#i am very acutely aware that my friends all have more important people in their lives

[j-esbian]

you know. i have seen a lot of posts that say something to the effect of “adult friendships are going to be different” which i get because aging tumblr population etc. but it rly comes across as “if you didn’t have a certain kind of friendship (i have a specific idea in mind but i will not specify because We All Know what i mean [editor’s note: i don’t because your experiences are not universal]) before you hit your 20s, you’ve lost your chance because all of your friends are getting married and having kids and have less time for you” and like. idk does that really need to be said

[jmdbjk]

In my purest delusions and unpopular opinions...a random list.

My delusions and opinions.

More for my own sanity: Jimin and Jungkook are safe and sound with trusted fellow soldiers surrounding them every day. They fulfill their daily activities and are feeling some level of accomplishment, satisfaction and pride through them. In my purest delusion, they are insulated from the negativity going on in the outside world due to their isolated location. They are only told what they need-to-know. Of course, they are up-to-the-minute informed about the things that are pertinent to their current duties but in my purest delusion, they are not aware of the vilest of vile things that have been going on. There is no need for them to be distracted by it at the moment.

Opinion: Hanteo Chart is corrupt and inaccurate because it is owned by Kakao which also owns SM Entertainment so that renders that chart meaningless. Regarding BTS or the members' winning any of these, the Fact Music Awards and VMAs are worthless because many of their awards are fan-voted and they use that for engagement. None of these awards have any impact on BTS's or the members' success. These days, they only serve the fans' egos. Though of course, for other groups who are not BTS, any award is important.

Opinion: Most people do not thoroughly process and comprehend what they read online. A lot of what the fandom believes is from the power of suggestion. Even I am influenced by this phenomenon. If I am very acutely interested and invested I will devour every detail of a situation, but as soon as my interest wanes, that energy dissipates and I just take what I read in headlines as the status of the situation (the power of suggestion) and it may or may not be 100% accurate.

Opinion: Social media posts that are not complete thoughts or sentences that are grammatically incorrect due to author error or lack of language/writing skills are easily misunderstood and have the ability to spread misinformation and misunderstanding which can be difficult and sometimes impossible to undo. Such is the nature of social media. Its the doom of humankind as we know it.

In my purest of delusions, when Jimin and Jungkook are discharged, they will move into that black metal fortress that Jungkook built. It is a huge structure with 5 floors and a beautifully landscaped outdoor area. Jungkook being a not very social person, there is no reason to have such a large house. His best friend/partner/lifelong significant other, will move in with him. They will live there peacefully behind those tall secure walls. Jungkook will exploit his newly acquired cooking skills to his heart's content in his wildly expensive and fully equipped kitchen. Bam will have the run of the house and a doggie door so he can go in and out whenever he wants.

Opinion: We must stop saying "we were cheated out of this," "we were deprived of seeing this between them," "they edited it, why didn't they show us all of it!" "when will they say this or tell us that?" It is not our right to claim ownership of things that are not ours. It is not ours to decide if we see things between Jimin and Jungkook. Those things belong to them. To claim we are being cheated is pure selfishness. Am I guilty of saying this? Yes. And its not right. I will do better. They show us A LOT. A LOT, A LOT already.

In my wildest and purest virgin delusion: Filming for Are You Sure? season 4 (Jungkook said Sapporo was season 3 so that's my reference point) will commence at some point after their military discharge, perhaps shortly after, over a long weekend in the U.S. in the Rocky Mountains somewhere where they can see snow of the likes they've never seen before, snowboard on slopes they can't imagine exist. Season 5 will be scheduled for Budapest where the group will be headed to film the comeback MV. Season 6 will be them exploring Busan during Christmas. And on and on. We have 12 seasons coming.

AND FURTHERMORE... this isn't delusional at all, its pure fact:

Who owns Weverse? Hybe. Whatever fees other artists pay to be on Weverse to host their activities there or Weverse shop to sell merch and albums... Weverse makes money, BTS members make money.

Among the many groups paying these fees to be on Weverse and Weverse Shop: EXO, Blackpink, PLAVE, NCT (all iterations), aespa, SHINee, NewJeans, Enhypen, Seventeen. Weverse makes money, BTS makes money. The latter three groups are active artists on Hybe's subsidiary labels. If those labels make a profit from their artists work, guess who else makes money? BTS members.

People who are still engaging in fandom pissing wars on X with other kpop fandoms... stop lowering yourselves to their level. Time to get out of the mud. Look up at the stratosphere instead because that's where our men exist. Reflect on that instead of engaging in nonsensical fan war fighting.

Get yo ass outta trunk.

I don't know what else Namjoon can say to you guys for you to get your head out of your asses and get with the program. We are moving in different circles here, you either keep up or stay behind.

LASTLY, a legit question. At what point in a man's life, in a Korean man's life, in a Korean male idol's life... is it NOT ok to snuggle or cuddle with their male friend? Or even their biological brother? When is it crossing the line and no longer considered acceptable behavior? When do Koreans believe it is time to stop that sort of behavior? When men are in the 20s? 30s? 50s? Is there such a point? Or do Korean idols get a pass because of what they do for a living? Because I don't see other Korean men of any age doing what Jimin and Jungkook do. Ever. Just sayin.

[pedripics]

PEDRI in Collaboration with AUDEMARS PIGUET - BARCELONAS GOLDEN BOY

Similarly, Pedri grew up in the mountainous municipality of Tegueste in the Canary Islands, surrounded by natural beauty. Spending hours near the sea playing football with his brother and friends, he has experienced the joys of the planet and its beauty before entering a life of football, fashion and bright lights. But a profound sense of where he has come from remains, and humility and humbleness continue to lead the 21-year-old’s choices.

His recent collaboration with Platano De Canarias, an institutional brand fighting malnutrition through the promotion of bananas, is a testament to that. The banana is the most important crop in the Canary Islands and for decades, the industry has been the protagonist of the economic growth of the archipelago – accounting for 60% of Europe’s banana production.  He is also an ambassador for Kick Out Plastic, a non-profit international campaign fighting for a world free of plastic pollution and climate change.

“Climate change is something that affects us all and should concern us all, especially young people,” Pedri explains. “Sustainability and recycling are part of my daily life because my parents instilled it in me since I was a child. Being from a natural paradise like the Canary Islands, which also lives mainly from tourism, I am very aware of the importance of taking care of nature for all of us.” 

As a 21-year-old with over 13 million followers on Instagram, you might not expect such issues to be on Pedri’s radar. Yet he is acutely aware that he not only has the world at his feet but in his hands — a gift he has no intention of wasting.

Intelligent, humble, and grounded, Pedri represents the younger generation with flying colours. He is a role model to all those who find themselves lucky enough to share his position and an indication that the high-profile figures at the forefront of modern football might just have deeper purposes.

On the pitch, Pedri has been hailed like no other — ‘One of the world’s best’ in the opinion of Barcelona’s manager Xavi Hernández, and ‘The signing of the decade’ according to Marca, Spain’s leading sports news outlet.

Lionel Messi’s final campaign in the famous red and blue hoops of Barça didn’t quite live up to expectations but offered an exciting window into what could be. Pedri was fresh on the scene; quiet, innocent, slight in figure and polite in persona; terrorising defences with a low centre of gravity, immense skill, close control and vision. His personality and playing style drew obvious comparisons to the iconic Argentine with whom he had struck up quite the partnership on the field. By all accounts, Barça’s next messiah was born.

But the story of a wunderkind is rarely so simple. Following his move to Barcelona and The Kopa Trophy win, he played a staggering 73 games and over 4,000 minutes in less than a year and subsequently suffered a string of injuries that would leave him out of the side for months at a time. While he has since returned to the team and reasserted his peerless playmaking form, the issue of over-played, over-pressured, fatigued young players falling victim to a demanding fixture schedule remains a pressing problem with the modern game.

“Professional football is very, very demanding, not only physically but mentally too,” Pedri admits. “I try to face things professionally and prepare myself to always be in optimal condition. That’s why it’s even more annoying when an injury forces you to stop and start all over again.

“In difficult moments, my brother Fer — the person I love the most in this life — is the one who protects me and is always by my side. I like to spend my days off at home with him and my family, watching TV series, playing board games and enjoying their company.

At first glance, Pedri appears to be an ordinary young man, but one who is poised on the brink of greatness. As the bricks for the new Camp Nou are laid one by one, Pedri is quietly constructing his own empire, drawing support from family, friends, and his sheer love for football.

“I am who I am because of my parents,” says Pedri. “They raised me with very clear values: you must be humble and respect everyone. I live my life by a quote from the legend Johan Cruyff, ‘Salid y disfrutad’ which means to ‘go out and enjoy’, and I think that sums up my approach to life.”

[curs3dn0va]

I have kept blogs on and off throught my life. I'm that part of gen z that wanted to share my stories to whomever might care, if anyone did... But when people in my real life actually read them I would get embarassed. You see, I was badly bullied during elementary school - very important formative years, now that I think about it - and here in México elementary school is 6 years. I am also acutely aware that the bullying "wasn't that bad" in the sense that it was never physical, but it did instill in me - an undiagnosed autistic - many core beliefs that only now, at 26 years old, I'm starting to understand how they impact my life to this day. A few examples are as follows: that I was inherently ugly and there was nothing to do about it; I was also very stupid, and again there was nothing I could do about it; I was not good at anything, therefore I should give up on any single thing I start; I am also very weird and odd and offputting, and should not approach anyone because they will hate me. The list could go on, but that's not what I want to talk about in this introduction.

Despite all of this things that became my core beliefs about myself, it took many years for me to get any diagnosis, and legally I am not diagnosed (more about that in another post about mental health resources in México), since my diagnosis is private. But you must understand, dear reader, that this blog is not to look for sympathy or pitty or clout, I am a writer to my core, and the fact that I have never been able to pin down my life and pull it appart to see what makes me who I am bothers me. With this blog I want to talk about my past, even vent a little about people that - from my perspective at least - have wronged me. And some people might wonder "why not a tiktok?", well putting my self image issues aside, the people that I will be talking about would not appreciate the things I have to say, and tiktok is much more traceable, althought that is not what worries me: a tiktok is quick and spur of the moment, words can be miscontrued and twisted, and I am much better with words when I write them down.

Another thing you might be curious about might be the fact that I say I'm healing, yet I will be bringing up things from a very long time ago, and to you that might not be the ideal way of healing, but as I mentioned before: I have several conditions that make it harder to let go of things, and everything I will be writing here are things that I haven't been able to let go, they hurt me and fester inside me. I have tried vent books, and I don't intend to stop them, I'll probably even show a few passages, but please grant me some grace, I've had a rough life despite my privileges (and I have many).

For right now I can introduce myself: My friends call me Nova, I am a tattoo apprentice, I enjoy movies and cinema, I love music and am currently enrolled in piano lessons, I love beauty and makeup, I also like fashion althought I'm not very fashionable, I do recreational weed since it helps me unmask (this is not a recommendation or endorsement of the use of illicit substances), I love traveling and trying new things, I am bilingual and learning my third language right now, I'm enrolling in university next semester (again), I finally have a few friends that I can be myself with, I am currently reading Babel by R.F. Kuang, The Poppy War trilogy broke me and it is my favourite series so far, I love Bo Burnham, and I play too much Overwatch.

So if anyone is interested in my lore, my personality, and where I'm going, follow this blog. I do have some projects pending: I want to make videos about books and/or makeup, I want to get better at my art, and I'm using this whole thing to practice my prose because I'm very interested in writing a book someday.

[con-ked]

I think many of us here on our Glorious Trashsite spend more time than we'd like to admit scrolling through endless fanart of our favourite fictional gays and disaster scrimbos, deavouring any and all shameless headcanons, checking out cool writing prompts we'll never actually write something for and devouring fic after appalling fic we'd probably rather eat an entire live goat than admit we've read to our friends, parents and teachers.

And I think we've all had those moments where we've suddenly paused and been hit with the acute realization of what we're actually doing and the immediate shame slamming home like a collapsing skyscraper.

And then the the 'What am I DOING with my life??? My precious time?? Heartbeats???' slowly descending into a mental spiral of existential dread and awareness of our own mortality before we get up, Very Tired, make ourselves a coffee, and go do something more 'productive'.

But maybe there is worth in the scrolling. Maybe there is meaning in the careless, happy consumption of self-indulgent fluff and sentences, stories, creations we'd never allow to see the light of day.

Well, everything can be meaningful and fascinating if you want to sit down, perhaps with a nice drink or snack, and muse about it.

And in a world where neither the past nor the future is here and will always be- whether unimaginably faraway or only just behind or ahead of us- untouchable, visible only in speculation and ideas and books and ancient, ruined things and the lines on faces and the darker patches on my hands and the way people have changed,

the present is more important than any language or art could ever express.

And though past and future are important, and the past must be learnt from and the future must be embraced, the present is still the most important. And The Now is a little more flexible in how long it lasts than the other two. Could be a millisecond, could be a month.

So things that make you happy in the moment are very precious, actually. We all have things we do and secrets we're ashamed of and will take to our graves, so why not add one more to the pile? After all, the only folks who'll know are the FBI agents monitoring our browsing. It's their loss, really.

Productivity invariably looks to the future. What can I get done in my life? How can I live up to my true Potential? How can I contribute and be, become something so, so admirable and useful to society and the world that it'll outlast my measly lifespan and be a legacy others will be in awe of?

And regret regards the past. You can't change what has happened. You can unthink an idea or undo what's been done, be that an OC's creation or anon's mother. All you can do is bear it in mind. So, you can decide to stop reading this or browsing Pinterest, or you could, actually, be as shameless and feral as deep down, we all want to be, and scroll the fuck out of that trash feed.

You could think about what about the so-called nonsense you're consuming makes you so happy. Or you could just. Y'know. Consume. Become the Great Beast. Devour ALL the smutty fanart and self-gratifying insert fic. Wreak havoc. Be happy. Forget the world for an hour

We don't have much time in this world.

That sentence is simultaneously terrifying and a great relief.

Some of us will have a century or more, some of us could get hit by a lorry reading this, millions will die tomorrow, and I'm presuming hundreds have in the time it took me to write this lengthy post and the time it took you to read it.

We don't have long, but we still have years. I've hardly begun my life and already the Literal Queen Elizabeth II has died. Think of how much more could happen. And do you really think you'd want to die without having ever spent at least ONE hour checking out Tumblr and its mortifying beauty?

We can be modern day hardcore hedonists. So many flamboyant icons before us would be proud. So many historical bastard with sticks up their asses would be barrel rolling in their graves.

So go on. Scroll down, full steam ahead. Reblog this with some dumb hysterically funny meme quoting that thing I said about meaningfulness and interestingness in everything. Seize the moment, you utter madlad. Yell at a transphobe tomorrow. Write a book in ten years. Worry later and die rueful and happy.

[ijustthinkfrogsarecool]

well alright. i guess i can try to catch up a little bit real quick.

i live in my own place now, a condo that i got to buy. i was lucky, too- most things get bought by landlords and rented out instead within days of becoming available for sale. i live across the street from my old tiny apartment, which is funny to me, but also convenient because none of my bike routes had to change. 

i still work for the university’s school of medicine. still in the same position. it’s complicated and i don’t want to talk about it right now, just, still in the same position. my team has two more people on it now so i’m not alone anymore, but that just means our boss increased the workload. i feel very overwhelmed and tired and irritable all the time, which is not a mindset i like to be in when i approach work that i feel is important and rewarding.

i have two cats, eowyn and tux. wynnie is two and tux is three. i’ve had eowyn since january 2021 and tux since october 2021. he’s a good noodle. they both just had checkups, and the vet has approved eowyn’s current weight as ideal, so i feel pretty good about my ability to correct mistakes in how much i feed them. eowyn seems much happier these days anyway- more active, playful. still very food motivated, haha.

i’m no longer in most of the online groups i’d joined during the covid lockdown. most of them went poorly. it seems to have caused some kind of trauma because i feel very off-kilter and uncertain of what i even want when i interact with people anymore. i have been feeling painfully lonely for a few months. i was trying to cling to my small friend group but most of those relationships do not make me very happy. which sucks because i am fond of these people and i finally met someone who is very similar to me and i thought i could make a meaningful connection with. well, i was fond of most people in the writing server(s) too. 

trying to get reconnected in my little in-person community, but it sucks haha. most of the clubs i was part of, the members i knew have all graduated and moved away. and it would be weird for a 30-year-old to try to rejoin student groups when i’m not a student and not even personal friends with any of the members anymore. the other older adult in the writing club, dax, is still in town and he’s trying to get back to doing weekend picnics and bike rides and parties and stuff. i went to one of his costume parties last night actually. but everyone there is always so... unsettlingly christian. it makes me really uncomfortable, the way they talk about other people. i’m always acutely aware that i’m not like them.

i do at least still work on my webcomic, though it’s... listless, the last few years. ever since i tried to join that fandom community and then all the mess after that with the writing group that i tried to help run... i can tell i’m burnt out, but nothing i do seems to bring me any energy or joy, so i can’t get un-burnt out. i’ve just been trapped in this gray muck for two and a half years it feels like.

that’s all for now i guess. i don’t know how to talk about things anymore.

[xandiebean]

My relationship with Death

I've been contemplating death for some time now. Not because I want to die or anything suicidal, but because it just generally fascinates, yet confuses me. I don't know what it's like to lose a loved one. I've never lost anyone that important to me. I've had family members pass, but have never had an emotional connection to them. During the pandemic, my neighborhood had a lot of death. Our streets were filled with pictures and memorials of the fallen souls that didn't make it to the other side. It was all hard to see but I was never a part of those families. 

I've been thinking about how my culture reacts to death. I'm Mexican, and death is a common thing in our society and culture. As Mexicans, there's alot of ways we die. Sickness, illness, starvation and of course, violence. It’s not entirely uncommon for a mother to find out their child just died due to gang violence. We, as Mexicans are acutely aware of our own mortality in a way that's harder to find in the United States. We have a holiday about death. Day of the dead. Despite what some might think, it's not a day of grief. It's not a day where we sob. It's a day of celebrations, food, reunion and family. There's a lot of joy to be shared around during the holiday.

Now, I need to preface the rest of this with the following: my family never celebrated this holiday. I asked my mother why we never celebrated this holiday and she gave me an answer something along the lines of, it's not in the Bible so I don't believe in it. That never sat well with me. I don't consider myself religious and I never saw the day of the dead as a religious thing (although I'm sure it is). For me, it's a way of THOUGHT. This is how I see Day of the Dead. A way to conceptualize our meaning of death and legacy. 

Very recently my friend's dog passed away. I could tell that they were not taking it very well. I don't know how to comfort them because I have never gone though this experience. I don't want to accidentally do something disrespectful. I've thought about talking to them about what death means in my culture. And here's what I have to say: 

Death is sad. That being that you loved so dearly is no longer in this realm. It won't be coming back physically. You have every right to feel and be sad for the loss of your loved one. But if you loved them so much and they loved you the same right back, then I don't think they would like for you to be sad for too long. With them being dead, now is the time to celebrate and cherish the time you had with them. Now is the time to tell the world about your favorite moments with them, how they made you feel, how you loved them, what their favorite foods were, what their laugh sounded like. For you see, while you won't be able to see them for a long time, you will be able to introduce them to the people who haven't met them. They're still alive, through you, through your memories and experiences with them. They're not dead. Their life and experiences are still very much alive, so long as you're willing to tell their stories. You may still feel sad, sure, but know that the time you spent with them was precious, more valuable than any currency. After all, gold is precious because it's rare, life is precious because it's so short. Death gives life value. 

I wanted to tell this to my other friend who, on the anniversary of their best friends death, was not doing well. Please, tell me their story. I know they might not be alive in this realm but they live in you. You have the capability of keeping their story, their life alive through your mouth. Keep them alive. I keep saying that this is the most healthy way to see death. Whether or not that's true is up to me to decide. 

I constantly think about my own death and mortality. While, I am certainly not suicidal now, I was in the past. I wanted to die several times. I just wanted the pains of my life to end. I thought my death would be a quick and easy way to do that. And sure, on paper it is, but there's so much more I can give. I have a responsibility to this world that I can't just walk away from. I'll do everything in my power to make sure that I make some sort of difference to this universe. In some ways, I already have. Someone once told me that physically, your footprints make a literal difference in the composition on the ground that you stepped on. And even though you can't see that, it's there. It's always going to be there. 

I don't fear death. I don't fear dying. I think I fear hurting someone because of my death significantly more. I would constantly think that if someone were to try and kill me dead, I would simply just let them do it. If it's time, it's time. That might be a bit controversial for some, but if it's my time then, I guess it's my time. The universe has decided it. I might try and fight back depending on the circumstances but if I don't make it, that's OK. Because I know I have done something in this time period. Something that someone will have been affected by. Maybe not necessarily remember, but nonetheless, affected by. The final death is something that alot of people fear. They do not want to be forgotten, but unfortunately, it's inevitable. And that's ok. We will all be forgotten because we are all just a small speck in this universe. But just because you're forgotten, doesn't mean you didn't do anything. Once again, you physically change the world by every step that you took, don't forget that. 

I think about ugly death alot. What I mean by that is death that isn't visually pretty. It never is. A homicide, an old dead person on the ground, all these "ugly deaths" are disturbing and hard to look at, don't get me wrong. I... Try not to think about it too much. But it's hard not to. 

There was this old man that used to live in our old apartment. He was this white sweet old man that would sit outside our steps and say I hi to us on our way to the park. He would sometimes even give us candy. He smelled of old, which was a sweet smell looking back. He was a gentle old man. After we moved to a different apartment, we didn’t see him as much. We lost alot of contact with him. I wondered how he was. During the pandemic, my cousins constantly brought up the fact that there was this really awful smell that has been bothering them for some time. They haven't seen their neighbor for some time, but then again, this was during the pandemic. We weren't really allowed to see anyone at all. The smell stayed for 2 weeks until someone finally called the authorities. He was found dead in his home. The story just broke my heart. I wept on the floor. My reasons for crying are probably not what you think. I was crying, not because I was close with him, but because I wasn't. I didn't even know his name and my cousins, who still lived there, didn't know either. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to die alone in your room. The fact that no one came to look up on him, that there was no family of his to check up on him, no one was that close to him. All of it sent chills down my spine. It made me weep. He died alone. I don't even know his name. But I remember his actions and the way he made me feel. While even though our interactions were brief, I still remember those actions and those smiles and his look. I still remember what he sounds like. He was sweet and gentle. He made an impression. I can't forget him, I won't. Even though he died alone, I will keep his memory alive, even if it's short and brief. 

I will see him in the land of the dead. We'll all go there soon to see our fallen. Maybe then, I'll get to know his story more. 

To my friend who lost Terry, their beautiful sweet dog. It's ok to be sad, but remember why you're sad. You're sad because of the immense amount of love you feel for them. They say that the pets that we bring into our lives become alebrijes, spirits and beings that guide us to make the right choices in our lives. They are still with us, every step of the way. You will get a chance to see them, it will take some time, but you will, I promise. But for now, tell us about their life. Celebrate their life, for they will never truly die. 

To the fallen who have died with honor and courage, we look to the stars and see that they have not truly died, but instead, they are in the galaxy, looking down at us.

[shelbywanders]

“Dear pregnant, glowing, happy friend,

Let’s cut to the chase: Yes I did ignore the scan photo, the maternity pictures where I’m sure you’re gently holding your swelling bump & gazing wistfully into the distance (I haven’t looked to be honest) and your invitation to the baby shower. There are no hearts or comments from me on those. I’ve put you on mute.

You have plenty of friends, half of whom are pregnant like you so I hoped you wouldn’t notice, but you clearly have. I hear you’re a bit upset with me over this. I’m honestly not a horrible person, so here’s why you’re suddenly dead to me, and I hope that you can try to understand:

I can’t stand looking at pregnant women at the moment, and unfortunately I can’t make an exception for you. Yes, you’re more than a walking womb – you’re my friend & we’ve got history, so how dare I ignore you just because you got pregnant, right? What kind of evil witch does that?

This cuts both ways though – as my friend you know exactly what I’ve been through trying to get pregnant. You see, I’m currently an infertile woman and you’re a pregnant woman, and absolutely everyone is happy to throw my mental health under a bus to make a fuss of you. Including you. I’m expected to suck it up for you, but it’s the end of the world if I expect the same consideration. That’s just the way it is apparently – I don’t make the rules.

We have all said “Be kind!” but do we mean it?

It doesn’t matter how much we say “be kind!” and “mental health is important!” when you’re a woman that’s not able to make babies. My mental health matters less than a like on a picture of a scan to some people – and definitely less than a party. You can withdraw our friendship because you think that I owe you the appropriate amount of fawning over your baby shower, even though you know I’m in the middle of IVF. Yes, that sounds appalling, I’m not proud of saying that, but as I will continue to mention – this is a mental health issue – it’s not about manners.

It is not your fault that you don’t understand what’s going on with women like me, and I’m not actually mad with you for that. I’m mad with a society that treats infertile women like they’re selfishly making a fuss, if they dare to try and excuse themselves from the carnival of joy that follows a pregnant woman into the office and beyond. That seems to forget about us & then gets annoyed when it’s reminded that we do exist. That can laugh kindly and be understanding about the emotional behaviour of a pregnant woman, but is quick to label us selfish or drama queens or jealous, if we are sensitive about trauma triggers such as pregnancy. It feels like we’re pitted against each other somehow, and it’s so unfair. We have phrases like “hormones” and “baby brain” to ensure that we make space for a pregnant woman’s reactions and emotions, but we don’t have a way to tactfully say to pregnant women “Hey, maybe you should give your friend with fertility struggles some space and not shove that big old pretty bump in her face right now!”

Of course pregnant women are in a vulnerable and unique position, and pregnancy is hard and of course we should all look out for them. I’m just saying – anonymously, because I know how deep this goes in society, that maybe we don’t have to routinely disregard the mental health of infertility sufferers, for the sake of special parties and social niceties? Those things could take place without us. You could graciously excuse us from all of that, if you knew how deep our suffering runs.

Instead we’re expected to fawn over people who (innocently) trigger our deepest feelings of sadness and anger, with a fake smile on our face and a congratulations card – and I’m sick of it. We’re all sick of it, but I’m just especially sick of it at the moment. I don’t deserve it – and you don’t deserve this bitter version of me that exists at the moment. What if I could just say hey – congratulations but I’m just having a hard time with this because I can’t get pregnant myself. You could say “OK, good luck with that. Not going to be offended if you don’t get involved right now, but you’re always welcome in the future!”

What if we could handle infertility vs pregnancy better?

So we don’t currently handle it that well, and I’m going to miss your whole pregnancy, and that’s obviously a big deal, right? I don’t actually want to miss a huge chunk of your life, but here’s the kicker – I have to. For my mental health. Because it’s just as important as your mental health. You, as a woman who hasn’t had fertility issues, and apparently got pregnant just by glancing at your husband’s penis in the shower- have no idea what’s happening to me. You will think – as society tells you to, that I am being bitter and uncaring and mean because it’s just in my nature to be like that. That I’m making it “all about me”, when I actually just want to slink away unnoticed. But why would you know any better if no-one ever tells you this stuff or talks about it? Can we just bloody stop this merry-go-round and get real about it please? I’m not mean or uncaring – I’m just struggling with pregnancy. Including yours.

Give me a pass for heaven’s sake. I couldn’t even cope if my cat got pregnant right now, never mind someone I went shopping at Tammy Girl with. Pregnancy is deeply, horribly triggering when you desperately wanted a baby and tried your hardest, but instead you had a miscarriage, a chemical pregnancy, a failed embryo implant, an ectopic pregnancy, a termination for medical reasons or a stillbirth. Show me a woman with fertility struggles who hasn’t had at least one of those. A scan is the very last thing you want to look at. A baby shower is the last place in the universe you want to be. But I’m not allowed to simply say “Thanks so much for the invite, truly happy for you but can’t deal with pregnancy RN because I’m doing IVF again” in case it impinges for five seconds upon your fairy-tale. I wonder if I’ll be the same if I ever get pregnant. Probably not, knowing what I know now.

Fertility struggles have given me a new perspective

So what is it that I know now? That infertility is traumatic. That IVF is mentally and physically hard, and it doesn’t always work. That it can cause relationship strain and feelings of inadequacy and mental health challenges galore. Financial struggles. Hormonal drugs. Constant stupid comments from people who don’t understand. There’s something else too.

Women with fertility issues have to track everything – periods, ovulations and appointments. They are often acutely aware of how old their own lost and maybe-babies would have been at any given time, as well as the ongoing sense of loss they experience from not being able to have a baby. Nature has a really cruddy way of timing baby showers in the same month as our due-dates that never were. Your baby shower is two weeks after my due date 2 years ago. I should be bringing my nearly 2 year old with me. See, I told you we track everything.

Do you really want me to explain that I’d be bringing the baggage of my lost child with me to this party? Do I owe you that? Or could you, you know, just be understanding that baby showers might just be a little bit hard for someone that’s been trying to get pregnant for longer than you’ve known your husband?

So that’s my confession, and I’m going to passive-aggressively post it on my wall and hope that you read it. I can’t come to you with my truth, because I’d risk “stressing you out” and “making it all about me” if I did. I can’t just suck it up, because my mental health is too fragile for that right now. So here I am as a woman with fertility struggles, asking for a little understanding from my friends. Can we call a truce? Can we be more honest with each other? Can we accept that pregnancy is wonderful for you but hard for others? As a woman trying so hard for a baby, I live in hope.”

https://bestfertility-now.com/letter-to-my-pregnant-friend-your-happiness-and-my-mental-health-are-not-compatible/?fbclid=IwAR2YARsPG6r_GLntyasTkwhf_fVJ_XTfG6YbMX6BEdpa6BGOlh9jR1EaB5g

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

A Match Set

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 2685 Damn

Warnings: Alcohol and also a little sad?

Notes: hehe the plot continues... also please give feedback I’m still new to writing and can use the help 🥺

Your first date with Benny was like all your experiences with Benny. It started out ordinary, and ended up somewhere completely different.

He took you to a small cafe, one of those hidden spots known only to New York natives.

You and Benny sat down in a little corner of your own, and you felt an imbalance when he didn’t look nervous at all. After you ordered you relaxed a bit, finding out that he was just as anxious as you were. Sure, Benny had an incredible poker face, but the way he kept tapping his cheek while he leaned his chin on his hand had been the tell.

On the outside it looked as though the two of you were on a regular date, exchanging all the usual smiles and small flirtations, but that’s where it got a little more interesting.

Benny wasn’t conventional and didn’t care to be, and you were always trying to get past the surface of things. Neither of you cared for menial small talk, and instead went straight into a passionate exchange of thoughts and views. You ended up talking like you had known each other for years. There was a connection there, an obvious chemistry that you hadn’t found before.

There was a second date after that, and it was even better than the last. He had taken you to dinner that time, and once again you found yourselves falling back into discussion about various thoughts and ideas, nothing boring or ordinary.

As you cracked jokes back and forth and learned more about each other, you had a warm feeling. You recognized that for all these last few months, being with Benny was the first time you really felt at home in New York.

That was before, but this is now. Now is when a part of you shattered. Now is just after you got a devastating call that your father was sick.

“Thank you,” you said before hearing the click of placing the phone back on the receiver.

Thank you for what? You were just told your father was dying and you were supposed to say thank you? You had finally gotten the chance to go beyond your small town, thinking everything at home was safe, that it was taken care of. It was your father that convinced you of that.

Living where you did had it’s limits, and there wasn’t much for you there. He pushed you to get out and explore, telling you that you didn’t need to worry about him.

You were taken from your thoughts when you looked at the time, realizing Benny would be picking you up soon. You could’ve canceled, considering the recent circumstances, but you were grasping for normalcy at the moment, trying to shove away the awful reality you were just hit with. You told yourself it wasn’t because you were running away, you were just being considerate of benny. Yes, you were just being considerate. That meant you could push off thinking about all this until you got home.

This time, you and Benny were walking together in Central Park, and you were trying to pay attention to what he was saying as best you could.

“Hey, y/n?” You heard benny’s voice break through the numbness.

“Sorry, what?” You were embarrassed that he caught you blatantly ignoring what he was saying.

“I was asking if you were able to come to to the championship, but I think you’ve got other things on your mind.” He didn’t seem offended, more concerned.

“I’d love to, I know how important chess is for you, and I haven’t gotten the chance to see you get really competitive.” He would’ve been happier to hear your answer had he not seen straight though you.

“Right now, you’re what’s really important to me. Just tell me what’s really going on.” His admittance for caring about you would’ve made filled your heart yesterday, but today it made you want to run away.

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’ve been off the whole day, I just want to know why.”

“Nothing is going on. Why are you so convinced that there is?” Your tone became slightly more aggressive.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me right-“

“Just leave it Benny!” You snapped, letting go of his hand and and walking away from him. You didn’t know why you took off from someone you liked so much, but you didn’t really know why anything was happening at all.

You were stopped as Benny ran after you and grabbed you hand firmly. You tried to pull away, but he was stronger than you. He spun you around to face him. You became acutely aware of the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. Looking up into his eyes was your breaking point.

You let out a sob before caving into him. You felt his arms wrap around you before letting him usher you to a bench. He held you for what seemed like forever, until you were too tired to cry anymore. He was rubbing you back and gave you a little smile when you faced him. You apologized and hastily wiped away your tears, but he insisted that it was ridiculous of you to be sorry. You still felt guilty after your breakdown, so you explained what was going on to make it up to Benny. You couldn’t exactly run away anymore, physically or emotionally.

“It’s my dad. I got a call this morning. He’s sick, but he wants me to stay here. How am I supposed to stay here, dealing with a new job, a new life really, while my dad’s back home dying?” You let Benny see all the stress you were under, ready for him to leave now that he’s seen you as a mess.

“All those things, you have to take one at a time. If your dad’s what’s important right now, just focus on that.” It was easier said than done, but Benny wasn’t the emotional type and he didn’t know exactly what to say, but he cared, that much was clear. You just nodded, trying to pull yourself back together. “Are you going to listen to him? Are you going to stay here?” You could tell that behind his question, he was scared that you would say no.

“I- I don’t know yet.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here.” He said as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. It was smooth and warm and you wanted to lean into it, but you snapped out of it.

“Maybe what we both need is for you not to here.” You didn’t want to hurt him, but your walls had rushed back up. You had so many things going on, and the last thing you needed was a boyfriend. It pained you to say it, but you wanted to be honest.

“I don’t have to be here as... whatever we have going on now... but I can be here as a friend.” As of today, romance was off the table for you, but a friend was different, and Benny wasn’t the type to let go of you so easily, even if a friendship was all he could get.

You just nodded and looked down into your lap, not knowing what to do now. Benny knew it was time for silence, so he held your face in his hands so you looked up at him. He didn’t say anything as he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears sitting on your cheeks. It wasn’t a romantic act, it was more endearing, a quiet action as if to say that he was willing to catch you if you fell.

You let out a small laugh at his little gesture. His eyes radiated a sort of comfort now that you he was edging into a part of your life that even you avoided.

With the intention of continuing your date that wasn’t really a date anymore, he grabbed your hand to pull you up from the bench. When he tried to let go, you didn’t let him. He looked at you curiously but he didn’t question it. You didn’t even know why you did it, still mentally screaming to push him away. You both just ended up going along with it, holding hands for the rest of the day until he walked you back home.

Nearly 3 weeks had passed since then and you hadn’t gone out or had contact with anyone. Despite your moment with Benny, you had still distanced yourself from him. Holed up in your apartment, existing off of gin, cigarettes, and frozen foods; ignoring calls, presumably from your friends.

You sat in the middle of the living room floor, forcing yourself to sketch. It had been therapeutic for you before, but now you found yourself more agitated as your drawings felt forced.

“Argh!” You yelled out into the room as you threw the papers across the floor. The one thing that you could always turn to was your ability to do art, and now you felt a block.

After taking a swig of gin, you laid back on the floor. You had turned to alcohol after another call with your father. He demanded that you stay in New York and that you go on with your life. Instead you felt like you were at a standstill, unable to keep going knowing that the one person left in your life wouldn’t make it another couple of months, and yet you were unable to see him. It made you hurt and angry that he didn’t want you home, but you wouldn’t go against his dying wishes.

You groaned when you heard the sound of the phone. You dragged your hands across your face when it wouldn’t stop ringing, forcing yourself up to confront whoever was pestering you.

“What the fuck!”

“Glad to know you’re alive.” Bennys voice greeted you.

“Can’t you tell when someone wants to be alone?” You missed Benny, but you were slightly drunk and your defenses were up.

“What someone wants and what someone needs are two very different things.”

“Well then tell me what I need.” You said sarcastically.

“You should come out with us. We’ve been calling, Cleo and Annette and the rest of us. We haven’t heard from you.”

“Well the reason you haven’t heard from me is because I haven’t been answering.”

“Funny,” he said humorlessly, “we all miss you.” He paused, “I miss you. And I said I’d always be here so I have to make good on my promise.”

You paused. You had to admit, you missed them and Benny too, but everything just seemed so scary right now. For all your philosophies and ideas, you were hiding from your own thoughts. Going out with people would only expose them.

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to have a night out, but have coffee with me at least.”

“Benny I-“

“Great. I’ll be there in five.”

“What? Benny no-“ He hung up. The bastard hung up on you. His audacity was what actually made you laugh for the first time in days. After a minute of laying on the floor, you gathered energy to trudge over to the bathroom and make an attempt to clean yourself up. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you made a grimace at your reflection. You brushed your hair and washed your face, brushing your teeth twice to get rid of the alcohol on your breath. You swiped some face makeup to conceal your dark circles and changed out of the pajamas you had been living in.

You buzzed Benny in, expecting him to wait downstairs in the lobby like usual. Instead you heard a knock at the door in the middle of clearing things up. You got flustered as you rushed around to pick up glasses, pillows and other articles littering the floor.

“I thought we were going for coffee,”You said as you opened the door, panting slightly.

“I thought I would make things easy, come to you.” He said as he made his way in, slinging his arm around your shoulder, “plus ive never been in here.” He took a look around, making no comments about the state of your apartment. He made himself comfortable, going through your kitchen, presumably looking for coffee or something to eat. “Do you want anything? More gin maybe?” He said as he picked up an empty bottle sitting on the counter.

“Benny-“ you warned, silencing him. He joined you on the couch with some chips he found in the cabinets and a can of coke.

“We don’t have to talk about anything serious, I just don’t want you to be alone. For my own sake really.” He turned his head away from you while saying the last part.

“You know I should be a dick more often, I’m making you all soft.” You nudged him in the shoulder as a small smile crept up on his lips, lightening the mood. Something about him being there made you unconsciously drop your facade. You had to admit it was nice to relax for a moment.

“Hey don’t go telling everyone.”

You didn’t talk about anything serious like Benny said you wouldn’t. After a while you eased into laughing and chatting casually. Eventually the conversation reached a comfortable lull.

“I missed you too you know. I didn’t say it over the phone.” You told him. Having him here with you made you feel bad for your outburst. You admired his patience for you.

“I knew.” He shrugged as he gave you a sideways little smirk.

“cocky bastard.” You said jokingly.

“Your favorite cocky bastard” he tilted his head towards you as he lifted his brow, smiling.

“Top 3 maybe.” You leaned back like you were pretending to think about it.

Suddenly you remembered what you talked about before the little breakdown you had on your walk.

“The championship! Do you still want me to go?” You sat up with your sudden remembrance.

“Course I do. I didn’t know you would still be up for it.” Benny looked happy, but you could tell he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I didn’t think I was, but I didn’t want to miss you winning.” You ruffled his fluffy blonde hair. He gave you that cocky smirk again. You really won points by stroking bennys ego.

“Well we can drive together then. It’s next week.” He said it nonchalantly, but he smiled as he took a sip of his drink.

You paused, not realizing the championship was so soon. You thought you had at least a month. You didn’t feel as though you were ready to enter back into the world yet. Just Benny was alright but having to hold your own with all those people while Benny played scared you. Benny caught your hesitation and went to hold your hand. They were chess players hands, soft with long fingers that intertwined with yours. They were cold and his rings were a bit uncomfortable, but your breath still hitched a bit.

No. You said you wouldn’t get involved with him. Still, you kept your hand in his. It was probably the one mildly romantic thing either of you could get without risking the friendship falling apart at this time.

“How exciting,” you finally continued. You lifted your coke and you and Benny cheers-ed together. Once again that warm feeling of home crept in, that feeling you got when being with Benny. No matter how many walls you built up, Benny, someone you hadn’t even known for more than a couple months, had an amazing way of bursting through.

Just this morning you were firmly committed to becoming a hermit, and now you were planning a road trip. You chalked it up to Benny being special to you. No, you pushed that thought away again. Special in a friend way. That’s what you needed, and that’s what he was willing to be. You were in a state of conflict around him, shoving him away and holding his hand to pull him close. You shook off your thoughts and looked at Benny, and there was a moment where his eyes shone with admiration, and then it was gone as he turned his head away and continued to talk about one of his chess feats while you listened attentively, just happy to be around him again, even if it was unwillingly at first.

[talonwings]

to feed a kingdom- Empires SMP Writing

in which fWhip and his subjects make questionable choices for noble reasons.

(can you tell yet that i am a c!fWhip apologist lololololol--)

It would have been easy to miss the small silhouette of the man against the giant shadows looming over the landscape.

The inky sky seemed to cling low over the Grimlands, as it had ever since the Dragon fell; the stars shone more dimly, those that still shone at all. Clouds scudded frantically across the faint crescent of the moon, pushed along by a harrying wind. The crickets all had fallen silent--indeed, all the animals had gone, hidden away in burrows and holes to shelter themselves from the threat of the corruption. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night, but for the harsh gasps of the lone figure as he raised the scythe and swung it again, and again, and again.

fWhip’s fingers had long since blistered, burst, and blistered again. He had stopped even glancing down to check his hands--the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves had averted his gaze some time ago. The pain was a constant companion, enough so that he had become used to it, could ignore it if he gritted his teeth and focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of the tool in his grasp.

He was inelegant with the scythe. It would have been obvious to anyone observing, if there had been anyone around to observe at this ungodly hour; as it was, his lack of skill was evident enough in the ache it left behind in his forearms and shoulders, the torque that yanked at his spine every time he twisted to put his weight behind the swings. He had never been a large man, but he felt his smallness down to his bones here beneath the tower of corruption that still rose into the air above him.

Give up, the rot-red tendril seemed to hiss at him. Its veiny surface pulsated eerily, hinting at something living just beneath the fleshy exterior.

“I’ll die first,” fWhip rasped at it. “Watch me.”

He swung the scythe again. The blade was weathered steel, pocked and beaten from many years of use, but still dangerously sharp. It bit deep into the corrupted tendril, and fWhip was gratified when he swore he could hear a faint scream.

Plash was worried about the Count.

It wasn’t that her lord was acting strange, exactly. Strange, to Plash, was a relative term--she had been called ‘strange’ for most of her childhood due to her fondness for laboratory tools over the company of other children. It was a relief to finally be accepted into the service of the Grimlands’ ruler, who, by Plash’s measure, was a kindred spirit in strangeness. Many people raised their eyebrows at the Count’s eccentricities, but accepted them simply because he was the Count, and who were they to question the man who kept food on their tables and money in their coffers?

No, Plash was concerned because fWhip was acting strange, even for him. He was energetic and filled to the brim with ideas, as a rule--it was what made the Grimlands, under his rule, surge to the forefront of scientific research and discovery. Plash would have never described him as kind, necessarily, or even pleasant, but he was confident and sure and bold.

Until the Dragon fell, and everything changed.

She did not know how to make the dullness go out of his eyes, or the slant from his shoulders, or the heavy, bowing weight from his head, and it frightened her--an uncomfortable experience in itself, for someone as rarely frightened as Plash. In the hours immediately after the Dragon’s end, she had watched her beloved ruler become a person she did not recognize; and that, even before the corruption had arrived.

Plash scowled out the window of the manor at the scarlet tendril hanging ominously in the sky beyond the pane. The damn things had erupted from the ground barely a week after the Dragon’s death, while the Grimlands were still reeling from the arrival of what seemed like half of Mythland’s population. They had barely had enough time to count them all, much less figure out how they were going to feed them. Tents lined every road in Eastvale, and most of the roads immediately outside the town’s wall.

Normally, the Count would guide us, Plash thought glumly. But now…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, close enough to treason as it was. Instead, she made herself continue her trek through the long, high-ceilinged halls toward the Count’s personal study, acutely feeling the weight of the smooth little scroll clutched in her hand, burning a hole through her glove.

She arrived at the tall, paneled oak door, staring for a long moment at the polished bronze knocker before summoning her strength and rapping it twice.

“Enter,” the weary voice called from within.

Plash did so, but stopped just inside the door, barely remembering to close it behind her as she gaped at her leader and mentor. He looked terrible. His eyes were ringed by bruise-purple circles, his cheeks hollow with exhaustion; more bruises were visible on the exposed skin of his wrists where his jacket sleeves rode up, and Plash swore she could see blood staining his gloves.

“Are you just going to stare?” the Count asked. The question was blunt, but his voice was weak and lacked its usual intensity.

“I…” Plash couldn’t find any words, so instead she held up the scroll. “This just arrived.”

“And they sent you instead of a raven?” fWhip gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware that you were doing the job of birds now, Plash Ajax.”

Most people would have been embarrassed by the quip, but Plash shrugged. “A raven brought it, but the raven-mistress said it was too important not to be hand-delivered.”

“Mm.” fWhip eyed her for a moment before he, too, shrugged. “Bring it here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room and depositing the scroll on his desk. Up close he looked even worse than at first glance; his face and every centimeter of exposed flesh were riddled with tiny scratches, like he had been on the losing end of an encounter with a thorn bush. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his gingery hair utterly unkempt. Plash said nothing, only waiting in silence for him to inspect the scroll.

He took it in his hands and unrolled it, eyes scanning it for a second before he let it fall from his grip. It hit the desk with a clack, but Plash barely noticed, fixated as she was on the single tear that trailed down the Count’s cheek before being lost in the tangle of his beard.

“Um…” She chewed her lip for a moment, internally caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to turn tail and run. She settled for asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Shall I, um...shall I leave?”

“Do what you like,” he replied in a tone thick with exhaustion. One gloved hand came up for a noncommittal wave, the fingers indeed stained scarlet with blood.

Plash stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she decided to be as blunt as the man she looked up to. “You look awful. Did someone break in here for a fight last night?”

She thought she had made an awful mistake when fWhip’s eyes locked onto her, his mouth agape; relief washed over her when he started to laugh, the sound hoarse and beaten, but familiar.

“So you can tell,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Well, I suppose I did nothing to try to clean up.”

“Wait, so there was a fight?” Plash asked in confusion.

“Of a kind,” the Count replied wryly.

“...I’m confused,” the young scientist admitted.

“Ah, I know how you hate that.” fWhip’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “All of you young researchers do, though I try my best to beat it out of you.” He stood, shaking his head and then wincing visibly at the movement. “Ack. That’s unpleasant.”

“Can I, er, help in any way?” Plash asked.

“Follow me,” the Count said, beckoning with a gesture toward the door. “I will answer your question, though you must promise to share this with no one.”

Plash followed silently, thoughts spinning through her head as they descended the several floors of the manor and exited into the gardens beyond. From down here, she had a full view of the corruption towering over the skyline of Eastvale, tendrils encircling the town as if to latch on and pull it into the earth, although for now, they remained still. It was toward one of the massive growths that fWhip led her, and as they neared, Plash could see a curious wound in the side of the tentacle. It leaked and bled crimson ooze from the gash, and its flesh seemed to have withered around the site, blackened and decaying.

“What caused this?” Plash wondered aloud. “More corruption? Some new blight?”

“I did,” the Count answered.

“You--?” Plash stared at him, aghast, her eyes dropping slowly to the scarlet-stained scythe that lay abandoned on the ground below the tendril. She hadn’t noticed it until he nudged it with his boot, but now she saw the corrupted ichor dripping from the blade, the red vines hacked to pieces and lying dead beside the tool.

“Did you know I wanted to be a farmer once?”

She was caught entirely off-guard by the question, still enthralled as she was by the sight of the scythe, so it took her a moment to fully process it. “Wh--wait, a farmer? As in…?” She mimed what she thought scything wheat might look like.

fWhip nodded tiredly. “When I was very young, I once had to accompany my parents, the old Count and Countess, on a trip to a Wither Rose Alliance summit in Mythland. They were, of course, ensconced in meetings all day, so I wandered the kingdom with my…” Here he trailed off, a flash of some unreadable feeling crossing his face for a moment before he went on. “With an old friend. We got into plenty of mischief, and one of the pranks we decided on was to unlatch the gate to a field full of cows. Luckily, the farmer caught us before we were trampled to death by the beasts, and although we were royal, he decided to teach us a lesson, and made us help him sow carrot seeds for two hours.”

Plash made a face. “That sounds horrid.”

The Count chuckled softly. “My friend thought so, but for me, there was something very rewarding in digging up the earth, placing the seeds, covering them, and knowing that they would someday become food for the citizens of Mythland.”

“...Sort of like finishing a machine that you know will be used to make life easier for people,” Plash said after a moment’s reflection. She knew the feeling--hands oil-stained, face soot-smeared, hair wild, sleep-deprived and exhausted, but overwhelmed with warmth when she gazed at the thing she had created. There was nothing like it.

fWhip nodded. “Yes. And so I told my parents when I was returned to them later that I wanted to become a farmer and grow carrots for all the people of the Grimlands. They laughed, of course, and said that a Count’s son could do more than become a simple farmer, and as it turned out, they were right. But for a long time, I had a secret dream to fill the whole world with fields, to build one every day, as far as the eye could see.”

Plash gazed at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “So this is your chance to use the scythe to help the Grimlands?”

His face became hard, almost unrecognizably so. “If I have to tear down every one of these damn things, I will.”

There was silence between them again, the awful, still silence that had hung over the Grimlands in all the hours that had passed since the Ender Dragon’s demise. Plash watched as the Count breathed raggedly, his fists clenched and trembling, the entire weight of their kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” she said.

He blinked--it was clearly not the response he had been expecting. “What?”

“I said, I’ll help,” Plash repeated. Her resolve was growing now, ideas taking root--like seeds, like kernels that, properly watered, would grow into something that could help them all. “I’m terrible with a scythe, but I know machines and chemicals. If you give me a sample, I can turn it into something that will help us feed the Mythlanders.”

The Count’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Feed--with the corruption?”

Plash scowled at him. “Did you recruit me from university because I had boring ideas?”

He looked astonished for a moment, but only for a moment, and then his mouth formed the devious smile that she hadn’t seen in nearly eight days.

“No,” he agreed. “I did not. Very well, Plash Ajax. You will turn Xornoth’s corruption into food for the people of Mythland. But you know, I have high expectations now that you’ve even suggested such a thing.”

Plash grinned right back, cracking her knuckles, her mind already working. “I know. So do I.”

[doctor-octiddius]

Yelling about Jonas Nyebern

I mean if it wasn't obvious then I am absolutely in love with this man. I hate what they did with him in the movie, they took so much character out of him but also, hey thank you for casting Alfred Molina because now I love this bitch even more. I could literally just copy paste several paragraphs from the book here and yell hhhhhh

Anyways... I have really poor analyzing skills and bad memory and stuff but bear with me.

He treated his coworkers as family because they were literally the only people he had. He was already a very shy person but he also had gone through so fucking much that it was just hard to find people to talk to. Not only did he suffer through what his son did but previously had pretty much the same thing happen with his dad when he was seven years old. Jonas's dad killed his mother, brother and then himself, leaving Jonas and his sister to die. It was never mentioned what happened afterwards though. Did his sister also survive? How was the rest of their childhood and teenage years like? Did they end up living with some other relatives? Bro what the fuck. I want to know so much more.

Jonas was a highly praised cardiovascular surgeon and then later got more into resuscitation medicine but his hatred for death would make his job hard at times. He believed that death and evil were both a presence that just Existed. He was so obsessed with saving lives that it took a great toll on his mental health. Every patient's death was incredibly personal to him.

"Jonas was acutely aware that if he failed a patient, he was failing more than one person, bringing pain and suffering to a wide network of relatives and friends."

Even his coworkers were like "bro chill ://"

Resuscitation medicine was so important to him, it was literally an obsession. He wanted to get rid of death. But often he would be plagued with the question "are all lives worth saving?". He couldn't stand the fact that he could bring back to life someone who didn't deserve it. But he did bring back his son. I mean, he was his son, what else was he supposed to do? He had the chance to bring him back to life so he took it. He knew of Jeremy murdering his family and himself but he had no clue that Jeremy murdered his best friend at the amusement park, celebrating his best friend's birthday, when he was only a kid. Nor any of the other possible murders. (Actually speaking of Jeremy, he's so much more fucked up and evil in the book, they diluted him so much in the movie)

He collected religious art, being a religious man himself, it really didn't seem that much out of the ordinary. He had a bunch of it in his home and also in his office. He would get a collection together and then donate it. Look I'll just copy paste this one part because I'm bad at wording it all.

“Very generous of you,” Hatch said. “It's not an act of generosity.” Nyebern's faraway voice now matched the look in his eyes. “It's an act of atonement.” That statement begged for a question in response, although Hatch felt that asking it was an intrusion of the physician's privacy. “Atonement for what?” ( . . . ) “Atonement,” Nyebern said again. “At first… atonement for being the son of my father. Later … for being the father of my son.”

All I feel is pain :)

Anyways, after shit went down AKA Jeremy/Vassago got killed again (in the book Jonas doesn't show up at the hideaway nor gets killed so 👍), Jonas lost interest in his job. He became a vet since, unlike humans, every animal was worth saving. He realized that evil wasn't just a presence but that humanity itself was the source of evil. He also lost his faith and sold all his religious art. Like I genuinely feel so bad for the book version. In the movie he just got stabbed by his son, whatever.

NOW THE FUCKING LAST LINE ABOUT HIM IS JUST A PUNCH IN THE FACE FOR ME.

"He was neither happy nor unhappy, and that suited him fine."

Cries my fucking eyes out. I think about this quote every single day.

Basically yeah I think that's all. I wanna reread the book now.

I just care about him so much, I had to get it out of my system somehow. If anyone actually bothers to read this then thank you and congrats skjdfhkjHKJSFH

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “In the Ambience.”

Had a conversation on discord last night where I became aware that I left Sunny and Adam’s interactions at a place where it was sort of nervous and awkward. So thank you DZ for talking that through with me.

I am not really well versed in writing relationships, and I didn’t want it to overshadow the rest of my writing, so I pulled back from it, but I think I pulled back too hard. So if you care about the Sunny/Adam dynamic, I wrote a story this morning to acknowledge that. Hope you like it, and I hope you all have a great day. 

She got up in the dark, with only the dim ambience of soft blue lighting to accompany her. She stretched all four arms, and rolled her neck. It struck her as mildly interesting in that moment, how something so small could connect them to humans, The thought was fleeting as she took another step forward to kneel down on the floor. There, in a little alcove in the wall, she had set a volcanic rock from Anin, dried moss, and other paraphernalia from her home world. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath resting her hands together.

Praise and respect to the spirits of Anin. Praise the fathers and mothers of war gone to their rest below the moss and the earth. Praise their spirits that watch from the sky and peer through the ether down upon us.

She continued the slow mantra in the style of Prayer learned from Naktan and pulled her concentration to her core ignoring anything and everything around her. A deep state of meditation overtook her. She would never have done this if she  thought there were any chance that she was in danger, but below she knew Earth glowed like a sphere before their orbiting ship. There was no worry of invasion.

She thought she heard something at one point, but chose to ignore it as she continued her mantra.

Eventually, and after an unknown amount of minutes, she stood and turned slowly to find-

She stopped, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing.”

Adam burrowed his way further down into her blankets nuzzling his head up against her pillow, “So warm, and comfy!”

She tried not to smile, “You dumbass.”

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, “You know, I did come here to talk to you, but I actually really am comfortable, so come back in two hours.”

“I-”

He closed his eyes and pretended to snore loudly.

She rolled her eyes as she watched him theatrically pretend to sleep. She looked around mildly for a moment before picking up another pillow and glancing at the door. She casually walked over, dropped the pillow on his head and then held it down as if she intended to smother him.

That got him up and moving.

Before long the two of them were grappling for the upper hand, him trying to put her in a choke hold, and her using her lower arms to pinch him.

He yelped, “Ouch! Pinching is illegal.”

“SIssy.”

He clamped his legs around her lower arms pinning them in place. SHe struggled for a minute and then went limp.

SHe could feel his smug smile, “I win, I beat the saint of Anin. Everyone bow at my feet.”

“You say that, but if this were a real fight, you’re the one with a self destruct button.”

“Self-destruct button…?”

“Meaning if this were a real fight, I would have punched you in the balls.”

“Please don’t”

Finally he let her go, leaving the two of them to lay on her bed, sheets scattered on the floor around them, and her pillows in disarray. Adam put his hands behind his head and sighed.

She glanced over at him, “I don’t suppose you came to just hang out. Here on Admiral-ly business?”

He groaned pulling one of her pillows over his face, “Please smother me for real this time.”

SHe leaned up on one of her elbows, “Why?”

“I don’t wanna be an adult anymore,” She tilted her head to the side watching in amusement as he attempted to throw a childlike tantrum, but only really had the energy to kick his feet once, “It’s boring and lame and they wont let me wear heelies to important meetings…. Children don’t have to pay taxes.”

She laughed, pulling the pillow from his face, “Adam you are many things, but ‘adult’ is not one of them.”

He grinned slightly, “True enough.” He sighed again and rested his head back against the pillows, “I just want to get back to what we are supposed to be doing, exploring the universe and making cool alien friends.” He threw up his hands in frustration, “But Suddenly I find myself embroiled in stupid annoying politics that I don’[t understand, being used by people who are, lets face it, WAY smarter than me, constantly finding myself getting manipulated.”

She huffed, “They aren’t smarter than you Adam, they’re just manipulative, and you aren't.”

He sighed, “Fair enough.” Then he looked at her, bright green eyes reflecting the soft ambient blue light, “I just, I miss this, I miss us, I miss hanging out and doing stupid shit, and all of the things I could do when I wasn’t so important and this operation was smaller.”

She smiled rather sadly reaching one hand over for his, lacing the four of her fingers through the five of his, “Well someone has to do the hard things, who better than you.” 

He glanced over at her raising an eyebrow, “Or you, miss saint”

She rolled her eyes again, “Can’t seem to get you off of that. I’m still the same person I used to be.”

“But with power.”

She elbowed him gently and he grinned, “But really, I am proud and impressed and…. Let's be honest super super smug that ‘I’ know you personally.”

“I know, I am pretty terrific.”

The two of them laughed for a minute before settling down again. He glanced over to her little shrine on the wall, “What were you doing just then?”

She looked up at the ceiling, following the lines of metal and rivets with her eyes, “Praying to the spirits of Anin.”

Embarrassed, he shifted, “I didn’t know you were….. Well I didn’t think you were all that religious?”

SHe shrugged, “Don’t feel bad, it’s sort of a new thing. Back before all this, it was sort of just stories to me. Like I believed it because that was what everyone believed, but I didn’t really accept it, or feel it the way I do now. After everything with my mother, it was hard to feel connected to something I felt I wasn’t a part of….. But then after visiting my mother, after becoming a saint for a religion I never really followed…. Well it started to make more sense. It feels real now in a way that it never did.” She turned to look at him, finding him watching her, the UV blue stripes in his skin glowing blue.

“I believe in the spirits of Anin more than I ever have.”

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, “I’m glad to hear it.”

They lapsed into silence for a long moment staring up at the ceiling before, inevitably he broke it, “So this makes you like, space Moses.”

She frowned and turned to look at him, “What is a Moses?”

He grinned, “A guy from one of the Earth Religions. You know guy follows god’s directions to lead his people away from slavery, climbs a moutain, recieves the word of god, comes down to give it to the people, that sort of thing.”

Sunny tilted her head slightly to the side, “Are you religious?”

He paused, frowning, “I…. well I…. don’t really know. My family has been some flavor of Christian for a long time.”

“Christian?”

“Uh yeah, The general idea is that there is one all powerful deity who created everything. He has rules and laws that you are supposed to follow, The general tenants of this specific religion mostly boil down to, love everyone and don’t be a dick, which humans are notoriously bad at. You sin you go to hell, a very bad place after you die, and if you are a good person you go to heaven. Problem is everyone is a sinner and breaks the rules, so really no one was going to get into heaven.”

“That sounds bleak….”

“Well that's where the other stuff comes in. Basically this all powerful deity sent down his son in human form to live a perfect life, so when he was martyred he took on the sins of all of humanity and paid for them in the greatest act of mercy to open the gate for the rest of us into heaven.”

Sunny shifted as he tilted to the side to lay in the crook of her arms, “Of course that is just one religion among tons on earth, we aren’t really as cohesive in our beliefs as Drev are….. As for me…. I’m not really sure.”

She tilted her head to the side, cheek resting against his hair, “After seeing space, I become more and more convinced of some….. Thing that created everything, but beyond that it's sort of a tossup.”

She ran one hand through his hair, course but still soft somehow.

“You know my name comes from that religion.”

She turned her head to look at him, “Oh.”

“Adam was the first man.”

“WHat do you mean.:”

Adam shrugged, “He was supposedly the first man that god created, from the dust of the earth…. I think?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, “Look, and you get to be the first idiot in space.”

He snorted and poked her in the ribs.

“There were PLENTY of idiots in space before me, believe you me.”

“Mmm I don’t know, you are pretty dumb.”

He laughed, grabbing a pillow and hitting her with it. She rolled over so she was lying on top of him and then went limp.

He struggled, “Get your big ass off me.”

“Oh no, I have been attacked by a sudden acute case of the, my spine doesn't work anymore disease.”

“If you don’t move, you’ll suddenly find yourself with a case of fist in your face disease.”

She laughed and rolled off him, making su7re the hard parts of her carapace were sticking down for maximum discomfort. 

He grunted.

They returned to lying down next to each other in the half darkness. Sunny reached over and turned on some quiet music in the background as the two of them sat and talked, and laughed.

“I can’t wait to get back to deep space.” He closed his eyes and hummed softly at the thought, “Just the crew and the darkness and nothing ahead of us but an endless frontier.”

Surprisingly, she found the thought to be more than a little comforting, and closed her eyes thinking about the vast reaches of blackness and the endless spinning galaxies. 

“And while we are out we can drop Conn into a pulsar.”

He snorted,

“That billowy bastard would survive and you know it.”

She huffed, “Still though, if I have to hear one more smug lecture how he has a child with you, I’m gonna wring his scrawny neck.”

He grinned teeth flashing blue in the light, “Is someone;.... Jealous?”

Sunny laughed, almost tipping him off the bed and onto the floor with her mirth, “Yes Adam, I am totally jealous, really I am. I mean who wouldn’t want to have a child with YOU, big dumb, dork. Really the perfect place to put my superior genes.”

“Superior genes, says someone who can’t reach the top shelf.”

She kicked him foot clanging off his prosthetic, “I am a foot taller than you.”

He placed his hand next to his ear, “What was that, I can’t hear you over how short you are.”

Sunny shook her head, “At least I have binocular vision and both my knees.”

“And weird neck nostrils, don’t forget about those.”

“Oh yes so I can house them on my face like you and your bigass nose.”

“Low blow, low blow.”

“There are…. Lower things…. I could make fun of.”

He snorted, “Can’t make fun of it if you’ve never seen it. You on the other hand, walking around in the nude.”

“You’re welcome. Who wouldn’t love.” Sse gestured to herself, “This.”

“Mmm yes,.... chitin , very sexy.”

“I am a gift to the universe, and should be appreciated by everyone.” He brushed a hand through his hair, “Well I find that real gifts are gift wrapped, so jot that down.”

“Oh yeah, like a prank gift when you put something lame in a box for something cool.”

He frowned at her, “You wound me,. My feelings are so very very hurt. I might even cry.”

“I drink human tears.”

“That, that’s really gross.’

She laughed and then they lapsed into silence. She could hear him breathing quietly next to her in the darkness, his chest rising and falling under the ambient blue light. She looked across the room to where her saint armor was hanging in it’s climate controlled case illuminated to a pearly sheen.

“Adam.”

“Yeah.”

“You know I’m just kidding about calling you dumb riught.”

“Yeah I know.”

“I’m proud of what you’ve been doing.”

Adam turned to look at her rather incredulous, “Me, of what? I haven’t been doing shit.”

“So we are just going to ignore you overthrowing a maniacal politician while simultaneously piloting a 2,000 year old spacecraft?”

“That was more Conn and Eris than it was me,”

“It was your idea.”

“Lets not forget Admiral Kelly.”

Sunny pulled him closer, “I am sorry, I will not be accepting anything other than you acknowledging that you did a good job.”

“Screw you.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.”

He sighed, “You’ve been talking to Ramirez WAY too much.”

She was only slightly smug as she rested her head back against the pillow, “I really should get up and train.”

“We should.”

Neither of them movies.

“Alternatively we could just…. Lay here…. All day and do… nothing .”

She looked up at the ceiling for a long moment and pretended to be in deep contemplation before “Well it’s official, you have convinced me. You and your silver tongue.”

“I am a master negotiator.”

He shifted position putting one arm behind his head, “Think about it, by this time tomorrow we will be back to space exploring and doing what we should have been doing all along. I can’t wait.”

“That makes two of us.”

[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[captainsolare]

Under the Moonlit Sky

This is a request I got that ended up with a long word count so I'm making it it's own separate post.

Summary: Leopold asks his commoner crush to a party attended by nobility and royalty. She must navigate the party through her nervousness, confused feelings, and the classism of the nobility surrounding her.

Word count: 3140

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff, comfort, f!reader

You narrowed your eyes as you studied the boy standing in your doorway, “What did you just ask me?”

He cleared his throat, cheeks a dusty pink as he scratched the back of his neck, “I asked if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to a party this weekend.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling very dry. “A party? Are you sure you’d want me there?”

Leo laughed, the sound almost grating to your frayed nerves, “Of course I do! I always have fun when I’m with you and these parties are so boring.” His lips twitched in disgust as he thought of how uninteresting these types of things were, sure his siblings were fine but with extended family he was expected to act a certain way and it felt constricting.

You smiled, and Leo perked up at seeing the twinkle in your eye.

“Oh I see how it is, I’ll just be your entertainment for the evening.”

Leo nodded, then fully realized the implication of your statement; eyes wide he held his hands up. “No! I didn’t mean it like that, I just want you to be there. Please?”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him with a skeptical look, but the longer he stared at you with those pleading eyes, the more convinced you were. Your frown turned into a giggle and you nodded, “I was joking Leo, of course I’ll go with you.”

“You mean it?” Leo asked, eyes hopeful this wasn’t a joke.

“Yes! I mean it.”

“Perfect! Thanks so much, I’ll be here at 7 PM sharp to pick you up.”

“Great! See you then.”

As soon as Leo left, you sank against the door, the facade dropping. “A royal party? Y/N what have you gotten yourself into?” You groaned, resting your head in your hands.

A party with Leo meant that royals and nobility would be there, and you were just a commoner from the city who’d met Leopold by chance. There wasn’t a drop of nobility in your blood and despite how accepting Leo was, the vast majority of the people there would eye you with contempt. At least you were a magic knight, you were in the Purple Orcas, so that would gain you a bit of respect, but the lack of noble blood was of greater importance. The more you thought about it the more nervous you became, but a promise is a promise and you’d do your best to keep it.

Your eyes traveled to your bedroom, did you have anything you could wear in your wardrobe? You pulled yourself off the floor and made your way to the armoire, throwing the doors of it open. You examined each piece of clothing, holding it up to you in the mirror. One by one, each of your dresses landed in a pile on your floor. Eyes pricking with tears you threw the last dress on the pile.

None of these are acceptable for a royal party, what am I going to do?

Your coin purse lay on your desk and you picked it up, peering inside. You had a substantial amount of money on hand, you’d been saving for a rainy day but you supposed that day had come, besides, a new dress could do you some good. You could wear it to future balls if you someday ended up dating Leo.

Blinking, you dropped the coin purse, of all the intrusive thoughts to enter your brain, it just had to be that one. You and Leo? It was laughable if the unattainability of it didn’t hurt so much, you supposed you did have a crush on him, but what was the use? Even if he did like you back, it isn’t as if you could act on it. Royalty and nobility sure, but you were a commoner, and a royal dating a commoner was unheard of, it felt taboo at times to even be friends with him.

You sighed and gathered the fallen coins, dropping them gently into the bag, perhaps you could do the more practical thing, and rent a dress, or at the very least buy it, wear it for the night and return it later. You pocketed the purse and set off for the store, heart sinking like a stone in your chest.

A bell chimed as you entered the store, and you immediately felt an oppressive wave come over you. The store felt stuffy, and you felt extremely out of place on the posh white carpet.

“Y/N! Is that you?”

You looked around at the sudden call of your name and came face to face with Vanessa from the Black Bulls, you instantly relaxed and let her pull you into a quick hug.

“Hello Vanessa, long time no see.”

You’d met her a few times while on solo missions, and had gotten to know the thread mage rather well.

“What brings you here?” She asked, lightly resting her hand on your shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed, “I actually got asked to go to a party this weekend.”

Vanessa gasped, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Was it that royal boy from the Crimson Lion Kings?”

Your cheeks grew even warmer at her question, was your crush that obvious? You nodded and she smiled even wider.

“Well, we need to find you a gown then, don’t we?”

Vanessa tugged you around the store, taking dresses off the racks and holding them up to your frame. She settled on a gray white gown, stars were woven into the bodice and the skirt, it was beautiful and you hoped it would look just as beautiful on you.

You stepped into the dressing room, tugging off your clothes and replacing them with the ball gown. As you looked into the mirror, you almost couldn’t believe it was you in the mirror. You were still you, that much was obvious and wouldn’t change, but you felt beautiful in the gown.

Opening the door carefully you stepped out and Vanessa squealed. “Oh my, you look gorgeous!”

You smiled, heart full from her genuine smile, “You really think so?”

“Of course I do, and that little lion cub isn’t going to know what hit him.”

You chuckled, imagining Leo’s dumbfounded expression was quite amusing. But you remembered your coin purse and frowned. “Could you take a look at the price?”

When Vanessa read you the price your heart sank, even with what you had saved there was no way you could afford it. Vanessa read the expression on your face and put her arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it covered.”

You tried to protest, but once Vanessa had it in her mind to do something there was no stopping her so you relented, handing her the gown after you had changed back into your normal clothes.

The rest of the week passed by in a flash, Vanessa showed up at your door at 5 PM Saturday evening to help you get ready. She laced the dress for you, tied your ribbon slippers and did your hair how she asked, then added a touch of makeup.

Soon there was a knock at the door and you gulped. Vanessa gave you a quick hug and you opened the door.

Leo stood there in a navy blue suit, pink sash tied as a (tacky) belt around his waist. As he laid eyes on you, Leo’s expression was as priceless as you had imagined.

“Come on, pick your jaw up off the floor, it’s still little old me inside this dress.”

“I can’t help it, you just look so beautiful.”

You gave a quick curtsy, “Why thank you kind sir.”

“Leo! Hurry up!” Fuegoleon called from the carriage.

Leo jumped, “Right! Shall we?”

You took his extended hand and he helped you to the carriage. You said a quick hello to Fuegoleon and his expression softened.

“Hello Miss Y/N, Leo has told me a lot about you. You look quite beautiful tonight.”

You swallowed the heat that was creeping up your neck, “Thank you sir.”

“Oh please, no need to call me sir, call me Fuegoleon.”

The carriage ride to the palace was awkward, you tried to make small talk by asking where the oldest Vermillion sibling was but were informed that Mereoleona couldn’t be bothered to come to events like these, and if she did she inevitably ended up setting something on fire.

“Ah, I see.”

You tried to shove down your growing nervousness, you desperately hoped that this night would not end up as disastrous as you feared. Leo helped you out of the carriage and you didn’t let go of his hand, causing heat to rise to his cheeks.

The doors opened and you quickly dropped his hand, your own tingling from the loss of heat. You immediately felt the harsh stares of the royals and nobility in the room; nobles were acutely aware who was outside their circle and although you were dressed nice it was obvious to them you were a commoner. You swallowed thickly as you made your rounds around the room with Leo, he was required to visit with everyone out of respect. You could feel their eyes looking you up and down, silently judging Leopold for bringing a commoner to a place such as this.

Relief washed over you when you finally sat at your designated table with Mimosa and Noelle. You’d met them a few times before, and you knew that you’d have some semblance of safety while you sat here.

“Hello Y/N! You look gorgeous tonight.” Mimosa greeted, pulling you into a quick embrace.

Noelle did the same and you murmured your thanks before taking a seat next to Leopold. “So, we’ve been relegated to the kids table?” You joked, causing the others to chuckle. “It would appear so.” Leopold said, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Your table called much attention to itself as the four of you joked; it was a relief to be able to feel like you could be yourself here, until you risked a glance at the main tables and saw their judgemental looks. You took a sip of water, trying to force your bitterness down with it; you could brush things off with the best of them, but you had to admit it was hard when you felt you were invading a space you were not welcome in, just because of your social standing.

The string quartet sat down to play and the dishes were cleared along with the tables. Leopold stood awkwardly and asked you for a dance as Mimosa and Noelle giggled nearby. Your cheeks warmed, but you laid your hand gently on top of his and he led you to the dance floor.

“They’re so cute.” Mimosa whispered. Noelle smiled, hand covering her mouth, “I so agree.”

As the strings played, you let Leopold lead the dance. “You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be Leo.” You said, smiling with a teasing glint in your eye. He stood a little taller at your words, “Why thank you, I’ve been practicing. Hey! What do you mean ‘better than you thought’?” He protested and you just smiled, relishing in the fact you had all of his attention for the moment. Leopold was so easily distracted, but not when he was with you, it made you feel like you were the only girl in the whole world, and at least for now, you could pretend that it would always be this way.

There was a tap on Leo’s shoulder, from a nobleman you didn’t recognize. “May I cut in?” He asked, his voice nasally and grating. Leo nodded, giving you an apologetic glance, and the two men switched partners. The man took your hand with a tight grip, twirling you this way and that across the floor. You could sense the hostility coming from him as he pulled you close to whisper in your ear.

“Filthy commoner, your kind aren’t welcome here. Leave now and never speak to Leopold Vermillion again, or else. We can’t afford anyone tainting the royal family’s blood.”

You didn’t need to ask if it was a threat, your heart was caught in your throat as the man’s words sent ice through your veins. You wanted to protest, but the man had planned it perfectly. You couldn’t make a scene here, and no one had heard his awful words so no one would be able to back your story up, and even if you did voice your concerns, most of the people in this room would likely agree with the sentiment that had been expressed to you.

“We’ll be watching you.” The man said quietly, before Leo could cut in again.

Leo grabbed your hand once more and instantly noticed something was wrong, it wasn’t extremely noticeable, but he had been around you long enough to know when something was bothering you. His hand rested on your lower back as you swayed with him. The lump in your throat grew larger as you met his eyes, then looked back down at your feet.

Did this really have to end? Couldn’t you pretend, for just a moment longer that this would all work out? That Leopold was the person who would sweep you off your feet for the rest of your life? Couldn’t you freeze this moment for the rest of time? Leo’s smile as he pressed his palm into yours?

You felt your heart shatter as the song ended and you pulled away, tears pricking in your eyes. Leopold looked visibly confused, but you brushed him off.

“I just need some air.”

As soon as you were out of eye and earshot you ran, eventually finding a secluded outdoor patio. You slammed your hands on the railing. This wasn’t fair, you shouldn’t have to feel this way because of their prejudice. You’d known the house of cards would come down eventually, the hope that you had placed in a future with Leo, the future you kept locked away in your heart. Tears streamed down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them in, and you watched as the balcony railing became slick with them.

Inside, Leopold heard the murmurs of relief that you had disappeared. They sent him bristling, which one of them had hurt you bad enough to make you need air? His eyes scanned the crowd and they fell upon the man who had danced with you last. Without hesitation, he strode over to the man, grabbing his collar. Gasps could be heard all across the room at Leopold’s sudden outburst.

“What did you say to her?” It was like a roar was ripped from his chest, his knuckles were white with the force of his grip.

The man squirmed in his grasp, “I just… I just told her we wouldn’t take kindly to her tainting the royal bloodline.”

Leopold let go of the man, his eyes wide with shock, then anger. “How dare you! How dare you treat a personal friend of royalty that way! I’m disgusted with you.” Leopold’s words came out as spats, and he whirled out of the room, desperate to find you.

He found you, shoulders shaking over the patio railing as you cried. A gentle hand was placed on your shoulder and you stiffened.

“Hey you.” Leo said quietly.

You sniffled, you didn’t want him to see you like this, but there was no avoiding it. “Hi.”

“Can I give you a hug?” He asked.

You nodded and stood, letting him pull you into a warm embrace. You always felt safe here, and that fact made you cry harder, because sooner or later, you’d have to let this go, give up his arms so someone else could be held by them.

“I’m sorry that man said those things to you.” Leo said quietly, stroking your back with a gentle hand.

You sniffled, “You don’t have to be sorry. I knew what I was getting into when I came here tonight, I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

Leo stiffened at your statement, anger bubbling within him once more as you apologized to him.

“Hey. Listen to me.” He took a step back until only his hands were resting on your shoulders,

“Pardon my language but screw what those losers said! You are gorgeous and I wanted you here tonight. In fact you are the only person I wanted to be with tonight.”

You blinked, not believing what you were hearing. “What-- what are you saying Leo?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you!” He swallowed, heart pounding in his chest, “I have been for a while actually, that’s part of the reason I asked you here tonight.”

To his dismay you began to cry, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks.

“Are-- are you okay?! Did I do something wrong?” Leo began to panic, studying your face carefully.

You shook your head, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. These are… happy tears I think.”

Leo looked confused, “Happy tears? Why?”

You laughed at his expression, Leo could certainly be dense sometimes.

“I’m happy because I love you too, dummy.”

Leo wasn’t sure he heard you right, you liked him too? He grinned, smile as wide as the half moon in the sky.

You hugged under the night sky, stars glittering above you.

Leopold wiped the tears from your eyes, and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“Shall we go inside and give those losers a heart attack?”

You frowned, “Not a literal one I hope.”

He chuckled, “No of course not, just one that will hopefully kick their classist asses.”

You followed Leo back into the ballroom, pinkies intertwined and heads held high.

“Attention everyone, I have an announcement to make!”

The room stilled as everyone turned to look at the royal boy.

He grabbed your hand more fully in his and held it up for them all to see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and others, this is Y/N L/N and I am in love with her!” He yelled.

Gasps were heard throughout the room at his announcement, nobles looked around in shock.

“I’m going to marry her someday and if you don’t like it, you can leave!” He declared, sending a wash of heat to your face and gasps throughout the crowd.

Silence dominated the room for a long moment, and you were positive at least one woman fainted. Fuegoleon cleared his throat and the attention turned to him, “Well, it would seem we have a pre-engagement to celebrate, so start the music.”

The quartet began to play once more, and you danced with Leo for the rest of the night, if anyone took him up on his offer to leave, you didn’t notice or care; the only thing that mattered is that you loved him, and he wanted to keep you in his arms forever.

[gallavictorious]

Seven Days left~ Give us 7 favorite Shameless moments

One day late – whoops! Sorry about that, sweet nonnie; this was the most delightful ask and I was very stoked to get it. ❤️❤️❤️

Disclaimer: I misread the question because I’m a dumbass and went for Gallavich moments. My bad. :o These are seven of my favourite moments, by the way: I just can't decisively pick my ultimate top seven. Also put them down in chronological order rather than in order of how fond of them I am, because it'd would've been too hard to do otherwise.

4x08: “You coming back?” This scene is quite uncomfortable, what with Ian's demand for blowjobs and Mickey's obvious (though temporary) discomfort, but I think that's what has me returning to it again and again (and what has had me writing one very long meta and a fic about it). It represents a shift in their dynamic, with Ian claiming some power in the relationship for himself, and even though it is uncomfortable, it's fascinating to see – and needed to happen for them to work in the long term (even if it maybe didn't need to happen like that – but then again, it's just so in character for both of them, however messed up?). The look Lip and Mickey exchanges after Ian's “relationship issues” never fails to get to me either, and I think it's important to note that Lip makes sure that Ian is okay with the situation and then he leaves them to it; he doesn't try to interfere or dissuade Ian. I keep wondering what that means to Mickey, having Lip – who's certainly not a friend at that point – know about him, and about him and Ian, and not really caring beyond making sure his baby brother is okay? I kind of think that maybe Lip and Mandy both showing Mickey that they're aware of the situation but not making a big deal out of it is really fucking important – people can know he's gay without it having to be a thing and without the world ending. Terry is a horrible outlier.

4x11: “Just wondering if we're a couple or not.” Maybe it's the mutual manhandling, maybe it's them trying to negotiate and sort out the current dynamics of their relationship. There's so much tension and so many layers here, history lingering, even as they're both fond and playful: lots to unpack. Damngoodcoffee once noted that Ian almost looks scared when Mickey pushes him to the bed, and I haven't been able to unsee that since, or to forget that the last time Ian pushed Mickey to verbalize the truth of their relationship Mickey kicked him in the face. I also love love love the lead up with Carl and Ian, “do you love Mickey?” – “I like how he smells.” Please take note of Mickey washing his hands: the dirtiest white boy in American is an example to penis pee:ers everywhere.

5x08: “Sorry I'm late.” Ian's surprise, and the look of hesitant wonder as Mickey shows up and moves to lie down next to him, like he can't quite believe that Mickey is really there, that he actually came. Mickey's quiet apology, no excuses or explanations about how he needed some time to deal (which, you know, it's very fair for him to need); he's there for Ian now, putting his own fears and pain and needs to the side to be what (he thinks) Ian needs him to be. That admittedly doesn't work out great for either of them in the end, but still, in this moment, it is what they both desperately crave: to just have each other and find shelter in the other's arms. Ungh. That gentle kiss to Ian's hair, how Ian finally relaxes and reaches up to grasp Mickey's wrist, holding on. It breaks my heart and soothes me, all at the same time.

10x07: Domestic bitches. Probably the scene I've tag ranted about the most, because I. Love. It. To. Pieces. Ian's so glad to be back in a place where he feels at home and can be useful by doing important stuff like picking up shampoo and shit for Mickey (in prison, I think he was acutely aware of them being on Mickey's turf and him feeling a bit not comfortable with being the one in need of protection?) and he's so damned happy that he gets to be here with Mickey. Gets to help him out and playfully slap his ass and kiss his cheek and squeeze his titty and just love him and be with him. And Mickey, being completely unconcerned about this display in front of Sandy; in fact he seems to adore being so obviously claimed and loved and wanted, and that's such a huge shift from the boy who was once terrified by the idea of letting Ian kiss him even in private. Argh. Just. Them being domestic bitches and loving it – and each other – so fucking much. They're giddy with it here and it makes my heart swell.

10x10: “When you know, you know. Right?” I have an absurd weakness for Ian being petty, and Mickey really had it coming here, so. You know. Allow me an evil chuckle. The Byron of it all is an unwelcome distraction (and Mickey gritting out “the love of my life” makes me cringe so hard every single time), but then I look at the absolute glee in Ian's eyes when he realizes that Mickey is going to a hipster concert and yeah, this is Kee's shriek of delight. Mickey looks very good in his shirt and with the hair and the cigarette, and that's always an easy sell with me. (He also looks so uncomfortable with Ian finding out about the concert but, again, he kind of had it coming.) Aah. Ian's certainly not the only petty character on the show, but it just looks better on him than on anyone else. He's got it down.

11x10: “Hit my husband again, I'll fucking kill you.” Mickey isn't even in this scene, and still. I didn't expect Ian to take such a firm stance on this (considering that Lip is his brother and Mickey was not innocent in the fight) but maybe that's why I love it so much? I swear, the jolt I felt when hearing it for the first time, it nigh on knocked me over. “My husband” Ian says, making a point of emphasising the nature of his relationship to Mickey; the Gallaghers generally strike me as having a general expectation of putting birth family above partners when push comes to shove. Fiona certainly did for a long while, and though Lip's kind of screwing his siblings over to create the life he wants with Tami and Fred this season, I think he still sees the sibling group as Ian's primary unit, and Ian wants to remind him that this isn't the whole truth anymore. Also, protective!Ian is glorious. (I love me some brothers on the porch, so even without this line, this is a great scene. But with it – holy mother of God, I've been slain. I'd feel embarrassed about the number of times I played it on repeat the next day, but I'm too old for that shit.)

11x11: Intro Speaking of protective!Ian... I'm sorry, there's just no arguing with the aftercare vibes and I don't even know how to process that properly. Mickey's a little out of it, seems like, since he's rather slow to respond to the intrusion and displays none of his usual intiative and agression, whereas Ian is very quick to shift from gazing lovingly at Mickey to chasing us out with a determination and anger usually reserved for Frank. I mean, how else would you explain it? (And okay, it's an intro and breaking the fourth wall, so speculating about when it happens in canon is of course foolish, but I'm just saying that they're in their new flat with very little furniture still so it has to happen around the time of the last episode but I very much doubt they played around like this when everything was so weird between them so probably not between 11x10 and 11x11, but say they got back to their place after their reconciliation on their old bed and just kept on reaffirming their bond in all possible ways? Yes? Yes.)

Special mention: 10x06 Deleted Bathroom Scene. Mickey is looking fine as fuck – please, do wear black tanks more often, I am begging you, Mick – and his eyebrow game is in excellent shape, and then we have Ian seeing to his wounds (be still my heart) and pulling at his hair when Mickey's just a shade too bratty and Mickey's little look of 'okay sure I had that coming' and I'm sorry, but I am dead now. Deceased. Only two things detract from this otherwise perfect scene: Ian's titties tattoo on prominent and unfortunate display, and the confusion about whether or not Mickey didn't even learn the simplest Spanish words during his stint in Mexico.

So, that's me. I could just as easily have picked seven completely different moment, but I do love all of these very much.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Hello lovely friends, and welcome to the second installment of the Beyond the Shelves series! This month the library is featuring @aryastark-valarmorghulis​ who’s beautiful prose borders on poetry, and always manages to access those lovely tender feelings we so wish to share with the world. Hope you enjoy this interview here, and make sure to check back later today for the list of her favorite fics!

Name/Creative Type: Arya (she/her) / Author

AO3: aryastark_valarmorghulis  

Tumblr: @aryastark-valarmorghulis

What's your favorite thing about Remus & Sirius? 

Oh, well, this answer will be incredibly sappy.

Let me begin by saying that I am truly disappointed and horrified by JK Rowling and by the harmful, awful views she’s expressed in the last years. I don’t share her ideas and I don’t support her anymore.

Having said that, HP was my childhood and is still incredibly important for me – it helped me, saved me, even, during some very dark and difficult moments, and I believe those books – as flawed as I see them now, as dated as they are – will stay with me until the very end.

Remus and Sirius have been my favorite characters since I read PoA – I was intrigued at once by that tragic yet epic backstory we only get glimpses of and I was very interested in what was left unsaid (the Marauders’ school years, the First War, how their friendship deteriorated, why Remus and Sirius reconnected so quickly). 

Even a naive thirteen-year-old could see there was something worth exploring under the surface, and after a few years I opened a fanfiction on LiveJournal: it was the Shoebox Project. From that moment, I started shipping Punk and Nerd-Wolf and never stopped. Even if I left fandom quite a few times during uni, I kept coming back and I’m still here, because I think those two characters have everything a reader and a storyteller need: there’s friendship, self-discovery, queerness, love, betrayal, war and second chances. What else could I want in a pairing?

What do you think your signature is?

I’m not sure I have one, but what I really love is to let the unsaid things speak more than the actual conversations between characters. I often write from Remus’ Pov and he isn’t a big talker for me – not about his feelings anyway – so I try to convey what he doesn’t dare say, which is actually more important than what he does say.

I think objects like clothes or furniture or even houses can carry a lot of hidden significance, and very mundane actions like brewing tea or putting on a record or touching an elbow can convey more feelings than an actual conversation, so I try my best at describing all these things.

What advice would you give new authors?

Write what you like and not what you think other people will like. That's pretty obvious advice.

I would like to say something even more basic for writers like me, whose first language isn’t English: just try!

I know it can be scary to post a story written in a language that isn’t yours and there is the overwhelming fear that you’ll never be as good as a native speaker, but being bilingual can actually be a resource – you can mix together words in unexpected ways and use surprising metaphors.

I won’t lie because there are days where you don’t even know words in your mother tongue, let alone in English, but there’s no harm in trying and this is something we do for free, for ourselves first, and most of all it’s super fun to play with a new language and bend it to our will – sometimes it’s very frustrating and some sentences will never make sense but it’s nothing that a good, trusted Beta can’t fix.

My advice is that it’s worth trying.

What inspires you?/Where do you get your ideas?

I’m actually not sure; I usually get my ideas when I’m about to go to bed and I’m too sleepy and lazy to jot them down, so I can only hope I remember some vague stuff in the morning.

Most of the time I think of a particular atmosphere (a Welsh cottage in the middle of nowhere during a sweltering summer day, a chilly walk in a misty graveyard etc...) and the story develops around it.

Pick a favorite fic of yours and explain what inspired it.

Midday, Midnight is definitely my favourite fic among the ones I’ve written and, I think, the best one. I wrote it very quickly and it didn’t need much editing, except for the usual grammar stuff. It was absolutely unprecedented, it never happened again and probably never will.

I was inspired by two things.

One is this excellent piece of meta by @shaggydogstail​ regarding the Prank that I absolutely agree with; I was musing over a Post Prank story for a while, mostly because of my disagreement with the trope “The Prank was this huge Greek Tragedy that foreshadows the lack of trust between Remus & Sirius etc”.

The second thing I had in mind was writing something that respects Aristotle’s Classical Unities: a story that lasts for no more than 24 hours, with a single plotline and only one location. The many quotes by Ovid and Sappho underline this classic inspiration. I am acutely aware of how pretentious this sounds, just in case you were wondering.

I knew I wanted to write something about the (lack of) consequences after the Prank, and the idea of a fun summer romance came to me after reading that meta and the interesting discussion that it created.

⭐🌙

Last Month’s interview with @theprongsletthatlived​ can be found here.