hope that i can connect with someone and forge that level of love trust and commitment that makes you decide "yeah this is a Forever thing" even if Marriage Specifically isn't on the table for whatever reason. thot i had it once! so i can get there again! just gotta do the hard part and meet the right person, which includes meeting a lot of Not the right people 🤷‍♂️

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the weekend!

Wow! Here we are again: Friday! Where did that week go! Not complaining, it was a very enjoyable week, and this is my favourite day of the week!

Why was MissTrusst so anxious to become prime minister? Because she will now get an ex-PM’s annual salary (£115k for life) paid for by us (of course!) We pay for every folly and half-baked idea.

So, she decides to stand down. What now? Another incompetent idiot takes her place. And what happens when they resign? Another incompetent idiot takes their place. Can you see a pattern forming here? So sad she won’t be able to romaine in power!

As Charlie Booker said yesterday, “This f*cking government is like malware you can’t remove.” That’s exactly how it feels. Not even your computer geek nephew can fix your laptop! Whichever numptie takes her place, we still have two more years of their amateurish antics.

How does all this mess affect the ordinary person? I went to Sainsbury’s last night and spent £100 on a half full trolly. I’ll probably have to go back on Sunday! Most expensive item: six tins of Heinz Baked Beans for £4.50. Are you starting to understand what inflation is now?

Finally! A US citizen has admitted responsibility for the death of teenage motorcyclist Harry Dunn in a case that caused a diplomatic row between the US and British governments. Anne Sacoolas, 45, pleaded guilty at the Old Bailey, via video link, to causing his death by ‘careless driving’. Mr. Dunn, 19, died following a crash outside a US military base in Northamptonshire in August 2019. Judge Mrs. Justice Cheema-Grubb said Sacoolas, who was employed by a US intelligence agency, would be sentenced at the end of November. Sacoolas was charged with ‘causing death by dangerous driving’ but the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) accepted her guilty plea to the lesser charge. ‘Death by careless driving’ carries a maximum sentence of five years imprisonment but a community punishment or suspended jail sentence is often given. Getting off very lightly! Sacoolas had diplomatic immunity asserted on her behalf by the US administration following the accident. She left the UK 19 days later and probably hoped diplomatic immunity would get her out of trouble. Finally, three years later, we have some kind of justice.

I’ve got a young man in one of my classes and he wants to do radio. He said, “Where can you learn to do radio?” I said, “Nowhere! You just have to do it!” I said to him, “Start small. Start anywhere. Your first show will not be good. Mine wasn’t! But your second show will be better and your third will be better than that.” “It’s all about confidence,” he said. “It’s all about confidence,” I said. His first show (on a very small station) will be in the next few weeks. I didn’t tell him it took me about 12 years to get the hang of it!

Hope you can join me tomorrow at 1.00 p.m. for ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’. The Letter J (Part Five).

I post this status every single week day, Monday through Friday. If you want to read it but you don’t see it, just go to my profile. I’m always here!

Have a fabulous and funky Friday! I love you all. You’re probably thinking, “You don’t even know me!” but, if people can hate for no reason, why can’t I love?

[dfroza]

“This is exactly what I was appointed to do—tell everyone His story—

as a herald, an emissary, a teacher of the outsiders in faith and the truth. (Listen, I promise it’s all true. I’m not lying.)”

do you see how the spirit is reborn by coming to “believe…” in the heart about the True illumination of the eternal Son and speaking of this faith through the lips by declaring (a pure confession) that Yeshua (Jesus) is Lord, who is both Messiah (Christ and Savior) and the heavenly King of kings (& queens) of earth?

and do you see that welcoming the entrance of the Spirit is an internal baptism (inside, Anew) who has promised rebirth of the body, transforming what is physical into eternal?

and that a baptism of the body in earth’s water is a sign of what has taken place in (the inner room)

this is the beautiful simplicity of (A new covenant of grace) that doesn’t take any “work” on our part, just the bravery of trust and the courage of hope in what has already been done for us by our Creator’s Love through cleansing us of the curse of sin and death

(to be redeemed from the death sentence of being separated from God)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 2nd chapter of the letter of 1st Timothy:

So, first and foremost, I urge God’s people to pray. They should make their requests, petitions, and thanksgivings on behalf of all humanity. Teach them to pray for kings (or anyone in high places for that matter) so that we can lead quiet, peaceful lives—reverent, godly, and holy— all of which is good and acceptable before the eyes of God our Savior who desires for everyone to be saved and know the truth. Because

There is one God and one Mediator between God and us—

the man Jesus, God’s Anointed,

Who gave His life as a ransom for all

so that we might have freedom.

The testimony was given to me at just the right time. This is exactly what I was appointed to do—tell everyone His story—as a herald, an emissary, a teacher of the outsiders in faith and the truth. (Listen, I promise it’s all true. I’m not lying.)

So here’s what you tell them; here’s what I want to see: Men, pray wherever you are. Reach your holy hands to heaven—without rage or conflict—completely open. Women, the same goes for you: dress properly, modestly, and appropriately. Don’t get carried away in grooming your hair or seek beauty in glittering gold, pearls, or expensive clothes. Instead, as is fitting, let good works decorate your true beauty and show that you are a woman who claims reverence for God. It’s best if a woman learns quietly and orderly in complete submission.

Now, Timothy, it’s not my habit to allow women to teach in a way that wrenches authority from a man. As I said, it’s best if a woman learns quietly and orderly. This is because Adam was formed first by God, then Eve. Plus, it wasn’t Adam who was tricked; it was she—the woman was the one who was fooled and disobeyed God’s command first. Still, God, in His faithfulness, will deliver her through childbearing as long as she remains in faith and love and holiness with self-restraint.

The Letter of 1st Timothy, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 26th chapter of the book of 1st Chronicles about various assigned duties for the Temple and guarding it:

The duties of the Levite gatekeepers were performed by the Korahites, specifically by the descendants of Meshelemiah (Kore’s son, of the sons of Asaph).

Meshelemiah fathered sons: Zechariah the firstborn, Jediael the second, Zebadiah the third, Jathniel the fourth, Elam the fifth, Johanan the sixth, and Eliehoenai the seventh.

God blessed Obed-edom, another gatekeeper, with sons: Shemaiah the firstborn, Jehozabad the second, Joah the third, Sacar the fourth, Nethanel the fifth, Ammiel the sixth, Issachar the seventh, and Peullethai the eighth. Obed-edom’s son Shemaiah fathered sons who ruled their family, for they were mighty warriors. They were Othni, Rephael, Obed, and Elzabad, whose brothers (Elihu and Semachiah) were valiant men. These and their relatives were the lineage of Obed-edom; all were capable men with strength for the service in the temple, and 62 from this family served.

Meshelemiah had other sons and relatives, 18 valiant men.

Hosah (one of the sons of Merari) fathered sons who served as gatekeepers: Shimri the first (although he was not the firstborn son, his father made him the primary inheritor), Hilkiah the second, Tebaliah the third, and Zechariah the fourth. These sons plus Hosah’s other brothers numbered 13.

All these divisions of gatekeepers, the chief men, performed specific duties (similar to their relatives’ duties) when ministering in the temple of the Eternal. Like the other divisions, the weak and the mighty, the students and the teachers, used a system of lots to determine which gates they would guard according to their family lineage.

The eastern gate went to the family of Shelemiah. Since his family was larger than Obed-edom’s and Shuppim’s, Shelemiah’s son Zechariah also drew lots for control of a gate. Zechariah, a prudent counselor, received control of the northern gate. Obed-edom received control of the southern gate, and his sons went to work the temple storehouse within the gates. Shuppim and Hosah were together given the western gate (which is near the gate of Shallecheth, on the ascending road). The guards stood side by side at their posts. Each day six Levites guarded the east side, four guarded the north, and four guarded the south. The storehouses were guarded in shifts, two by two. At the Parbar, a building adjacent to the temple on the western side, four guarded the highway and two guarded the Parbar itself. These were the duties of the Korahite and Merarite gatekeepers.

Other Levites, relatives of the Korahites and Merarites, were over the treasury—both the temple’s treasures and the sacred treasures. The sons of Ladan (son of Gershon), specifically the Jehielites, were the leaders of the families descended from Ladan the Gershonite. Jehieli’s sons, Zetham and Joel his brother, were in charge of the treasures in the temple of the Eternal. The Amramites, the Izharites, the Hebronites, and the Uzzielites performed other duties in the temple. Shebuel (son of Gershom, the son of Moses), was the ruler of the treasures. His relative, Eliezer, had five sons in the service of the treasury: Rehabiah, Jeshaiah, Joram, Zichri, and Shelomoth. Shelomoth and his relatives were in charge of all the dedicated treasures which King David, the tribal leaders, the commanders of thousands and hundreds, and the commanders of the army had dedicated after their battles. Part of their spoils won in battles were used to repair the house of the Eternal, which was the congregation tent at that time. Others who dedicated spoils to the treasury included Samuel the seer, Saul (son of Kish), Abner (son of Ner), and Joab (son of Zeruiah). All of the holdings of dedicated gifts in the treasury were cared for by Shelomoth and his relatives.

The Izharites acted as officers and judges throughout Israel. Chenaniah and his sons were given the duty of protecting the people outside of the temple.

The Hebronites oversaw Israel’s duties east and west of the Jordan River. Hashabiah and his relatives—1,700 capable men—performed such duties for the Eternal and in the service of the king to the west of the river. The Hebronites who were led by Jerijah were evaluated according to their lineage during David’s 40th year as king. Many of them were deemed great men, especially those at Jazer of Gilead. Jerijah and his relatives, these capable men, numbered 2,700 and were the leaders of their families. Because of their exceptional abilities, King David made them overseers of the Reubenites, the Gadites, and the half-tribe of the Manassites, all located east of the Jordan River, watching how these tribes behaved toward their God and king.

The Book of 1st Chronicles, Chapter 26 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

One of the most interesting and indeed essential observations from these tribal and ancestry lists is the organic and symbiotic nature of the Israelite community. Every person in every tribe has his or her responsibility for the community as a whole. If certain persons are not guarding the various gates of the city, then marauders and bandits can easily attack. If certain persons are not playing instruments or singing, then the community is without leadership in corporate worship and praise of the Lord and His many benevolent and redemptive acts toward Israel. In the following sections, the specific lists of persons indicate roles both in the worship ethic and in the military life of Israel.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, february 12 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about a “surrendering” to grace:

Sin is defined as the transgression of Torah (i.e., ἀνομία) in the Scriptures (1 John 3:4), and at root such rebellion comes from an unwillingness to trust that what God wants is your deepest happiness. Because of this, sin goes “out of bounds” and expresses itself as the desire to control one's life, to define "the good" (or the bad) on its own terms: to “eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil” (Gen. 2:17).

Surrender, on the other hand, gives up control and relies upon God's care. It relaxes because it accepts God's love as a gift and not as something to be earned. Meister Eckhart said it this way, "God is not attained by a process of addition to anything in the soul, but by a process of subtraction." In other words, we don't need to do anything to be free, though we must "get out of the way" for the Holy Spirit to do the work in us. "If the Son shall set you free, you shall be free indeed" (John 8:36). Set us free, O precious Lord!

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

SHABBAT SHALOM FRIENDS!

========

Proverbs 3:5-6 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/prov3-5-6-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page pdf:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/prov3-5-6-lesson.pdf

2.10.23 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

February 12, 2023

The Gospel of Prosperity

“Making request, if by any means now at length I might have a prosperous journey by the will of God to come unto you.” (Romans 1:10)

This mention of the word “prosperous” is the first of the only four occurrences of the Greek word enodoo (meaning literally “good journey” but translated “prosper” or “prosperous”) in the New Testament. Here, it is actually rendered “prosperous journey.”

It is obvious that Paul was not praying for his journey to prosper financially, for the next verse indicates his long desire had been to “impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be established” (Romans 1:11).

However, the word has come to include any kind of prospering, as in 1 Corinthians 16:2, when Paul urged Christians to provide financial help for other Christians in need. “Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him,” he said.

The term can also refer to physical and spiritual health. Its two other occurrences are in 3 John 1:2: “Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth.” Unfortunately, certain teachers of these latter days have taken the biblical teaching of spiritual prosperity to mean financial prosperity, which they teach is the right of every Christian. But this “prosperity gospel” is so clearly unscriptural that it is merely a testimony to the greed of the Christians who believe it. “They that [desire to] be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts,” warned Paul (1 Timothy 6:9). And to whatever extent God does prosper us financially, it is strictly for the purpose of helping others, not to indulge ourselves. “Charge them that are rich in this world, that...they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute” (1 Timothy 6:17-18). HMM

[skaikruswan]

I walk beside you - Chapter 5

Summary: “I have not heard these words in ages,” a deep, male voice says, and before you can answer, you wake up.Your dreams start changing once you realize that you’re not alone as you think. Who is this man and why does he know you? How do you know him?

Pairing: Dream / Morpheus x reader

Notes:  reincarnation, past lives, flashbacks, fluff and mystery 

Chapter 1       Chapter 2    Chapter 3       Chapter 4

My other fics / prompts

Ao3: Sweet dreams for everyone who leaves a kudo or a comment.

You’re surprised that after all the action in your dreams, you still wake up well-rested and with enough energy to handle your day without breaking a sweat. You’ve even managed to shop for groceries. You guess that this is one of the many perks of knowing the King of dreams.

You skip over a puddle, giggling like a small child. This day has started well, and it will surely end well, with another dream with Morpheus. You learned a lot last night and you hope to continue exploring. The library seems to hold a lot of memories, in every sense of the word. There is a book about you. How much does Morpheus know about you? How similar or different are you compared to your incarnations? Ugh. These thoughts are poison, and you must stop.

You return home and do your laundry, watch an episode of your favorite show, and enjoy the rest of the day. Your mind is still busy, thoughts turning and spinning, and you relent.

While you can’t find out anything about past-you, you can research Morpheus. Since he knows so much about you and your previous incarnations, it only seems right that you get to know him better, right?

You reach for your laptop and start to research, recalling the names Morpheus had listed when he revealed that he wasn’t a god, but Dream of the Endless. Shivers run down your spine as you recall that moment.

You research the first one, Kaikul, and at first, you find nothing. You let out a frustrated groan start digging. It seems that the name is first referenced in an African myth, passed orally from generation to generation. It had almost been lost to oblivion, and you are truly grateful for that site that seems to collect oral traditions and tales.

Nada, the young queen of the city where humanity began, had fallen in love with a supernatural being she called Kaikul, although it had been forbidden. Their romance ended in tragedy when the city was burned to ashes and Nada ended her life.

You swallow thickly, hoping that Nada hadn’t been an incarnation. Moreover, you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to the story. Why was the romance forbidden? How did Morpheus react to her death?

You take a sip from your mug and continue your research.

Oneiros, fortunately, is easier than Kaikul. It confuses you a little since it’s also from Greek Mythology. Morpheus is the Greek god associated with dreams and sleep, while Oneiros are personified dreams sent by the gods to intervene on their behalf. Greek mythology can be confusing, so you just accept it and move on.

Tutu is the Egyptian god, a chimera-like creature guarding the sleeping humans from danger and bad dreams. This seems a little weirder than the others, but then again, there are more than Egyptian 1500 deities.

Your fingers itch to hit the keyboard again, to find out more about are deities associated with sleep or dream, but you decide that this enough, at least for now.

You finish your remaining work, call your best friend to catch up, do a little workout and go to bed. While Morpheus is almost compellingly intriguing, you’ve vowed to yourself that you would never neglect you “real” life, that your dreams wouldn’t become more important than your waking life. You want to have balance.

You close your eyes and fall asleep quickly.

         -------------------------------------

You find yourself back in the library, once again marveling at the countless rows of bookshelves. Your footsteps only creak faintly over the polished wooden floor as walk through the aisle.

“Hello?” you call out, expecting an answer. Somehow, you don’t get one, and you look around. Where are Lucienne and Morpheus?

From the corner of your eye, you see something shimmering. A golden ball of light floats towards you, and you take a few hesitative steps towards it. Maybe it is some sort of guide?

The light floats away from you, as if it’s expecting you to follow it, and you do, preferring the light to loneliness. It keeps a steady pace, staying at the edge of your reach, making you almost chase it through the maze of bookshelves. You couldn’t find your way back to your starting point even if you tried.

You wish the light would stop for a moment. Is it even helping you? You check your surroundings and realize that you seem to have entered an older section of the library. The bookshelves are still in pristine condition, but the books and tomes are worn and brittle with age, their inscriptions in languages you don’t understand. The few windows that allow light to enter are small and close to the ceiling, out of your reach.

“Hello? Anybody there?” you call out again, panic making your voice crack. Fear seems to wrap around your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. The light seems to mock you, floating back and forth, taunting you to follow it.

You take a deep breath. This is Morpheus’ realm, and you like to believe that there is nothing here that would seriously harm you. This is your dream, and if you must, you will end it, wake up, watch some cute animal videos, and then go back to sleep.

Just as you’re about to figure out how exactly you can end a dream, you hear some faint humming and you grin, abandoning the light and running towards the noise.

The humming gets louder, and you turn left, seeing the back of a figure, wearing a white shirt and an apron. The head is weird, and what’s that brown thing on their shoulders?

You press your hand on your thundering chest, clearing your throat at the still humming figure.

The figure turns around, and you’re face to face with a pumpkin head. You let out a long scream.

“I can’t believe that you’re back and the first thing you do is scream at me!” the talking pumpkin head – Merv – complains, while you bury your face in your hands.

After your, let’s call it, improper reaction, Morpheus had appeared, and you had impulsively reached for his hands. He gently guided you and the talking pumpkin back towards the heart of the library, still holding your hand, which you really appreciated.

You’re sitting in a comfortable leather armchair, trying to calm down. This may be the dream world, but chasing an eerie light through an endless library, only to meet a talking pumpkin head, can frighten a person.  

“I am sorry,” you say sincerely, giving Merv an apologetic smile. “But you have to admit, a talking pumpkin is weird!”

“Your apologies have been better,” Merv replies drily, giving you his equivalent of a scowl. You blink owlishly, realizing that you’ve found another person who seems to have known past-you.

“Well tell me, how often did I scream when I first met you?” you ask, leaning forward with newfound curiosity.

“A few times, but that’s still nothing compared to the one time you saw me, dreamed up a lantern, and threw it at me! You wanted to set fire to me, in the middle of a library!” Merv recounts, shaking his head in disbelief, and you press your lips together, feeling hot guilt curse through you. What the hell, past-you?

You glance at Morpheus, who has been silent so far, simply listening to the conversation. How often has he been witness to you meeting Merv? Is he comparing this to your previous incarnations?

“I promise that I won’t try to burn you,” you swear solemnly, giving him a real smile this time. You extend your hand and Merv reaches out with his gloved one, shaking it.

“I think it best if we return to the confines of your dream. I have something to show you,” Morpheus announces, looking at you, a flash of anticipation in his eyes, and you give him an eager nod, jumping up from the armchair.

You say goodbye to Merv, who gives you a clap on the back before walking away, and you give Morpheus an expectant look.

       ---------------------------

One blink later and you find yourself back inside your own dream. It’s hard to explain it, but it almost feels like home. This is your tiny realm; this is where you usually spend your dreams, your beach and your forest.  

“I thought it best to show you how to feel yourself more at ease inside the Dreaming, to help you manipulate your surroundings,” Morpheus explains, and you feel the heaviness of his full attention on you.

“The Dreaming?” you ask. Lucienne has called herself the librarian of the Dreaming if you remember correctly.

“This realm,” Morpheus clarifies, and fondness warms his words. “You’ve always been apt at controlling your dreams, changing yourself and your surroundings with a skill and ease only a few humans possess, especially in this time and age.” You feel your cheeks flush after his compliment, while your competitive spirit is stirred awake.

“Try to manipulate yourself or your surroundings,” Morpheus suggests, raising his eyebrow in a silent challenge.  

One second later, he’s gone, replaced by a beautiful black cat with golden eyes. You can’t help but let out a gasp, immediately kneeling to push your fingers through the soft fur. Your mind catches up and you freeze, remembering that this is still Morpheus, your hand hovering over the ears.

The king of dreams doesn’t seem to mind, pushing his head against your palm and you scratch him under his chin.

“I am waiting.” Morpheus’ voice rings clear inside your mind, and you remember the purpose.

You close your eyes and imagine yourself to be a cat too, your paws digging into the soft ground, your sharp eyes fixed on the sun sinking beneath the waves, the salty breeze ruffling your fur.

You open your eyes and find yourself almost at eye level with the black cat. As a cat yourself, you realize how big Morpheus is, and you have to look up to stare into his golden eyes. Unlike with the golden light, you can’t imagine yourself becoming annoyed or afraid.

“Well done,” Morpheus praises, rubbing his head against yours in an unexpected but very welcomed show of affection, making your little heart pick up a pace. “I do believe you can do better.”

“Challenge accepted.” This dream has just become a game, one you intend to win. All you have is your imagination, your wit, and your competitive spirit.

“I am a mouse, sitting inside my burrow, safe and secure from any danger,” you announce, your voice sounding cheeky even to you.

The world around your changes, you become smaller, and you find yourself underground, lying on a bed of moss. Far up, you see a cat staring down at you, his tail swishing from left to right. Choosing a mouse may not have been your wisest choice, especially with Morpheus being a cat, but he can’t reach you, and you’re safe.

“I am a serpent, lithe body and poisoned bite, slithering into the burrow,” Morpheus replies, his voice low, and you let out a squeak when you see a black snake enter your home, golden eyes gleaming and baring long fangs. No can do, you think to yourself.

“I am a dove, soaring through the sky, feeling the wind ruffling my feathers as I fly over forests, cities, and mountains,” you counter, and air replaces ground as your home, with you feeling free and safe. The forest and Morpheus are but a smidge of green as you fly higher.

“I am a hawk, keen eyes and strong wings, finding prey inside my realm.” Morpheus’ voice comes from above and you have only a second to evade before a black bird of prey barrels into you. You fly away, his heavy wings following you wherever you flee, as you fail to find a hiding spot.

You have to get more creative, or else Morpheus is going to catch you sooner than later. This little game manages to find the balance between terrific and terrifying, with Morpheus’ strategy being to simply counter you by being a predator.

“I am a mermaid, living deep in the ocean, exploring sunken ships and fearing no animal in the sea,” you state, and the setting changes anew.

The kelp forest is blocking almost all the sun, with the seaweed rolling with the movements of the water. Your colorful fishtail allows you to gracefully move through the sea, and you breathe water as you breathe air. This is a wonderful dream, and you must return next time you think as your hands touch a beautiful coral.

Counter this, oh King of dreams, you think to yourself, mindful not to say that thought out loud.

“I am Leviathan, the great sea serpent, the whisper of the waves.” Morpheus’ voice seems to come from beneath the sea floor, and cracks begin to open the crust as whatever Morpheus’ form seems to be rises from the ground. You don’t even want to know. Damnit!

“I am royalty, sitting inside my palace, warriors and mages doing all they can to protect me!”

A crown adorns your head, and you only wear the finest garments, sitting on a throne and listening to the people under your care as they seek your advice. The fantasy route promises better results, and you feel a little better as you see the countless uniformed men and women wielding swords and wands, guarding every entrance.

“I am a dragon, my scales impenetrable, my breath scorching, collecting royalty as I collect treasure.” Your scream joins those of your subjects as a black dragon just tears off a portion of your palace’s roof, talons digging into wood and stone.

Agape, you look at the creature, monstrous and wonderful at the same time. Blue slits seem to zero in on you, erasing every thought you have.

The dragon opens his mouth and fangs longer than your arm make your knees buckle. Scales shining like onyx make your finger twitch to touch them and discover what they feel like.

How are you supposed to counter a dragon? Your guards seem to be useless against Morpheus, their spells having no effect and their swords not making a scratch on his scales.

This time, Morpheus changes the setting, and you find yourself on top of a huge mountain of gold and jewelry, a dragon’s lair.

The dragon in question is lying down, his huge form almost curled around you. You don’t find the words to express how small you are compared to him. Escape is futile, but you don’t want to give up. Time for a new tactic.

“I am a royalty, taming the dragon with a simple tale and a kind touch,” you say, foregoing reason as you put your hand on what seems to be his cheek, feeling the sleek texture of the scales. You really hope that you don’t end up as dragon snack.

The dream changes again, and you’re back as you, but with your hand still cradling Morpheus’ cheek. No dragon can compare to the thrill you feel as your fingertips dance over his smooth skin. You’re screaming internally.

“Well played,” Morpheus says, inclining his head. He’s wonderfully close, and you wonder if he hears your heart race.

“You pulled no punches,” you protest with a smile, and Morpheus smirks, the jaw under your hand moving.

“I knew you could keep up.” Holding onto your hand, Morpheus reaches into the pocket of his black coat with his other hand and drops a beautiful necklace on your palm.

You gently lift it up: on a delicate golden chain hangs a tear-shaped ruby pendant.

“This is lovely,” you whisper as you give him back the necklace and turn your back at him, a silent invitation for help.

Morpheus complies immediately, his fingers brushing away your hair as he closes the clasp of the necklace. His presence sooths and thrills you at the same time.

“This necklace will alert me to your presence inside your Dreaming,” Morpheus explains, his lips dangerously close to your ears, and your shoulders sag with relief. No more getting lost, you hope.

The world around you shakes, becoming blurry for a second, and you want to groan. Again? Why do the dreams seem to pass by in a flash?

You wake up before you can say goodbye. With all the excitement, you’ve totally forgotten to mention the golden light to Morpheus, but then again, it is most likely irrelevant after all. Maybe you’ve even summoned it, your subconscious needing an impulse to explore the library on your own.

Nothing to worry about.