#i sometimes feel like perhaps im not as well read as some folks on here

[misty-missdee]

Thinking more on the "was always a woman" trans ideology, which is totally fine, but never fit my view of myself in my personal journey.

My unfortunate truth is that I lived 25 years fully convinced of the idea I was a "man", and I always would be simply because "thats how it is". Perhaps more accurately it never occurred to me i wished to be a woman until it finally did. Looking back with retrospect sure there were plenty of signs and hints I was transgender, but that doesn't change the fact of my history.

I was a boy, and I tried my best to be a "man". When I realized that wasn't what I wanted I then tried my best to distance myself from that entirely, because I was under the impression that thinking too much about the before times was "not doing it right". Since I personally could never feel like I was always a woman.

Once I realized i was trans i tried my best for the first several years to forget my past. Forget everything that he did. Forget everything he was. It didnt feel good or healthy, but I foolishly thought I needed to.

Thankfully I'm in a good place about it now. I am a lovely lady, but I wasn't always. I am a transgender woman. However I can't simply ignore the first quarter century of my human existence anymore. I felt like a boy, and I lived as a man.

He's very special to me now though, very personal. I wouldn't say I'm him anymore, but he is me. We are separate, but still one. He's in my heart. His experiences are mine. We share this body. I love him for everything he did for us. I cannot forget him, and his struggles. He worked far too hard to simply be forgotten. He paved our way for me to become a the woman of both our dreams.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 7.

Summary: A chance to look through Oliver Quick's eyes as he watches through windows, decides he wants to be loved, and finally takes a chance with the reader. Until it comes crashing down because Michael Gavey called Felix a slag, and it's made Oliver's problem.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT (we see reader topping felix from last chapter but through oliver's perspective, cockwarming, vague somnophilia because of that i guess??, reader getting head and reader giving head but reader's AGAB is not specified), also some vaguely unsettling imagery i guess, and the scene in felix's room with the cleaning is made even more tense and uncomfortable

A/N: 7084 words. POV shift to Oliver! Also this chapter is FUCKING HUGE, i tried to find a good place to maybe split it, but couldn't find one. so you're stuck with 7k, eat up friends! also i would really appreciate if anyone has any thoughts about how i've written oliver, id love to hear them, i don't want him to 100% like the reader, and i think ive managed to have him come across more uh, cerebral i guess im going with? yeah thoughts good, would love some. holy shit this chapter goes so many places.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Y/N's been rambling on about reading Anna Karenina for one of their classes ever since they'd met Oliver after his final class for the day, but he's barely able to focus on their words. Usually he likes to look like he's paying attention to their words, he knows it makes him seem attentive, and everybody loves to feel heard, but Oliver's mind is elsewhere. It's in the garden outside of Y/N's window. It's outside their door where he'd sat patiently, giving blithe smiles to your dormmates and telling them he was simply waiting for you to get dressed. The doors of the Oxford dormitories were thick, but not thick enough to hide sound on the other side from an ear pressed up against them when the hallway was empty.

It's not even close to the first time he'd seen you in these moments together; how no-one else in your group of friends, apart from Farleigh he suspected, believed you two were sleeping together was baffling. Wilful ignorance is a hell of a drug. He hopes the two of you never learn how to close your blinds.

But there was something different about yesterday.

"Any of youse seen Felix? Or Y/N?" He'd approached the group on the grass with the same kind of hesitancy he'd always put on for them, never wanting to seem too arrogant, to comfortable in their presence. He knew they didn't like him, but people like this liked feeling powerful over the 'lesser folk'. Anyways, it's not like he was particularly keen on befriending any of them, it was okay to hold them at arm's length.

Farleigh, beautiful, condescending Farleigh, looked up at him through his lashes; there was no sun in his eyes, the squint was more likely to be him half-pulling a face of contempt with plausible deniability.

"Maybe." Unhelpful.

"Y/N came through here like a fucking hurricane," Annabel told him; Oliver could only think of the irritating nasal in her voice as she'd listed off all the things she hadn't liked about him to Felix when they hadn't known he was around. Oliver fought not to make a face of his own.

"Took Felix and headed that way," a blonde boy -Rex? Reg? Oliver hadn't even bothered to retain his name - nods in the direction of the dorms.

"They're so co-dependent sometimes," India shakes her head, strange little expression on her face. Perhaps she did know and was trying to convince herself otherwise.

"Yeah," laughed Annabel, "they could have at least tried meditating or something."

"I don't know," Farleigh shook his head, clicking his tongue, "I don't think they have any other coping mechanisms apart from their co-dependant shit."

"They've always been like this?" India actually sounds a little fond.

"It actually used to be worse," Farleigh snorted, and Annabel pitched herself back in the grass, claiming that it couldn't be true.

"I mean, with that kind of money I think Felix is allowed to be weirdly close to his cousin," India says with a shrug. What? Why was the group laughing like it was an in-joke.

"They're cousins?" Oliver asks; Farleigh he knew about, but no-one had ever really talked about how Felix and Y/N had gotten so close. Considering all he'd seen them do together -

"Kissing, codependent cousins," Annabel sighs, sitting up.

"Hot, kissing, codependent cousins," India wraps an arm around her in solidarity, and the girls share an exasperated chuckle, though from looking around it seemed that a lot of the group shared that sentiment.

"You're hot too, Farleigh -"

"Thanks, but I'll stick with just that for now, I'm happy being the non-kissing, non-codependent cousin," he chuckled, before turning his attention back to Oliver, still awkwardly by the edge of the group as everyone else continued to gossip. However, catching Farleigh's eye, for the barest moment, his wolfish grin, Oliver had total and complete confirmation that Felix and Y/N were in no way actually related.

Which, if he were to guess, meant that Farleigh definitely knew the two of you were sleeping together.

And judging from all the times Oliver had spoken to you both, neither of you were aware of this well established gossip in the group, Farleigh was never ever going to correct anyone, considering how damn funny he clearly thought the entire bit was. It at least explained how the rest of the group was so unphased by the closeness you and Felix shared, while still apparently - kind of - dating other people.

Eventually, tired of putting up his awkward façade, though he was grateful for the slim amount of information he'd learned, he clears his throat.

"So -"

"That way," Farleigh doesn't look at him this time, voice flat, thumb jerking towards Y/N's dorm.

Its the afternoon, grey, most people are at classes, so the courtyard outside of your dorm room is empty of any other living souls. Whenever he stops in, or even walks past, he checks in your window out of habit to see if you're in; you don't close your blinds often so it's an easy way to tell. Anyone passing by wouldn't be able to see anything, not unless they stopped and made an effort, but Oliver wasn't most people, and knew the layout of your room and how to search it when granted even a sliver to look through like today.

And today, not only are you in your dorm with Felix, as predicted, but the sight of you both makes his mouth go dry.

Felix Catton on his back, arching, perfect mouth open in some kind of wanton, whorish noise undoubtedly as you masterfully worked his cock with your hand. Fuck, Oliver knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching this.

He steps forward into the bushes. They rustle, his heart jumps, but neither of you seem to notice.

He can't see your face with your back to him like this, but you must be saying something, because Felix's lips are moving and his chest is heaving as he's gasping out words. Oliver knows he's embarrassing flush, embarrassingly hard in these fucking slacks, but the courtyard is still empty, and he knows all too well how little the outside world matters to you and Felix in these moments.

He can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his ears, painfully against his ribs as you slide one leg so smoothly over Felix's hips, hand between your own thighs as you hover yourself above him. You're toying with Felix, taking your time, taking full and total control in a way Oliver's never seen you do. He didn't know anyone could make Felix act like this, look like this; he never thought Felix would let anyone. But he shouldn't be surprised that it's you of all people.

When you lean down over Felix, your chest against his, like a proud lion over its prey, Oliver feels sick with himself, with how he wants to burn this fucking image into his brain, with how fucking perfectly he can watch from here as you take the entire length of Felix's cock. Its impressive, both his length, and how fucking easy you make it look. You're kissing him. You're fucking him. You're riding this Adonis in a way that makes him pliant and desperate beneath you.

Oliver steps back from the window, finally glancing around to double check his surroundings. No-one peeking out of windows, no-one around. He heads inside. He knows he shouldn't but he does, pulls out the sweater he'd loaned from Felix and folds it in his lap when he sits with his back against your door, both as an excuse should anyone walk past, and to hide the visible hardness in his pants.

Sometimes you're too quiet to hear, but the way the bed creaks and the two of you moan, it's some kind of debauched symphony. Oliver swears he's not a masochist, but it almost hurts to hear you both like this, like something out of a dream or a fantasy, and to remain stone-faced at your bedroom door -

"I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Oliver can't even begin to imagine the things this means, the things you want to do to Felix, but then he hears -

"Yes, fuck, yes- my Y/N, anything you want - please." Felix gasping, begging like Oliver's never heard before. Sounds he knows only you could have elicited from the man who makes people around him fall in love with him by accident.

Oliver Quick is never going to get these moments out of his head; he's never been so desperate to be wanted by anyone in his life, let alone two people. There is a shameless, lascivious kind of love between you both that he vows to get the chance to drink from the source.

It's again changed his perception of you, perhaps made him a little bolder once more. So the day after, walking to the pub after class, barely listening to you talk about your book, he's trying to see if anything's changed. As far as he was aware, your encounter with Felix the day before was unusual for you. Perhaps something's changed, and perhaps he's not subtle about looking.

It's something unspoken between you, it ebbs and flows depending on Oliver's mood, how bold he's feeling. A quiet, voyeuristic exchange you share, the pleasure of being watched, and the pleasure of watching. The roles reverse and your eyes are on him in the way eyes rarely are.

More the observant than the observed, he'd told you, yet he took pleasure in feeling your gaze upon him, taking the time that he knows is so precious to you to watch him. You are familiar to him in a way that is so foreign; you are watching and adapting and anticipating the desires around you. Not action, but reaction; a people-pleaser down to your bones, wrapped up Felix's brand of hedonism. You get off making people feel loved, but Oliver can't help but wonder about the desire you keep to yourself, just below the surface.

Neither of you have spoken about the night at the club; Oliver's desperate to see how long it will take you before you act, rather than get pushed into reacting. He doesn't know how long he can last.

Felix shows up to the pub with Annabel and a strained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Which is better than Annabel's outright scowl. They sit in chairs across from the rounded bench that always took up half the table your group liked to tension filling the ample space between them. As the last to arrive, everyone else's attention was drawn to them, going quiet as everyone picked up the couple's sour mood.

There's a moment where Oliver catches the way Felix looks at you across the table. No-one else picks up on it, since in the next moment Felix raises his hands to cover a cough, and what Oliver suspects is a grin, but you've turned your head sharply, sniffing loudly and almost managing to press your face into Oliver's shoulder. After a beat you fake a sneeze, and apologise. Oliver brushes it off, and fights off a smile of his own. He doesn't have all the details, but clearly you made good on your promise to make Felix's other future fucks jealous.

"You know what? I'm desperate for a pint, anybody else -" Felix goes to stand, attempting to break the tension, but immediately Annabel scoffs.

"Desperate sounds about right." And she's not quiet with her scorn.

"Can you not do this now? We've been here two minutes, you want a drink?" He hissed, trying to keep up a positive façade despite the faint anger and embarrassment in his eyes. It doesn't last, of course, not with all eyes on the pair of them. It's Farleigh who speaks up first, not even bothering to hide his smug smile.

"You okay there, Felix?" He wears a grin that's all teeth.

"What?" Felix frowns, but Oliver can see exactly what Farleigh's talking about. When he brings it up, however, he does his best to sound genuinely innocent, concerned even.

"Have you got yourself hurt, Felix?" And when Felix meets his gaze he knows it's come across as intended, the conflict and frustration still somehow looking beautiful in his brown eyes.

"No, I'm fine," he tugs at the collar of his shirt, hoping it sits a little higher, hides the hickey that's clearly there.

"Burn yourself on a curling iron, Felix?" India teases, matching Farleigh's earlier energy, and while it did nothing to help Annabel's mood, at least Felix no longer seemed conflicted.

"Had a run in with a particularly aggressive vacuum cleaner?" You piped up from beside Oliver, and the minute Felix sees your own triumphant grin he starts to go pink around the ears and has to duck his head.

"Try several vacuum cleaners," Annabel snapped to the table, "or one whorish townie girl!" For just a moment, the group is quiet, contemplating what she'd said, the upset in her voice, but it's short-lived.

"How many vacuum cleaners?" Farleigh leans forward, elbows on the table and chin on his hands with a grin like the Cheshire cat. Felix tells him to fuck off, but his blush is still distinct.

"They're all over him," Annabel sticks her nose in the air, arms crossed and looking especially petulant. The lads at the table did actually cheer at that, much to her continued frustration.

"You spend entire nights hitting on other guys in front of me! You made eye contact while one latched himself onto your neck as I was trying to dance!" Felix argued back, and the jury of their peers began to shake their heads at this new information. Annabel pouted for a moment.

"That's different -"

"It kinda isn't," India tried to shoot for sympathetic, wincing as she said it, which was enough for Annabel to sigh dramatically, standing from the table.

"Fine, I do want a drink," and she immediately made a furious beeline for the bar. Felix, however, hesitated for a moment, watching her leave before he turned back to the group with a cocky smile, yanking down the collar of his shirt to show off several more bright, scandalous hickeys.

"Best vacuum cleaner I've ever had," he tells them all smugly, before standing up straight and righting his shirt, "okay, this round's on me." A cheer rises from the group, but as Felix walks off, Oliver catches the way he winks at Y/N. You snort a quiet laugh, but Oliver's pretty sure he's the only one who heard it.

Christ, you two weren't even trying to be subtle half the time.

Still, for all her apparent frustration at Felix's mystery partner, it seemed to only make Annabel cling to him further. No more flirting with strangers, no more sitting apart. She reeks of insecurity, but Oliver just watches you watching her. There's something in your eyes in these moments, like a lion too sated to be bothered with the hunt, but the instinct to pounce could resurface at any moment.

But Oliver's obsession with the intricacies of your lives still lead him outside of Felix's window after one of countless parties. Still watching with animal curiosity and a cigarette in hand, as Annabel works hard to stake her claim on a man she desperately wants to own.

Annabel is an unenthralling understudy, Oliver thinks.

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the bushes, he can't bring himself to stay. He knows where he needs to go, knows what he needs to do; in his mind Annabel is a lithe and graceful performance of extasy, and Felix is all quiet focus and hard, gorgeous muscles shining with sweat from the exertion of it all. But there's no love. It's all performance, a pleasurable performance for them, he's sure, but it's just two beautiful people smashing their bodies together in sloppy ecstasy.

Fuck.

No only is a creep, and a pervert, but now he's a picky, creepy pervert.

But his thoughts stop in the courtyard outside of your dorm. You light is on. Your window is open all the way, and there you are, looking like a dream in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill and having a smoke.

"Ollie!" He'll never get sick of how you say his name, how you smile when you see his face. There's a split second where he has to make a decision, has to figure out how to approach you in this moment. At the club you'd all but folded on the spot at his bold approach, he knows he could have had you practically there and then if he'd been inclined, but part of him can't stop thinking about how you'd had Felix on his back, practically begging.

Oliver feels like every time he thinks he's close to figuring you out, he learns something knew about you that makes him rethink it all. He wants to know all of you, your hopes and dreams and the grotesque desires you will never tell the world, desperate to keep testing you and your reactions, and perhaps even your limits if it ever came to that, to figure out how to get underneath your beautiful skin the way Felix had. Part of him feels like you're never going to stop surprising him, one way or the other. You are intrigue and unexpected and he wants to carve a home for himself in your bones.

"Thought you'd still be out," you tell him, back flush with the frame of your window, one leg up on the ledge while the other dangled over the gardens he'd watched you from more times than he'd like to admit.

"'s not the same without you," he admits after a moment, hands in his pockets. Your endeared, bashful smile is predictable, but no less heart-warming to see. He loves the way you react to him.

"Is that why you're here," it sounds teasing, but he can hear a hint of something that almost sounds hopeful. When you look back at him again, there's that same look you've been giving him since he'd held you, kissed you, ghosted you at the club.

"I don't know," he lies softly, "I just started walking."

"Come on then," you grin, stubbing out your cigarette on the windowsill, "you came all this way, why not have a sleepover," and you swing your legs inside, hopping off the ledge. He moves automatically towards the window, but when you hear him moving, you frown over your shoulder, "door, Ollie."

He's never been inside your room at night.

It glows with the same gold light that all these old building with their old lamps glowed, casting all your knickknacks in shadow and sharp relief. Only your bed lamp was on, book open on your bed. Jane Austin's Emma.

"Sorry, I don't mean to impose," Oliver's voice matches the rest of how he wants to appear; small. Sitting on your soft, patterned duvet, he looks not at you, but around at the room you call home, cataloguing everything in this new light, trying not to think about Felix and Annabel fucking, Felix and Annabel laughing, Felix and Annabel joking about how -

He's a scholarship boy who buys his clothes from Oxfam; no-one wants to sit next to fucking Oliver.

"I love you Ollie," you tell him blithely, easily, truthfully, "you never impose."

Annabel grates on his ears and his nerves and his fucking memories. Your smile is like a balm for that the burn that snobby bitch leaves in the back of his mind when he thinks too hard about her.

You move with such ease around the space, not that he should be at all surprised at that. Perhaps it's more that he still feels like a stranger in his own room at times. Planting yourself against your headboard legs crossed and looking so at ease in your summer pyjamas, you ask, tone light, "you don't mind if I read for a bit, I'm not going to be up much longer, but like I said, you're always welcome to stay."

"What are you reading?" Oliver lets himself relax in your presence, lays himself back on the bed, looking up at the sculpted ceiling of the old building. He knows what you're reading, he just likes hearing your voice.

"Emma," he can hear the rustle of the pages, had seen the worn spine and yellowing paper, wonders if it's vintage, wonders how you got it if it is, "Jane Austen for my lit class."

"Finished Anna Karenina?" You make a quiet hum of acknowledgement. More silence and the warmth of company and lamp light, "it's been a while since I've read any Austen."

"Do you want me to read some to you?" Of course there's humour in your tone, but Oliver can hear it for the genuine offer that it is. When he looks at you, he can't help but smile. There's such fond affection in your eyes as you look at him over the top of the book.

"Please," he says it so softly, so sweetly, and it's enough to see you smile before you disappear behind the book again.

"I'm near the end, you won't get the context -"

"Doesn't matter," he sits back up, pulls off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, and settles back beside you.

"Settled?" Your voice is a murmur, barely a whisper, and when he laughs quietly, he knows you can feel the way it rumbles within him.

When you start, your voice is soothing, halfway through a chapter, through a conversation between characters he has no clue about. He's never read Austen but he'd devour her books if you were the one reading them. It feels like an almost perfect moment.

"- Seldom, very seldom," his head is on your shoulder, eyes scanning the page, the words as you read them, "does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken, but-”

"I did come here for you," something about the line makes the hairs prick on the back of his neck, he can't keep quiet; there is want still simmering beneath his skin, and each time his mind drifts to Felix and Annabel, something furious and desperate coils in his gut. You fall silent, book still open and aloft, cheek still resting against his head where he's kept it on your shoulder. When you take a deep breath, he feels it, both of you move in sync, "of course I came here for you."

This time, he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch you more than he is. Every time he's reached out, he's gone against the pattern you've observed of him, he's always made a connection with you where you know he holds back from others. This time, he waits with bated breath.

"If there's nothing more you want from me than moments like this, I'll never say another word about it," he assures, as if trying not to spook or pressure you. But still he waits.

"What do you want, Ollie?" To pick you apart like a vulture, to see the desires you keep so close they're written on your bones.

"You," he says instead, all gentle words and just as gentle breathing, "if you'll have me." Tell me what it is you want. Tell me you can want. Tell me you know you can want things for yourself, want things beyond a reaction to the wants and needs of everyone around you -

Carefully, you reach over to your bedside table, trying not to jostle either of you too much, and keep your place with a bookmark before you put the book down.

But you do make the first move. You take his face in your hands, holding him like he's fragile and perfect and porcelain, shuffling to face him properly. This kiss tastes almost like home, like finally from you both, until his tongue runs along your lips and you part willingly for him, the kiss turning quickly more passionate. Oliver's not even sure how he came to be straddling your lap, nor how he didn't notice you undoing half of his shirt buttons already, but when the kiss breaks he takes your hands in his.

"Of course I want you," tumbles from your lips, sounding heady, needy, and for just a moment, Oliver breath stutters in his chest. But he slows things down again, leans in to kiss you sweetly once more, before he's pulling off your pyjama shirt.

"I want to know what you want," he murmurs against your lips, kissing his way down your jaw slowly as he speaks, "wanna know how to make you feel good."

"Anything you do -" you try, but he looks up after pressing a kiss to your sternum.

"You need to be needed," he says softly, punctuating each statement with a kiss, refusing to break eye contact with you, "and you want to be wanted," his warm lips on your belly, he sees the conflict in your eyes, the desire and embarrassment all at once, "and you're very good at those things, one of the best, I'm sure." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he pauses, "is this okay?" You nod quickly, enthusiastically, and he gives a warm smile.

"You're like me, sweetheart," he says softly, resting his cheek on your inner thigh for a moment, watching you still. Reaching out, you card your fingers through his hair, fingers trailing down his jaw, and he turns his face to kiss your palm, "I know that if I gave you half a chance, you'll figure out how to be all I could ever want, but tonight I want everyone to hear how you sound when someone's making you feel good-" he doesn't realise he's quoting something he should not have heard from Felix until it's too late, but you cut him off. You didn't even seem to realise.

Then your other hand is in his hair, a new look in your eyes, a newfound determination, a nervous excitement. You grip on his hair tightens.

"Yes?" He gives a cheeky grin, and you finally smile like you mean it.

"I get it," you roll your eyes, but there's nothing malicious about it, especially since the gesture has Oliver pressing his own chuckle against your thigh, "now you have one guess as to how I'd like you to shut up." There's that confidence he'd heard the other day, the confidence that was burned into the back of his mind, the confidence that had been part of the reason he'd spent a good hour in the shower after hearing it.

"Only if you turn out your lamp," he smirks, though inside all he can think about is how bright the whole room is through the gap in the curtains. It doesn't seem to bother you, it never has, and though he was grateful for it when he was on the outside looking in, there's something about being the one potentially being watched that causes him a faint sense of unease.

You call the moonlight more romantic anyways, and Oliver doesn't need to be told twice to go down on you.

When Oliver wakes the next morning, still in your bed, still in you, he almost wants to pinch himself. It's a childish sentiment, but you're in his arms, wrapped up in him and this early morning light through your curtains. Though he tries not to jostle you too much, the arm beneath his head is asleep and getting more uncomfortable by the second. Except the movement just makes you mumble around a breathy moan, hips moving against his.

"Fucking hell," he groans into your ear, and he gets a sleepy, contented chuckle in return, turning your face a little more towards him to give an affectionate bump against his forehead.

"Ollie~"

For just a second, Oliver thinks about living in this moment for the rest of his life.

"You okay?" He murmurs, watching your smile grow. Everything about you looks so pleased, so content, so satisfied.

"Never done that before," you admit, wiggling your hips a little. Oliver swears under his breath again, but judging by the mischievous smile you wear and the twinkle in your eyes, you knew exactly what you were doing. Then, with all the casualness of any other conversation, you manage to catch him off guard again; "anyone who thinks you don't fit in has clearly never fucked you; you fit perfectly -" his teeth sink into your shoulder before he can even properly figure out how he should have reacted.

But instead of finding it strange or off-putting, you let out a breathy laugh, tension easing in your shoulders. Your hips begin to roll against his, consistent, deliberate. He wonders how many people you've let fuck you like this, like they love you, like they care about you. Oh he knows you fuck your friends with love on your tongue, treat them like they're your last meal, like they mean something, but Oliver gets the feeling you don't expect them to return the favour. He's seen the kind of company you keep, he's pretty sure they never do.

How many of them have seen you grateful the way you look now, bathed in the morning light of Summer, laughing and unable to stop talking with such casual fondness in your eyes and on your lips.

When you go down on him in the shower, Oliver thinks he sees hearts in your eyes.

There might just be something very fucking wrong with you, and he's grateful for it every day.

But it doesn't last.

It's on a Summer day that's too hot, less than a week since he'd spent the night with you. Summer days around here seem to always be too hot, but this might be the worst. Felix still doesn't close his blinds, sun painting him golden where he lay on the floor of his room with a cigarette. Oliver had perched himself on the windowsill as you'd taken up residence on Felix's bed, sitting with your back to his headboard, engrossed in what appeared to be notes, or some kind of file.

Oliver has no idea if you've told Felix, or what you would have told him. The dynamic between the three of you appears to have remained otherwise unchanged. Sometimes, however, Oliver catches Felix looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, head tipped, curious like he was about Oliver's past; his expression is always unreadable, but it's started pitting in Oliver's stomach whenever he catches it. Felix always looks away. Felix has been looking at him less lately, that too causes some kind of anxious feeling Oliver would rather not dwell on.

"I don't like Michael Gavey," you announced from your relatively dark corner of Felix's bed. How did you even know Michael Gavey?

"Who?" Felix makes a face in the sunlight, whole expression wrinkling up, as if trying to wrack his brains. But you're looking at Oliver. There's no affection in your eyes, manila folder in your hands.

"He's-" Oliver feels like he's on the back foot again. All the comfort and good will he'd built up around the two of you feels suddenly so far away, "he's in my year." There's no precedent, no road map in his mind for where this could be going.

"He likes you," it's accusatory coming from you. Oliver looks to Felix for a moment, if only to avoid the intensity of your gaze, but he's closed his eyes, staying out of it.

Oliver considers bailing out of the window, but thinks better of it.

"He, erm, kind of was my friend, I suppose."

"Kind of was your friend?" Felix's voice is almost cold, surprising Oliver, but apparently not you. It's clear you're both looking for some kind of elaboration. Why did this feel like an interrogation? What had Michael done? Why was Oliver on trial for it? Felix cracks his eyes open as he takes a long draught of his cigarette.

"Back at the start of the year," Oliver wets his lips, fidgeting, focusing his attention only on the folder you held, desperate to know what was in it.

"Nasty friend you had," you tell him. It's so cold it almost stings.

"Is he the one who got you all riled up the other week?" Felix finally appears to connect the dots, sitting up on his elbows. Thankfully, however, his amusement breaks the tension, and you have to hide your face behind the file as you opened it and began to read. Oliver could feel his heart in his throat, confused, anxious -

"Impressive mathematic record across the board for his first semester, as well all throughout sixth form," you rattled off, eyes narrowed as you look at the paper, "several documented attempts to contact the Head of Math, Phys-Ed, and Life Sciences to," you cleared your throat, shaking your head with surprising disdain, "beg to be exempt from any potentially mandatory Humanities or Social Sciences courses. Unsurprising," you rolled your eyes, "since he bombed his English and French GCSEs, and I think he's the kind of person who prides himself on a perfect GPA."

Every fact you list you do so with such casual cruelty, momentarily folding the file closed and leaning down to make sure you could see Felix.

"He went to high school with us apparently," so casual it actually hurts Oliver a little to hear, "year below us he said," and you wiggle the file in your hands, "looks to be true."

"Still don't know him," Felix shrugs, like he doesn't give any kind of a shit how you got your hands on all of this information. Sitting back, you continued;

"Applied for scholarships - didn't get them; turns out you have to play sports to get a sports scholarships," you click your tongue as you flip through the pages of Michael's file like you were reading the newspaper, "no clubs, no social life, and a notably arrogant prick." You snapped the file closed, levelling a look at Oliver that he'd never seen you make. It was nothing, like a void, demanding a reaction, a response from him. Accusatory yet without any hint of blame, there's something about this look of intense, demanding neutrality that makes him feel actually sick, like you'll be able to know when he lies, know all his secrets if you look at him long enough.

Felix settles back down on the ground, seemingly immune to the tension so thick Oliver felt like he was choking on it. Even if he looks away he can feel your eyes boring into him, like a spider watching a futile fly in it's web.

"What's your problem with him?" Oliver can only bring himself to look out the window, bringing his hand up to scratch at his nose. Maybe if he covers his mouth he won't spill his guts under your gaze. Then, almost so fast it gives Oliver motion sickness, the tension drops.

You sit yourself back, kick your feet out in front of you, and toss the file to the end of the bed. That can't be legal.

"It's sweet that your friends are protective, but he knows you're your own person, right -?" God your light, flippant tone all but rings in his ears. Still, Oliver knows a warning when he hears it.

"He's not my friend; he was, but he's not," Oliver quickly insists, desperate to be on the other side of this deeply uncomfortable conversation. The tension eases in your shoulders when he looks over to you; the right answer. Something about the relief he feels doesn't sit quite right; why had you brought Michael up now of all times? Why had your gaze felt so constricting, even when he and Michael weren't even close; all you would have had to do was ask -

"Said some nasty things about us is all," your voice goes quiet, rueful even, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the bed to where you knew Felix lay, "called Fi a slag."

But there it was; the true audience for your show of force, and the blade that sliced so cleanly through any other attachment people think they have with Felix, all in one.

Its a simple nickname, the most basic nickname anyone could give to a guy named Felix, but no-one else calls him anything but Felix. No-one else calls him Fi the way you do, they wouldn't dare. He wears your nickname like a collar and he doesn't even realise.

"What a cunt," Felix groaned, so infuriatingly uncaring.

In the moments that follow, Oliver almost feels like his head's spinning from the interaction that had just been forced upon him. There's so many questions, new, anxiety-inducing implications for the information you've brought to them both today. Felix doesn't seem troubled by it, but that seems to be the point.

"So fucking hot," he sighs into the afternoon heat, finishing off his cigarette like none of what you'd said even mattered now.

"I know," Oliver finds his voice again, barely. He can't look at you, at the way you're lounging in what he could mistake for triumph. All he can see is Felix, the centre of the fucking universe.

There's something grotesque about you both in this moment, in this room, beautiful and terrible; the perfect picture of privilege and squalor.

"What's that smell?" Pizza, mostly empty drinks, plates and cups unwashed, dirty clothes -

"Uh," if Felix thinks about it, he isn't thinking too hard, clearly, "I don't know." Smoke rings from his pretty lips aren't enough of a distraction from the moment, from the filth of it all now that Oliver's starting to properly look around.

Again he finds himself realising that he has no idea about your background, how you came to find Felix. Sitting with your back to the headboard and eyes closed, even you seem to not care-

"Can't believe you let him live like this," Oliver actually scoffs, hopping from the windowsill, needing to do something with his hands, move, shake off the layer of moral grime that your verbal attack on Michael Gavey had showered him in.

"What?" Felix barely even props himself up, "what are you on about?"

"It's disgusting, Felix."

"It's fine."

"Right, I'm cleaning up -" Oliver moves without thinking, picking up a the waste paper basket and throwing out trash from every surface he can reach. He can't look at Felix, can't look at you, but you're both watching him, "only rich people can afford to be this filthy," he hears himself say. Then, after barking a laugh with no humour in it, he turns his shallow gaze on you, "and what's your excuse? Just picked the habit up after all those years?" For a moment you look at him with genuine confusion, but you give him no real response before Felix tells him to fuck off. But Oliver doesn't stop.

Even as Felix is growing more fed up, insisting he'll clean up later, Oliver's own frustration rises. Felix will never do anything for himself.

Except he doesn't mean to say that part out loud.

That's what gets Felix on his feet, gets him to grab the basket, irritation and resentment on his tongue. Oliver feels like he's touched a live wire, like he's pushed Felix too far, watching him tall, frustrated, glowing with sweat from the afternoon heat. It's the heat Felix complains about as he blows about him room, resentfully stuffing rubbish into the bin, complains about the building and it's age and it's wood fucking panelling that can't be ruined with an air conditioner.

In the moment Oliver chooses to glance to you, he's surprised. You only have eyes for Felix, watching him with an expression Oliver can't begin to fathom, curled up in the corner of his bed. You are waiting. You are holding yourself back. You are desperately trying to let Felix prove Oliver wrong.

"Stressing about the exams?" Oliver tries to pivot, tries to redirect the conversation to something he can claw his way back from, that will keep these relationships from being unsalvageable.

"I'm not stressed about the exams, Ol," Felix sounds like he could snap at any moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, wastebasket held on his knees while his other hand reaches out to you. Still half a foot of space between you, and you keep yourself compact, but the intention is clear; Oliver wonders if he even knows he does that, or if it's just instinct for the two of you these days. Felix, however, is looking at him, that same look he's been giving Oliver since you'd slept with him, "you're driving me fucking -"

Felix seems to realise what he's saying, however, with a sharp inhale as he looked away, moving his free hand from beside you to run through his hair. What is there to say now?

Felix says he's got revising to do, that he'll text later about going to the pub. Oliver desperately wants to believe it, but can hear that it's a lie. Felix can't even fucking look at him.

Oliver finally throws a helpless, hopeful glance to you. This time you are looking at him, but there's apology in your eyes. It's enough. It's the confirmation he'd dreaded, that makes his stomach drop.

"Ollie," even just a few hours ago he'd been in love with the way you said his name. Never like this.

"I'll catch you round," he can't look at either of you as he retreats, cant bare your eyes on him like that, and Felix's turned away.

A million thoughts, desperate ideas, all circle the drain that is quickly becoming his mind as the anxiety and the anguish sets in.

Unsalvageable. Past the point of no return. Irrevocably, awfully different.

With all he'd learned of you both, however, he couldn't just let it go to waste. Oliver had worked for all he had in this life, this prestigious place, among these self-important people. Despite his ongoing attempts to figure you out, he at least knew that if he was good to Felix, he was in good with you.

And Oliver knew exactly who Felix Catton wanted him to be.

[mothpile]

mes's webcomic recommendations

do YOU like webcomics or want to read some ? here are some i think are good NO im not gonna put my own here even if i think its good. -_-

starting with . i Think these ones are popular and well known..?

Paranatural - A story about paranormal ghosts and stuff. It's a real fun time, and the story is really good. The author's art progression is really impressive, truly skilled with paneling and such. It does eventually shift into a webnovel format with drawings as the author couldn't keep up with doing pages like before, and the quality of goodness of the story stays strong 👍👍

Tiger, Tiger - Story about the importance of sea sponges. Also a fun time, sea faring adventure about, again, sea sponges and how important they are nothing else OK? promise. (liar) PHENOMENAL artwork, very pretty to look at.... 👍👍

The Property of Hate - I need to reread it because i forgetted a lot but its such a cool looking comic and sooo interesting OK?! i swear. It's about a kid being a hero.

Vainglorious - a fun comic about a dragon facing Hubris Consequences. The main trio is real fun, the world is cool, all in all fun comic okie !!

Sakana - Slice-of-life comic about some folks working at a fish stall in a fish market. Real fun. Been on hiatus for four years, but is gonna make a comeback soon (author is working on building up buffer pages And then... ! ) But yeah! real fun.

Witchy - ... one i have to reread, it's been on hiatus since forever as the author was working on another comic (thatllbe out... in a while?), though i assume when that's done they'll come back to this...? Anyhow, I remember it being a very gripping story, and beautifully drawn... Also it's about witches. if. you . couldnt tell by the.. title...

NOW, onto ones that ... i dont Think are super well known ... ?

EcopportunityX - An interactive stick figure limited color palette comic about a facility where bad shit has happened ! uhoh! What the hell happened here! Follow the protagonist on their journey of learning what happened, and escaping the facility. Also, space pinball and ball pit beast is there. 👍👍👍

Eye in the Sky - And it only feels right to bring it up as well, but this is a fancomic of ecopportunityX ! ... Contains eox spoilers, so perhaps read the original first! This one features original characters and takes place a bit before eox, it's nice ok i like it :]

Gold Scissors - One of my all time favourites TBH. The art is nice, I love the story, the world is so cool i love it a lot... do yourself a favor and read it...

Midnight Connection - Finished! by the author of Gold Scissors, it's a short comic that takes place in the same universe, you can get through it in one sitting!! sniffles.

Brainchild - Comic about girl seeing weeeeeird stuff. Ghosts?! who knows. Tis a cool one OK read it...

Fairmeadow - "i hate being on the hippee comune they are always telling me Peace and Love on planet earth , orc lady, Peace and Love, and they do not leave me alone" - true real 100% words said. you can read it and youll see. Very pretty looking, ...

Holly & Macy and Everyone Else - comic about two teens learning about HOMOSEXUALITY and being a witch and its a very sweet .. i like it ok? it's also on tumblr @/ hollymacycomic

Falling to Far - i thiiink? its kinda just getting started, its about two star kids that just arrived to the planet of Far, and they are just checking how things are here rn. okie! its nice ITS ON TUMBLR! my fellow tumblr-hosted webcomicers lets gooooo

Daisy in DREAMLAND - ........ not a .. webcomic. Tis more a webnovel, i believe. It has pictures. Very cool looking guys, love the style, someone drench this cat in a bucket of water.

Needleminder - because fuck it we put webnovels here too I GUESS. it has pictures sometimes. haven't caught up with it recently tho BUT it's Very interesting and gets weird with it in cool ways...

Star Impact - comic about boxing! fighting! and people have gloves that give them a gimmick power tis pretty fuckin cool!

Kitty Corner - Comic about someone who sees ghosts. this ones kiiinda just getting started i think..? put its been promising so far, i like it ANOTHER TUMBLRHOSTED WEBCOMIC LETS GO BABY!

PISS HOLE - The greatest comic ever drawn with a broken trackpad.

Going Home - a comicabout a kid who has t *red dot appears on forehead* *sweats**starts to go get the link to the comic* *snipers pull the t

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.  ҉   next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[wickedpact]

so netflix just announced the schedule for that fan event on saturdays and now its official: there wont be a tog panel. charlize will make an appearance though, alongside other 5 actress in a panel about action movies. there's a moderator so its most likely gonna be a general discussion about the genre with an emphasis on female protagonists - she's certainly going to talk about andy and nile's characters as well as her experience as a producer - and maybe there will be a comment or two about the sequel, but i feel like nothing too specific or revealing and more like a brief statement. i hope i'm wrong tho! i mean they did kinda hint that there would be new content at the panel? (or maybe it was never gonna to happen and we're just clowns being baited yet again).

anyway, i keep wondering if its a case of netflix not giving a shit about promoting the movie, or if it there's another perfectly reasonable explanation for it and i'm being super extra about it.

because really, netflix has a lot of fucking money and they dont usually spare it on their marketing campaigns. and still we get nothing. not before the film came out (if i didnt have access to the gays from tumblr/twitter i would have never even discover the film - it had me at the joenicky gifs, obvs - and still, i had to introduce it to so many people from inside the community who had never heard of it.) and not even after people started engaging with it, basically begging for some crumbles. not a single photo or video of cast together, not any deletes scenes; we're all starving here!!! in fact, netflix just released the raw footage of an audition/chemestry test featuring the actresses from fear street vs the actual scenes from the film - including some dialogue that was cut from it which reveal some background info about the characters - so clearly they understand the appeal. SO WHY CANT WE HAVE THAT

[nonetheless i'm a fool who still hopes that someday we're gonna get more content of them together (i want behind the scenes footage! i wanna know more about their experiences training and shooting the film! i wanna hear funny stories from the set! i wanna see them teasing each other in several languages! also would sell a lung to watch luca and marwan taking part in back to back chef!). ]

anyhow, i honestly find that even when we take into account the global pandemic and its effects, the publicity was kinda wack; we can basically count on one hand how many interviews were made while they were promoting the film.

and i truly dont get it!!!!!!! im not even speaking as fan here. the old guard has the potential to be a hit among several demographics; now that disney took away what used to be netflix's flagship content the competition has never been more fierce in the superhero/ish genre!!! and its not like we're talking about some low-budget film cmon its a significal production with both experienced and emerging actors. its chiwetel ejofior ITS CHARLIZE FUCKING THERON. anyway my point is that in a time when movie theathers were closed and streaming reached its peak tog could - SHOULD - have been much more popular.

SO LIKE. WHY?????? does it have anything to do with skydance and copyrights? re: interviews, can it be that the cast just didnt sign up for this (is that even a thing? i dont know anything about the film industry, clearly)? unlikely for a movie that big i would guess but who knows??? i mean contrary to some hollywood folks most of the cast is extremely private and discrete people (GOOD FOR THEM) so perhaps they have some reservations about it? or we're really just the poor bastards that end up being obssessed with a media no one gives a fuck about it and thats it? WHYYY

p.s.: sorry for the word vomit! this was not supposed to be an essay i just had to get this off my chest and you're the most welcoming blog around these woods. thank you for the tea (or is it coffee? heh) and the biscuits and for always indulging our passionate rants. HAVE A NICE DAY I LOVE YOU

re: TUDUM, geeked week mentioned there will be a little interview thing for greg & leandro so i have a feeling if anything of tog importance will be discussed itll happen then

but yeah i get what youre saying; sometimes i wonder if the reason that theres like no bts content is bc it just.. .doesnt exist? just people didnt film things like chemistry readings or the like while creating tog and thats why theres been basically no crumbs? (but then again, it was gina who took it upon herself to post the hair & makeup test footage AND theres at least one deleted scene that we know of thats never been posted so maybe not)

and yeah it does seem so bizarre since tog got such a big response from audiences (it was one of netflix's most watched original movies!) and critics did actually like it, unlike some of netflix's most watched originals. PLUS it has that ✨ Franchise Potential ✨that everyone has been searching for as of late and it also gives netflix their sought after Woke Points. idk it just seems like they should be leaning into tog as hard as they can but it feels like theyve been largely ignoring it. i mean i get the holdups in regard to finding a new director but other than that the response from netflix has been so underwhelming

[asmywhimseytakesme]

Hi, I just saw your blog and I have to ask; do you have any recommendations for people who really, really enjoyed the Murderbot Diaries? Im kinda obsessed with it

Hi @extra-plus-ordinary ! I am so flattered to be asked this because I LOVE giving recommendations.

The first thing I’ll say is, there is a very active Murderbot discord server and if you aren’t in it send me a dm and I’ll get you a link! The lovely folks there can probably give you lots more recommendations than me. I’ll admit I haven’t been on there much lately because life be like that sometimes, but you can bet I’ll be active there plenty when the next Murderbot book comes out in a few months! The folks there also found me links to a couple Murderbot short stories that you should absolutely check out if you haven’t yet.

I have to admit, my first thought on getting this ask is... there isn’t anything else quite like Murderbot! Sometimes all you want is more Murderbot and we don’t have any (yet). The first time I finished the series I started over again at the beginning because all I wanted was More Murderbot Please. It took me awhile to be in the mood for anything else. I absolutely recommend indulging that mood because personally, when all I want is Just This Book, I end up disliking anything else I try to read, even when I normally would like it. But! If you are in the mood to try something a bit different with perhaps some overlapping appeal, let me offer a few suggestions:

The Queens Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner

I have to mention this first because it’s fans of THIS series that got me to read Murderbot. Also I’ve been obsessed with these books since I was a teen. Similarities between the series include:

Sarcastic first person narration—this is mostly just in the first book of the series, The Thief. If you, like me, fell in love with Murderbot because of its voice, give this book a try. Gen is a different narrator in many ways, but I find the appeal similar. There are also some similar character dynamics and interactions with a group gradually getting to know a character they previously underestimated, and forming strong friendships over the course of the series.

However, I will note that The Thief is notably different from the rest of the series in tone and pacing, and some people find it boring. That was not my experience, but many recommend starting the series with the second book.

The second book has a character that I feel is similar to Murderbot on many levels, but I don’t want to say much more about it because SPOILERS. Actually I don’t want to say any more about the series at all because it’s really best to just go in and experience it for yourself. Take my word for it—many people love both series, there is lots of crossover appeal.

The Mandalorian tv series

Ok I feel kinda dumb mentioning this because I feel like everyone’s probably heard of this show by now and has already decided whether they’re gonna watch it. I mean, it’s STAR WARS. So I’ll be brief here, but I really feel like Mando and Murderbot have a LOT in common and would get along really well, and people drawn to one of these characters might also like the other. Murderbot wishes he had as good an excuse as Mando for keeping a helmet on at all times. They’re both similarly good at their jobs (which involve fighting), and end up coming to care for characters weaker and less experienced than themselves. They then put themselves on the line to protect their new Found Family, while steadfastly refusing to admit that they have any feelings whatsoever. Also, so far? No romantic pairings. Murderbot would approve. There are more comparisons I could make but I’ll stop....So yeah, if for some reason you haven’t given The Mandalorian a try.... do it.

Digger by Ursula Vernon

Ok, so the cool thing about this recommendation (aside from the fact that it’s a super amazing story, which I’ll talk more about in a bit) is you can read the WHOLE THING. FOR FREE. RIGHT NOW. Don’t have to put it on hold at the library, don’t have to order it and wait for it to come in the mail, don’t have to track it down in a used bookstore. ITS ALL FREE: http://diggercomic.com/blog/2007/02/01/wombat1-gnorf/

That link should take you to the first page of the comic.

The first comparison I’ll make here is the VOICE. Digger has a first person funny/sarcastic voice that reminds me a LOT a of Murderbot. Different, of course, but..., I think Murderbot would really like Digger. She would be a good client. Practical, tries to stay safe and make good decisions, and she would 100% get Murderbot’s sense of humor. She gets thrown into a crazy magical world and takes it all in stride, making plenty of friends she’s ready to defend with her life.

Yeah, Murderbot would like Digger.

I’d go on, but seriously—did you forget I just said THE WHOLE THING IS FREE TO READ ONLINE so just.... go start reading it and get a taste for it yourself.

http://diggercomic.com/blog/2007/02/01/wombat1-gnorf/

The Vorkosigan Saga

This is a big one that will keep you occupied for awhile! I don’t remember how many books are in the series... 20 maybe? I don’t even know. This is the series I re read when I was coming off my Murderbot high a few months back, because in some ways it has a similar vibe.

Anyway, this is another Space Drama that explores some interesting potential economics, politics, and conflicts of a future of planets linked by wormholes. Some of the planets have a more Corporation Rim feel, others are like Preservation, with many others thrown in the mix. The main character, Miles Vorkosigan... he would love Murderbot. He’d recruit it on the spot—a competent person who shows initiative? Wonderful! On the other hand, Murderbot would HATE Miles.... no sense of self preservation, barreling into problems with no clear plan of how to get out... he would drive Murderbot absolutely crazy.

Personally, I started reading the series with The Warriors Apprentice, and that’s where I recommend starting. However technically Shards of Honor, which tells the story of Miles’ parents and how they met, is the first book chronologically.

The Winter Prince by Elizabeth Wein

This is a very short novel (so if the Murderbot novella length worked for you, give this a try). It’s a gripping take on Arthurian Legend told from the point of view of Medraut (Mordred). Medraut reminds me of Murderbot in many ways—he feels unworthy of love because of what he is, wrestling with a violent past and trying to be better, struggling to know what to do when he is loved by people who he doesn’t think should love him. Also, like All Systems Red, his narrative is addressed to a specific person, which affects how the story is read.

So those are just a few books/series I recommend for Murderbot fans! And everyone, really, because these are all excellent because my taste is impeccable ;-).

I hope there is something here to tide you over til the next Murderbot book comes out @extra-plus-ordinary 😁

[faerings-dreamscape]

hi there!!!! i love your blog!! so i was just wondering how might someone would connect with fae/ how to know if they are around you/ and how do i learn more about the specific fae that might be around me? im sorry for the jumble, just so confusing sometimes. thank you for everything

Hello dear!!!! Thank you so much!! That is much appreciated!!

And hm, well. It is a bit difficult to figure out if the fae are truly around you. One might ask, do they have reasons to be around you?

The fae are difficult to read sometimes, difficult to understand what they may want.

As for how to connect with them, it depends. Who are you trying to connect with? Any of them? That may not be wise. And it is difficult to seek out and find the specific sort of fae you wish for.

First off, what season is it? Well, right now, Winter. Winter Folk may be more likely to appear in our world now, as they would be more comfortable here. Perhaps Autumn as well considering it’s still Autumn-like weather in certain areas.

Most leave out offerings, sometimes they disappear and while other times left alone. Some pray, others don’t. Some seek out help in the woods. Don’t expect anyone to be there to greet you. Shout your worries or what you wish for in the woods. Perhaps someone will meet you in your dreams. Or maybe they won’t.

Remember, the fae have their own lives and thoughts and wants. They may want to talk to you, make a deal with you, others will not. Do not be upset if you recieve no answer. Perhaps it is what is right for you.

Signs that the fae may be near:

- small items left around your house, items you do not own or definitely did not place there.

- faint whispers or giggles or laughter (pure or evil intent, doesn’t matter)

- peculiar dreams that almost make sense, and someone speaking to you that looks too human, or not quite

- the atmosphere just feels different

There is many more, but those are just a few instances in which fae may be nearby. Though it isn’t for sure.

I hope I helped in any way, thank you for your ask dear!

[kotofvi]

THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all have witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat.

Mun Name: Leo      Age: 27       Contact: IM, Inbox, Disco

Character(s) I rp: Canon: Shiro, Sebastian, Dirk, Kyoya, Kurama, Nelliel, Maka, Dwicky. OCs: Hades, Google, Emogene, Dominic, Seirios, Iso, Felix, Reeves, Nyx, Zeru, Ren, Charlie, Dakota, Nemo, Bluejay, Koko, BD, Raven, Cora, Sammie, Lucie, Poppie, Ollie, Alphie, Bambi, Abbigail, Hiraeth, Bonnie, Rei, Rory.   Which muse(s) inspires you the most atm?(for MM): Nelliel, Shiro, Rei, Bonnie, Hiraeth.  Current Fandom(s): Bleach, V/LD, Naruto. (I’m not deeply involved in the fandoms themselves anymore.) Fandom(s) you have an AU for:  Uhhhhh.. I basically have an AU for any fandom if I know it well and am asked for it.  My language(s): English. (I’m learning other languages but I don’t RP in them unless it’s just a sentence or two.)  Themes I’m interested in for rp:   Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for: Modern, Mythology, Medieval. 

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. (I legit love all lengths, tbh, it’s more so with one-liners I tend to lose interest if there’s no substance to further it.)  Asks can be send by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?:   YES / NO   only by Mutuals?:  YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck. Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?:   YES / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS.  (I’ve admittedly been v busy, so if you’re fine with me takin’ forever-- YES) Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?:  YES / NO / SOMEWHAT.  How long do you usually take to reply?:  24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) (It really depends here.) / duplicates / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / au-versions (as main or only verse). Do you post more ic or occ?:  IC / OOC.(I post more IC, but the gaps between IC and OOC make it seem like there’s more OOC at times???) Are you selective with following others?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS.  (This is entirely because half the fandoms some of my muses come from are absolute shit so I have to be careful.) 

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting:  IM or Inbox-- tbh, Just kick my inbox in and screech that you wanna plot/rp with me so long as you’re a mutual. I’m honestly so laid back?? Sure, it might take me a minute but this is entirely because IRL things and not because I’m putting anyone off. 

What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner:  Having fun? Having ideas? I guess, just, mutual interest? I mean, I’m here to write! I’m here to have fun! If you’re not interested in that much alone then?? I guess bye?? ‘Cause I’ll become very annoying to anyone who doesn’t have an interest purely because I’ll randomly ambush my partners with excitement and ideas. 

When you notice the plotting is rather one-sided, what do you do?:  Oh I’ll just straight up ask if they want to continue the thread or start a new one! I mean, I get it, you can lose interest or otherwise just not feel it anymore and that’s fine! If you’re not interested in that particular thread, then no worries, we can always start more! If you’re just being one-sided in general, however?? I’m not gonna be interested at all and I’ll likely tell you as such. 

How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?:  Normally it’ll just happen? I’ll do my “Hey what if they ___” thing and then a rapid bombardment of inquiries and excitement later, there is a thread. It’s usually mutual, the involvement of creating this plot, but sometimes it’s just me being excited and them being excited and then suddenly BAM THERE BE THREADS. S’all good over here! 

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?: I mean?? I’d like to know, yes! But I get that sometimes it’s incredibly anxiety ridden trying to tell someone that you’ve lost interest in a thread. It’s alright if you don’t tell me, but if you can muster up the courage to do so I’d appreciate it! I’m not gonna be upset at you for losing interest/muse in a thread! If I cared deeply about the story, I might poke at you and then you can tell me?? Either way it’s fine and tbh, I don’t mind. However, please let it be known that you can take forever on a reply as well so don’t worry about just hoarding a draft too! Tbh, I had someone reply to a thread literally a year later and I was still excited for it!  - What should your partner do when dropping a thread?:  Just shoot me an IM or hell, make a list of threads you’re dropping and tag me in it??? Which ever! Or don’t even tell me at all, whatever works for you sugar! 

What could possibly lead you to drop a thread?:  Hmn, being overwhelmed-- I tend to accumulate a lot of drafts and 90% of them are long so sometimes I’ll drop a thread or two to help myself get by. Also lack of muse/interest is a factor. I won’t drop a thread purely out of being overwhelmed unless I just can’t muster up the muse to respond to it.  - Will you tell your partner?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. Sometimes I get overwhelmed myself and I’ll drop a thread, forget to tell my partner, etc. Other times I’ll tell them before I even delete the draft! 

Is communication in the rpc important to you?   YES / NO. - And why?:  Yes and no~ Yes primarily! I get that others can take a minute to muster up the courage to talk to others and would just prefer to keep things to a few sentences at first! However, I can and will ambush you with conversation and interest nonetheless. Because communication is important. If you’ve got something you wanna say to me, say it! I’m here for it!  - Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?:  Yup! If you’ve got an issue or something that might come across as criticism to say, say it! Civil discussion is absolutely wanted here and I would like to work out any issues you may have with me or my portrayal.  - Do you think you can handle such situation in a mature way?  YES / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?:  To write and have fun! To explore in depth the characters I create or take on! I mean, c’mon, lbr here-- my gremlin ass muses require some more in depth speculation and investigation into their characters! I love the creativity, the world building, the constant drive to do better and to make others feel something from words alone. The capability to rend emotion from another living being simply from reading and reacting to something I created is amazing and I want to make others cry, laugh, smile and think. I want to create. 

Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios:  Oh man, there’s an endless supply of things I’d like to do! I want to explore the depths of my muses’ histories more?? Like Shiro, I want to write out the things he must’ve seen, felt, experienced. How Nelliel was when she was alive, how Shiro fared in the Arena when he wasn’t fighting, Seb’s life torn between the various throws of data and reality-- there’s so much! And ALL THE AU’s!!!! All of them!!!  

Themes I won’t ever rp / explore: Sure, I work with a lot of darker themes like torture, gore, etc-- but I will not write Rape, sexual abuse, nor will I write child loss.  

What Type of Starters do you prefer / dislike, can’t work with?: I can work with most starters! However, if I’m randomly given a starter that I can’t work with for the muse selected, I’ll inform the person who wrote it! I appreciate the effort given but don’t expect me to be able to reply to every random starter given! Sometimes, they don’t even show up in my tag. 

What type of characters catch your interest the most?:  Okay, I’m a sucker for the underdogs, aggressive folks and the villains. I’m not even going to try and lie and say I don’t immediately look at the Aizens and Kenpachis and go ah yes, those fucking gremlins, give me ten. I also love the background characters? The side characters in a show that seem so unimportant but have a crucial role? I love characters that have such an obscure involvement that you have to stop and ask why and how their involvement was crucial. I also love the soft beans? The ones who are so hyped with positivity and gleaming interest that they just can’t be ignored?? But then turn around and whoop some poor sap’s ass with that sparkle sparkle smile. Also love the upstanding moral types that also acknowledge that some things can’t be avoided and that morality is a grey area dependent on the perceptions of the individuals themselves. 

What type of characters catch your interest the least?:  Hmn-- I guess the kind that don’t seem to have much substance to them? The ones that are just uncharacteristically too kind. Yes, I love the overwhelmingly positive types but?? Also?? The ones that are too kind and without flaw just?? Don’t strike me as interesting. Also the ones that are just cruel for some obscure reason just to give them a reason to be villains. I mean I understand but also?? Villains don’t have to have a reason?? They can be cruel just to be cruel. Idk that’s always just been a thing with me.

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?:  I guess that I’m fairly laid back? I don’t mind if you take 10 years to reply, I’m going to get excited if you message me with some random idea, I’m not going to be bothered by any ideas you suggest?? I can also sometimes give u doodles?? I don’t have time to doodle a lot but sometimes, once in a blue moon, you’ll get a random offering of doodled booty for ur blessing. Also gonna hit you up with random HCs, ideas, threads, etc?? Always?? Idk, I’m not too good at thinking about positive aspects of myself lmfao. 

What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: Hnnn, I’m too laid back at times. I take too long to reply and I’m busy af IRL. I’m often goaded into being irritated by some asshole or another so I can come off aggro af too when I don’t mean to be. Sometimes I can get overwhelmed and disappear for a week, other times I can end up overwhelming someone else by being too excited? I tend to watch how much I do and say because I feel like I might come off as smothering and am too used to being shut down and told to shut up so I just don’t?? Do anything sometimes. I’m also not very good at initiating contact sometimes so I tend to go days and weeks without speaking to others. 

Do you rp smut?:  YES / NO. Do you prefer to go into detail?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?:  YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?:  Usually only if it’s developmental for the characters involved. Sometimes it’s just fun to do! It really depends on the characters involved + if I have any muse in general for it.  - Anything you would not want to rp there?:  ???? Kinda vague, Idk? I mean if I don’t wanna rp somethin’ I’ll say so. 

Are ships important to you?:   YES / NO. Would you say your blog is ship-focused?:   YES / NO. Do you use read more?:  YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Are you: Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship  —  Multiverse / Singleverse. - What do you love to explore the most in your ships?:  The relationship, the depth of two muses who can be wildly different or even similar. The multifaceted involvement of others to that relationship, the angst, the arguments, the sad moments along with all the happy things and how hard one might try while the other is cold-- etc. I don’t just want happy dates and sunshine, that’s not how relationships work after all!   - What is your smut tag?: Kettledrums

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO. - And what kind of ones?: I like a lot of pre-established relationships! However, I can be a tad wary of child muses? Aka: The ones who are children of one of my muses. Reason being, sometimes even I don’t know how they’d raise a child so the muse in question would be off putting to me because it’s out of my realm. Beyond that, I’m down for just about everything! 

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?:  Since I have so many damn muses, I’mma just go with Shiro for all of this-- I suppose what they could find interesting is his very multifaceted dynamic as a soldier, human, technical non-human (Zombae), war worn, space exploring person. He can be rainbows and sunshine but also can suddenly become incredibly aggressive and cold. He’s not one or the other, he’s all and everything that he’s learned and encompassed while still remaining fragile and human in the end. Writing with him can be inspiring and can be soul wrenching, depending on the thread. As for plots, dude your character could be in space in one thread if the otherwise couldn’t be. There’s so many ways to go about writing with him?? He’s such an amazing character and the plots he can be instilled in are almost limitless with just his main verse. 

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?:   Hmn-- I guess the main one I have issues injecting him into place with would be the ones who are strictly non-tech oriented?? I mean, I can still have him there but getting him to fit is just?? Really difficult. Also with people who RP villains of his fandom and expect him not to be volatile. I’m sorry, but if you’re writing a S.endak or a Z.arkon-- you’re not going to get roses and butterflies with Shiro, plain and simple. If that’s something you can’t accept then don’t approach him with those muses.  - With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?:  He works really well with most anyone! So long as one goes into it knowing he can be hostile with soldiers, Galra, etc; then he can be used no matter what. He’s one of my most capable muses that doesn’t have much of an issue when it comes to responding. 

- What interests your Muse(s) in general:  Space, mechanics, biomedical engineering, people, freedom, fighting for a cause, flowers, his mother, violin, cats, sparring, getting stronger, constellations, nebulae, engineering, literature, alien languages, cooking. - What do they desire, is their goal?:  The safety of others, the freedom of others, the ability to choose, hope-- he wants to make sure those he cares for and all others are free and safe from the Galra take over.  - What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?:  How they look at him. If they show signs of pity, of fear, he tends to walk away from any possible meeting with them. Otherwise, their appearance is what first catches his eye. How they dress, how they respond to him, how they talk and if he can make them crack a smile with an awkward joke.  - What do they value in a person?:  Hope, Strength, Loyalty, Purpose, Honesty, Patience. - What themes do they like talking about?:  Shiro’s more of a listener than a talker, but honestly he’ll talk about anything of interest and question anyone’s as well to get them to talk about it. It’s what makes conversation with him easygoing most of the time.  - Which themes bore them?:  Himself. He’ll try to avert any conversation about himself if it’s too personal or too close to something. It’s not so much that it bores him but that type of talk is reserved for those insanely close to him. Also talk of command bores the FUCK out of him. He’s never been one to really like rank. 

- Did they ever went through something traumatic?:  So. Fucking. Much. Between being a prisoner of a war he was never involved with to being told he was a leader of a rebellion for said war, being a prisoner in the Arena and forced to fight and kill others, being held down and sedated as he tried to warn the others, DYING-- this boy has been thru too much.  - What could possibly trigger them?:  Certain noises, textures, Galra, medical equipment, certain lighting.  - What could set them off, enrage them?:  Galra, someone protecting him. - What could lead to an instant kill?:  Any bloodlust towards him or those he cares for. Most of the time, he has this under control and tries to be merciful, give them a chance; but sometimes, especially during an episode; there’s no stopping him from gunning for someone’s throat if they had any intent to harm another or himself. 

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?:  Z.arkon, S.endak, L.otor, H.aggar, Druids, himself a lot of the time. - Is there someone /-thing they love?:   The paladins, space fam in general, his mother, his friends, people in general. 

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO. - Best ways to approach them?:  Just approach him? Honestly, Shiro’s one of the easiest persons to converse with and get near. That doesn’t mean his guard is dropped, but he’s very easy going a lot of the time outside of battle. So long as you have a reason to approach him (even simpler ones like: his appearance, his arm, etc) then you’re set.  - Where are they usually to find?:  Oof, honestly? Anywhere. Space, Earth, other places-- he’s constantly on the move. If you want a set place, just say somewhere on Earth and I can work with that. 

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?:  Shiro is certainly easy to get along with, but he is not without flaw or issue. He has a plethora of issues even after the fall of the Galra Empire. He’s not without his scars, physical and otherwise. Approaching him is easy but getting close to him is not. Don’t expect him to be an open book. Just because he can talk about war, battle, fighting with a straight face doesn’t mean he wasn’t effected by it. He has suffered greatly and it will show the closer you get to him. 

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

Tagged by: @skyvar​  [ <3 ] Tagging: IF YOU WANNA PARTAKE IN THIS INSANITY, PLEASE DO AND TAG ME IN IT SO I CAN READ IT!!! 

[arigatouiris]

revenge is a fool’s game // arthur morgan — [04]

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 1941

warnings: strong violence, emotional distress, mentions of torture, rape and sexual abuse, explicit sexual references, a whole lotta angst, cowboy stuff;

notes: i don’t get that many notes on this story but that’s okay! i love arthur, and i love writing so i guess i don’t need notes to update this fic. but, it would help a great deal if you guys would let me know if this story is worth reading? it’d be a boost for motivation as well. anyway, for marvel fans, i’m also writing a bucky barnes fanfiction that’ll be out soon, so be sure to look out for that! 

not following a taglist for this, i can’t seem to keep track of people who ask so just check on my masterlist~

masterlist in bio~

Chapter Four: The Wild West is Filled With Bastards

○

John was slowly making life difficult for her. (y/n) knew that John knew, and even if his words weren’t taken seriously, there was not another soul out there in the world who knew (y/n) was still alive and was disguising herself a woman. John would pass dirty glares at her as she did her regular chores as Riley, forcing Mrs. Grimshaw to smack him a couple of times for slacking off. Sure, (y/n) felt bad for the boy—frustrated that no one took his words seriously, and having everyone believe he was spewing nonsense. 

But, what if someone one day listened to him? What if they get to know that she’s a scrawny little woman who’s after something women shouldn’t be after?

Chills went down her spine each time she thought of such an aftermath. She would have to do something about John, she knew. She would have to worry and think of a plan that can perhaps convince John that she was a man. I can’t convince him, I can’t show him a penis that ain’t there, she thought, frowning to herself as she stacked the pile of hay in front of Dutch’s horse. She was slowly rising into panic, and she knew it was only about time before John loses it and yells that she’s a woman.

However, before any of that could happen, Hosea had a request. Hosea’s request made (y/n) want to almost leave the group, but considering how Dutch insisted as well, she knew she had no other choice.

“Take John wit’ ya. He’s slackin’ off most of the time, and there ain’t much out here that he can do. Buyin’ groceries and medicine might do ‘im some good.” Hosea’s kind voice and kind smile made her feel bad that she was lying to him.

“I ain’t goin’ with her!” John protested, visibly looking livid.

(y/n) felt her insides do a flip. Her gaze turned to Arthur, who chuckled once before slapping the boy’s back.

“You still on with this nonsense, Marston?” Arthur asked.

“It ain’t nonsense, Arthur! Like ya’ll ever believe me. Ask ‘er! Ask ‘er to show ya’ll her penis—”

Another smack.

“That’s enough from you, Marston.” Arthur sighed.

(y/n) was perhaps the only one who was possibly shitting her pants. However, going to town with the boy might change things. To either good (which, she highly doubted) or bad, which was possibly the case.

“Take Arthur’s horse for now. But here,” Hosea came forward and gave (y/n) some money. “Buy yerself a new one. You’ll need it—”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, before returning the money. She pressed her lips together before pulling out her small notebook.

I don’t want to buy a horse. “Buying” sounds wrong. It’s life.

(y/n) blushed before showing it to the man, who chuckled a couple of times.

“Well, then. Let’s hope someone gives one to ya, then.” Hosea joked before turning away.

Arthur didn’t catch hold of the note. John’s words stuck on, but he knew the boy wasn’t being serious. But, to let a joke continue on for so long? Arthur frowned before eyeing Riley from top to bottom, finding no hint of him being a woman like John says so. The baggy shirt that he was wearing was messy, but there was no sign of womanhood on the boy. Sure, he looked ragged and scrawny but he had seen his fair share of scrawny boys. The wild west wasn’t really a place where all boys grew to be men.

He shrugged his thoughts away before minding his own business. If it was anything, then it was Riley’s problem to deal with. Not his.

○

“I hate bein’ paired with you.” John said, frowning.

Because (y/n) had chosen not to take Dutch’s horse, they had taken the carriage instead. John sat beside her, not really wanting to, but there was only so much he could do. Sure, he put up a fight when it came to actually cooperating with her, but (y/n) knew he wouldn’t so much as to raise his voice or disobey Hosea or Dutch. They had raised him, after all.

“You ain’t foolin’ no one, lady.” John said, hoping to instigate some reaction out of (y/n).

She didn’t budge. She kept her gaze straight and her eyes didn’t waver. If only John didn’t pose too much of a threat, she’d have smacked him on the head, herself.

“I don’t get what yer tryin’ ta prove.”

You’ll never understand, either way, she thought before maintaining her composure. She licked her lips once before catching a glimpse of a small town in the front—Fogmount. Tiny, but sufficient. She had the list that Mrs. Grimshaw had given, and she hoped John wouldn’t run off.

She looked at the boy who shot her the meanest glare a 15-year old can conjure, and turned away from him.

“I ain’t runnin’, don’t get yer panties twisted in a bunch.”

Oh, I really wanna hit him now, she thought before frowning. After stopping the carriage near the entrance, she gestured for John to follow. The boy grunted before choosing not to say anything more. The two of them walked inside town, earning a few looks from the locals—for not having seen them before.

This kind of attention sometimes doesn’t sit well with a lot of people. To the naked eye, (y/n) and John, who went by Riley and John, seemed harmless and almost invisible. But, to a crowd that wanted trouble, they seemed like targets. She caught sight of a nasty crowd of men, standing aside and drinking in public, which was quite odd since there was a saloon not too far from where they stood. The men seemed like the type to hit on women that passed them by, making people uncomfortable was what sat well with these folk. 

However, what pissed her off even more was the fact that they choose to drink and cause a fuss in the middle of the day, when no one really expected shit like this to go down.

Her hand flew to John’s wrist, which John only shrugged violently before spitting on the ground in haste.

“I don’t need yer help, lady!” John was a bit too loud, causing her eyes to widen and the other bunch of men to listen.

“You need ta’ stay the hell away from me!”

(y/n) tried once more to pull John away, now noticing the men approaching them, laughing and chortling on their own. John once again pulled back, now stepping back in retaliation, before his back collided with one of the men. There were three in total, but was enough to cause a distraction. She really didn’t need this right now.

John gasped before the man grabbed his collar from the back, and yanked him aside, forcing John to stand straight and put an arm over his shoulder.

“Ya heard the little man, lady,” the man mimicked John’s insult. “Leave ‘im alone.”

The men behind him laughed, but John wasn’t. A sudden rush of adrenaline hit the boy, and she had hoped that the situation wouldn’t escalate. Another man approached her before grabbing her collar.

“Why’s a mangy mutt like yerself in our town?”

“Yeah, never seen ‘em before.” Another one joined in.

John struggled, in the meanwhile, knowing (y/n) couldn’t talk back. However, when she didn’t reply, the man holding her collar, punched her squarely in the face. John froze before seeing (y/n) fall to the ground, blood coming out of her mouth. If there was any bit of anger that was in him, it went away as he watched her get back up and plead for John to be released.

“Ya can’t talk or somethin’?” The man who punched her mocked.

“Get away from ‘im, you bastards!” John screamed, before kicking the man’s foot, and running to (y/n).

“Let’s get outa’ here, Riley.” John sounded scared, but he didn’t want to seem like it.

However, that wasn’t the men’s plan. One of them grabbed John again, but before John felt the punch come, (y/n) had kicked the man’s shin and pushed him to the ground. Before a second thought, her fist went flying to the man who punched her, and hit him squarely below the jawline, shocking him, and using her other hand to hit him again, knocking him to the ground.

The third man who had held John, rushed forward, but she was too quick. She went behind the man and grabbed his hand before twisting it uncharacteristically, and kicking him behind the knee, knocking him down. She used her right hand and hit him hard on the nape of his neck, knocking him down as well.

She then turned, grabbed John’s hand and rushed back to the carriage. She knew now was her chance, and feeling terrible about not getting Mrs. Grimshaw’s things, (y/n) sat John down beside her and raced back to the camp. John, not having said a word the whole while, didn’t know what to say. He looked at (y/n)’s bleeding mouth and nose, bruised face, discolored and ugly from the punch that sent her to the ground, and turned away with shame. It was his fault. This had happened because he failed to cooperate.

There were always going to be terrible goons in the world. And he was saved by someone he had teased constantly for being a woman. John wouldn’t admit it, he had seen the bandages inside her tent one night, but had never told anyone. Perhaps, for saving his life that day, he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t apologize to Riley. He just wouldn’t aggravate the situation as he had earlier. It was not his call to make, whether Riley was a woman or not. Even if she was a woman, she had saved his life, knocking three men twice her size down to the ground. And if he had any self-respect, which John believed he had, he would not make her anymore uncomfortable than he already had.

When the two of them reached the tent empty handed, Mrs. Grimshaw wanted to yell. But, once her eyes fell on Riley’s bruised and bloody face and John having been untouched, she knew what had happened. Riley gave her a helpless smile, a smile that hurt him as he stretched his lip, Mrs. Grimshaw shushed him.

“John, be grateful.” Was all she said, before grabbing Riley’s scrawny wrist and leading him away to mend him.

Dutch and Hosea noticed Riley’s face and scolded John, demanding him to tell them both what had happened. John was quiet, and it was only after Arthur came and placed a comforting shoulder on the younger boy did John even begin to speak. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he dared not to let them fall.

“Riley helped me. There were these bastards,” John sniffed before continuing, “Drunk all of ‘em. He beat ‘em to the ground. He saved me from bein’ beaten too.”

His hands were clenched and John hated the position he was in.

“No girl coulda done that,” Dutch said, laughing.

Arthur noticed John’s expression. John wasn’t just feeling helpless, the boy was feeling regret. Regret for being bullied? Nah, Arthur thought before heading out of Dutch’s tent and looking at Mrs. Grimshaw mend Riley. He didn’t believe John’s words before, he knew that for sure. There was no reason for a woman to dress up like a man and go around asking to kill Colm o’Driscoll. If there was something, then there was something more than what Arthur could figure out on his own.

It was not his problem, he told himself in the end and let it go.

[littleshebear]

Little Bird chapter 4

pt 1 | pt 2| pt 3

Ao3 Link

-/

Eva Levante meets a remorseful Amanda while Zavala gets a letter.

-/

Eva Levante has come to visit and thus, the orphanage’s common room is in a state of organised chaos. The Festival of the Lost will be upon them soon so Miss Eva has come to help them get started on decorations. Extra tables have been brought in and they’re already a riot of colour, covered in paper, glitter and foil. A few glue sticks roll off desks and begin to dry out on the floor, casualties of short attention spans and the excitement of an interruption to the usual monotony of their days.

Amanda sits in a corner away from the worst of the ruckus and looks down at the blank papers in front of her with an increasing sense of despondence. She’s not familiar with this celebration at all. Miss Eva had said it was to remember those who had been lost, “with joy and sorrow.” Amanda doesn’t feel like she needs reminding what she’s lost and while she understands the sorrow part, the joy aspect of it seems unattainable to her.

She glances around the room to try to glean some ideas from what the other children are doing. She sees mock candles rendered in cardboard, burning with ‘flames’ of orange tissue paper. Many of them create paper mock ups of some sort of round, orange vegetable she doesn’t recognise, only to then draw leering, grinning faces on them. It’s creepy. Why would anyone want that on their wall?

One of the other children spots her lack of activity and calls out, “Hey New Girl? Why aren’t you making anything?”

New Girl . It’s been months but she’s still “New Girl.” Amanda suspects that barring some major disaster in the City, she’ll always be the New Girl in the orphanage; refugees just aren’t arriving in the City anymore. She hears the stories, how she was the last to pass through the gates, how there’s no one left outside. She hears the jibes and cutting questions. Did you get lost? How could you miss the Traveler, it’s not like it’s tiny . They don’t say that to her face anymore, not since she channeled her frustration at their ignorance into her fists. She’d been put in detention for a week after that but it had been worth it. When her teachers sagely advised that fighting was wrong and asked if she’d learned her lesson, she’d nodded dutifully and said yes but that was a lie. There was nothing to learn, she was right. Those bullies had no idea what it was like out there. They had no right to pass judgement, no right to make fun of Ma and Pa or the rest of the caravan. They’d done their best.

That familiar, yet altogether unpleasant ball of heat starts to build inside her and spread up, through her chest, to her face and behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath and pushes her anger back down. She decides she wants nothing to do with this Festival of the Lost nonsense and opts on engaging in a totally different project. She sifts through her materials and picks out a piece of light yellow paper; not too garish, not too offensive, then picks out a dark blue crayon from a pot on the table. She wanted black but this is closest to that colour she has available to her. She leans over the table, nose nearly to the paper and begins to write, her little brows furrowing in concentration. After a while, she sits up to stretch and think about how to continue. It’s then that she notices Miss Eva standing over her, smiling and inquisitive.

“Do you not want to make decorations, dear?”

Amanda shrugs and covers the paper with her arms.

“Are you drawing a picture?”

She shakes her head. “Writing a letter.”

“Oh,” Eva says, with that exaggerated interest that grown ups always do when they don’t understand something a child is doing. “Who are you writing to, dear?”

She feels her cheeks warm with a blush as she suddenly feels very silly. “Commander Zavala.”

“You know the Commander?” Eva’s interest seems far more genuine now as she pulls up a chair beside her.

“Not really,” Amanda explains in an embarrassed mumble. “I made him mad.”

“Oh, what could you possibly have done to make the Commander angry? I can’t imagine that.”

She lists the all the things she could have possibly done to irritate Zavala and counts them off on her fingers. “Uhhm, I tried to steal from Executor Hideo, I keep running away from the orphanage and I snuck into the hangar and hid under a table.”

“Ah,” Eva tips her head to the side in agreement. “Yes, well. That would probably do it. He didn’t frighten you, did he?”

“A li’l bit, he’s pretty scary. But it’s okay, the monsters are scared of him too.”

Eva threads her fingers together and leans towards Amanda, her expression of quiet amusement switching to one of concern. “What monsters?”

“The ones outside,” she states matter of factly. “Y’know. The bad stuff beyond the walls.”

Eva nods seriously. “I do, dear. I do know.”

Amanda looks up from her writing with saucer-wide eyes. When she speaks it’s a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Have you seen ‘em too?”

“I was a refugee.” She hazards laying a hand over one of Amanda’s and looks gratified when the child doesn’t flinch. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“The others ain’t seen ‘em. They don’t get it.”

“Is that why you run away?”

Amanda pulls back and makes a big production of neatly folding the finished letter in half. “This place gives me a stomach ache,” she finally answers with a shrug.

“Well. Maybe we can do something about your stomach ache,” Eva begins in an indulgent tone. “But you mustn’t run away. It’s not safe, that’s why Zavala gets mad. It’s his job to keep people safe.”

“I know,” Amanda smooths down the paper one last time before scrawling Zavala’s name across it. “That’s why I’m writing him.”

-/

Eva pops her head around Zavala’s office door after knocking. “Are you busy?”

Zavala raises an eyebrow in response. His expression is stony but the amusement is there for those who know where to look. Eva covers her mouth with her hand to stifle the embarrassed giggle that emerges.

“I’m sorry my friend, silly question.”

His expression softens and he beckons her in, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing for now, all is well in the Bazaar,” she fishes a piece of folded, bright yellow construction paper out of her bag before she takes a seat. “I’m here as a messenger today.”

Zavala accepts the ‘letter’ with a confused frown. “What is - Ah. I see.” He smiles softly to himself as he reads, despite the childish scrawl and the myriad spelling and grammatical errors.

Dear comandur Zavala,

Sorry for trying to steal from exek execkyu Hidayoh. Stealing aint right I know that.

Im sorry I keep running away from the orfanage. I dont mean to worry no one, I just get I just dont like being cooped up. Sorry for creeping into the hangar. I didnt mean no harm. I wanted to see the ships. I like ships. When I grow up I wanna be an enj engani someone who fixes stuff. I hope I didnt get no one into troubble, can you tell the hangar folks that Im real sorry if I did?

Thank you for walking me back,

Amanda Nora Holliday.

Zavala finishes reading and fixes Eva with an incredulous look.

“I haven’t read it,” Eva holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know what it says, it wasn’t addressed to me.”

“How did you get it?”

“Sometimes I like to pop over the orphanage, for the children. Give them something to do, break up the monotony. Their little lives can be so regimented. Amanda asked me to give this to you. I couldn’t say no, she seemed so earnest and,” she summons her most matronly smile for Zavala, “Very concerned that she had made you mad.”

“Am I really that intimidating?”

“You can come off as rather brusque, I won’t lie.”

“I had no intention of frightening her, I just-”

“You worry,” Eva points out in a gentle interruption. “I know.”

Zavala takes a moment to glance over the letter before speaking again. “How did she seem to you?”

Eva’s smile fades. “A little isolated perhaps? I don’t think the other children understand her. Refugees are a rare thing nowadays. And she said the orphanage gives her a stomach ache.”

Zavala frowns, while Eva gives a sad smile at his puzzlement.

“‘I have a stomach ache’ is little girl-speak for ‘I’m afraid,’” she explains. “And she was less than enthused about the upcoming festival.”

“I don’t think it has been that long since she lost her parents. It’s likely still very raw for her.” He stares off into space, tapping the letter on the edge of his desk, lost in thought.

“I can keep an eye on her if you’d like?” Eva offers, breaking through his distraction.

“I didn’t ask-”

“I know you didn’t,” Eva chuckles, “You’re obviously worried about her but you’re a busy man. I often call into the orphanage, it would be no trouble for me.”

“You’re very kind, Eva, thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s no trouble,” she assures him, rising from her seat. “Have you considered my suggestion? About bringing the Festival of the Lost to the Tower?”

“You think it advisable to expose Cayde to dress-up games and sugar highs?”

“A small price. It would be good for you. You Guardians were lost once, too.” Eva opens the office door and cocks her head. “Think on it. For old Eva.”

“I will,” he nods indulgently.

Eva makes to leave before turning around to face him again. “Have you been crocheting lately?”

Zavala meets her gaze. There’s warmth and compassion there but Zavala knows it’s so keen and perceptive she could almost be an Awoken. “When I have time.”

“You look stressed.” She wags her finger at him as though he were a truculent child rather than a centuries-old immortal. “Make time!” She insists before showing herself out

[literaphobe]

hi michelle! so want to start saying that i identify as bi and honestly, I would LOVE it if jake was bi. I think it'd be great. But i'm also okay if he's not, bc how cool is it that they're allowing a man to break down traditional gender norms/roles! i think one of the greatest parts of loving a show like b99 is that it lets us escape the 'real world' for twenty minutes every week. and that means something different for every person watching the show. 1

SO while i believe you are entitled to your own opinions, and you can share them on your blog bc it's yours, i don't think its fair to invite people to share their opinions but shut down anyone who feels differently than you. for example, you said to someone who said they didn't care if jake was bi that you hope they 'get well soon'. also, you posted saying that if bi people didnt want jake to be bi then they're wrong. im sorry but thats really hurtful. you dont get to decide how people think 2

just bc someone feels differently than you doesnt make their feelings less valid, ESPECIALLY someone who identifies as lgbt+. you run a popular blog and it makes me sad to think people might feel their opinions are less valid or wrong bc they see it here. again, im not saying you cant have opinions or post them. but maybe just think about how your words can affect others. also saying this off anon bc i respect you and am open to having a conversation. Thanks for reading, hope u have a good day

hi. thank you for ur mannerly tone and for having the courage to go off-anon.

mlm/bi representation will always be more important than ‘straight man comfortable with his sexuality’. while i am not saying that straight men in media shouldn’t be portrayed as comfortable in their sexualities, the stance that it’s okay to take away representation from people in the lgbt community as long as we have Good Hets is harmful, and it gives people in the tv/movie industries a cop out. they don’t have to give us more lgbt characters! straight characters who Know What’s Up are good enough to make them seem woke and avoid criticism! and whether you’re comfortable with this happening as an lgbt has nothing to do with it. we have to hold the media accountable, we can’t just settle for less. whether you want to watch b99 uncritically or not is entirely up to you. i get that it’s exhausting to analyze the media content you consume! i more than understand just wanting to escape and not ask for more! it’s tiring! it’s draining! it’s disappointing, it hurts so much and it gets so so lonely. but we can’t just let the world stagnate. progress needs to be made constantly, and shows can’t be made to feel like they can just do one or two good things and not be expected to do anything else! i’m not asking you to fight for this, i just want the acknowledgement that this is the right thing to do

i didn’t exactly... invite anyone to say anything. i truly am just sending my thoughts out into the void. and yes, i am aware that my words reach a wider audience because i have a larger than average follower count. of course i know my words can affect others. that’s what i’m trying to do. aside from getting thoughts out my brain, i want to promote a less passive line of thinking. i want lgbt folk to want better for themselves. unfortunately, because words and actions have responses, people will climb into my inbox and start conversations that i inevitably have to take part in (sometimes i don’t though. it really depends on where my head’s at that day. having to discuss this repeatedly is draining). most of the time, i’m just making a statement

i don’t particularly enjoy “shutting down people who feel differently from me”. usually, if i’ve done that, i really am tired because i’ve likely discussed and explained numerous times whatever it is the person who got shut down said to me. i might also come off as mean-spirited or perhaps aggressive if i know some anon is just trying to pick a fight/spew hate at me. if you don’t understand where i’m coming from/don’t believe why having an opposing stance is harmful (this might vary depending on the issue), i am (given i have energy that day) more than willing to elaborate on whatever it is i say here. if i say stuff like ‘get well soon!’ it is a tired response to something i have already covered in depth and i am making some semblance of a joke to deflect/put a lid on the stuff i really want to say (likely because i have already said it) 

i never said that bi people who didn’t want jake to be bi were wrong. i was trying to get them to think deeper and explore why they don’t want that. being lgbt sometimes means that we allow and normalize a lot of unfair treatment. we think that we have it good enough so we decide not to ask for more, to settle. and i will never blame any lgbt for falling victim to this line of thought. we were brought up to think this way, we were conditioned to think this way. acceptance does not equal inclusion, and sadly many of us are so grateful for the acceptance that we do not bother to even think about having inclusion. or, better inclusion, for that matter. of course, it is definitely not up to me to decide how anyone thinks. i’m just trying to convince you! very desperately. but if you don’t agree no matter what i say then what can i do? it’s your life. it doesn’t affect me much in the grand scheme of things. i’m not going to hate you for disagreeing. i’m not going to sic the dogs on you. am i going to be kind of annoyed if someone walks into my inbox, turns on anon, and hurls insults at me? yes, that’s hurtful, and it’s kind of funny sometimes depending on how dumb you sound, but it’s mostly tiring and a lot of pain. so like... read, if u don’t like it, move on, if your well-being is drastically affected from reading the things i say, i’ll tag it so you can blacklist 

the sad thing is, being a member of the lgbt community doesn’t automatically make your opinions on lgbt issues valid/unproblematic. internalized homophobia exists. things i described in the point above can lead to this. just because a bi person says ‘im bi! and i don’t care/don’t think bi jake is important!’ doesn’t mean that suddenly, there is no need for him to be canonically bi, that we aren’t being queerbaited/pandered to by the show. do i think that the show is intentionally/heinously queerbaiting us? not exactly. but lack of awareness and lacking understanding on why bi-coding jake w no intention to make it canon is just as harmful bc it produces the same result (in jake’s case)

once again, i don’t intend for people to feel “less valid/wrong” when they read what i have to say on this blog. self-reflection is important. sometimes, people have opinions that are wrong! including myself! which is why more often than not i think deeply into the things people say to me here and consider whether my opinion holds up. you don’t have to feel bad for being wrong. we are all constantly wrong on stuff. everyone, at some point, has had a bad take/the wrong take on something. if you hold yourself up to this standard that you must always be right or you are suddenly a horrible person/must feel bad and demoralized, i suggest that you change your approach to issues such as this. i hate to say this but it is not my job to make sure everyone is 100% cool and chill about everything i do and say here. some things need to be said. some things need to be acknowledged. i’m sorry if any of you have been hurt/upset by anything i’ve ever posted but after a certain point... that is your issue and not mine 

[ask-art-student-prussia]

Creativity and Dreams: An Essay by Leon Rekjavik

A few things ticked me off with what the “professional-writer” anon wrote, namely the undermining of artists, the act of crushing dreams and just the fact ‘you can’t do this anymore because I’m saying your not talented/ qualified enough’. Whilst this mean writer-rant was directed at Mun, I feel that a lot of the things this person said has generally offended and angered a lot of people. The way this person went around the subject was hardly professional, and if I had to be honest, unhelpful. Whilst Mun has shown no interest in taking writing professionally, say if she had. This ask would completely crush her, and leave her with no advice that could’ve pointed her in the right direction.

So I’m going to do something I’ve not done… for over a year now. An essay-like piece, that covers; why writing and art are hardly that different, why such an interest is allowed to be taken up by anyone at any level, the idea of creativity, what a dream is and why it isn’t necessarily as impossible as it looks, and why you can do anything.

Writing is not something talent based, it’s an art form and a way of expression- something that comes straight from the soul. Writing a description about a setting is no different from painting it, and creating a character in your written piece is no different from sketching one. Both writer and artist are two sides of the same coin, and practically go hand in hand with one another- so for an anon to differentiate the two, to create a border, a thick black line, with “you writing folk” is quite shocking and unbelievable.

Writing is a difficult profession to have, understandably. The market is competitive, and everyone wants their fantasy universe out on a shelf for someone to read. Sure, some of these pieces are good, others not so good, but everyone has the right to try, to improve, and to learn.

And that’s not just with having writing as a profession! Believe it or not, this can be a very lovely hobby to have, dear anon. You can have private little works, some you share with friends, or on a social media platform entirely for free. You don’t need to make writing a career just do it.

No one should take away the right to creativity- it has no bounds, no rules, no restrictions… and that’s what makes it so brilliant. Why do people love sandbox games? Because you can do anything in them, and the same principles apply with creativity- writing, drawing, composing, designing, flowers arranging, embroidery, cooking… the list really goes on.

I appreciate warning younger teens and kids that perhaps some dreams and desires can sometimes transport into a crazy utopia where everything is always right, nothing is ever wrong, what we pursued was great and we’re doing fantastic because of it… but that’s why it is called a dream. Dreams are our fantasies, what we wish a thousand times over to happen, to get. But weirdly enough, fantasies do sometimes become realities.

Quick story.

When my Grandfather was just a boy, he came from a family where no one had gone into higher education like university even once in their lives. Most had done a little bit of school, incomplete often, and that was pretty much it. They quickly went and joined the farming business, and that’s it, never trying to do anything different.

Then comes my Grandfather.

He went to school, and he didn’t want to become a farmer like everyone else. So, he tried, he worked hard, and did his best. He had a dream, to become someone, to be somebody.

His family discouraged him from thinking big, he never listened. He’d read his textbooks late into the night, from the moonlight. There were blackouts frequently at the time period he lived, so they didn’t always have electricity to rely on.

A few decades later, he became a renowned physician, a loving and respectful husband, a good father and an inspiration to many. He became somebody, like he always wanted to, and he was able to help provide for his family, and ensure all of his children had the opportunity to do something with their lives.

He did die, unfortunately very young, but not really. Everyone in my household knows for a fact he’s not really dead. Decades after his death, people still remembered him, for his kindness, his achievements, his hardworking nature. With how often people talked so much about him, you’d think he was still here, beaming brightly, telling great jokes, still having that loving look in his russet eyes.

With the amount of lives he saved, he didn’t just leave as somebody, but as a hero.

Sorry if that was a bit long, but this is living proof, that if you have a dream, it can still become a reality. If you put enough effort in it, anything is possible, and I don’t care about the amount of cheese that statement has, because it’s true.

You can become an amazing artist, a praised author, a masterful cook, a wicked mathematician, a brave fireman, ANYONE.

You don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval to do it. Everyone starts small, not everyone’s perfect, but with a little polish and hard work, you can reach those dreams.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something!

-leonrekjavik

P.S

I can’t believe I just spent nearly an hour writing this… But dreams and creativity are really important, so I guess it was an hour well spent!

Sorry if there were any mistakes, I didn’t really proofread it very well, haha.

mun starts speaking here:

hhHoly shit dude im literally speechless. okay i look up to leon so much everyone please read this!! also ive grown up my entire life in this field, i know what ive signed up for and im willing to take the risk. and yeah, hobbies are important to have, and writing and art isnt an exclusive club for people who “do it right”. youll just be that asshole standing in front of a painting looking at it and telling other people staring at it that theyre not doing it right. 

fuckin enjoy yourselves. 

[thereoncewereflwrs]

in where i find myself in the absence

i read an article last night that spoke of the fallacy of cooperatives. more specifically, it spoke on how cooperatives in actuality create the conditions for workers to actively participate in a capitalist market, rather than encouraging them to engage in deep class struggle at the workplace through union building. i instantly thought it was an argument missing in analysis, but i also found myself with each new paragraph asking out loud ’what exactly is the idea of a socialist economy in practice if it cannot start with a business set up that allows workers to become owners of the means of their own commodities?’ also and at the same time, i found useful how the article aimed at articulating the real tension in whether worker-owner businesses can exist within or outside of a capitalist political economy all together. this article didn’t make me think of you, but i did dream last night that you called me to tell me you had been married to a man - out of potential convenience on his end? because he had been terminally ill, you said - and he had died recently. you berated me for being so careless and caustic with my words and tone over the phone, and maturely told me i should calm myself because you just wanted to talk. clearly even in my dreams a similarly singular tension continues to prevail about whether i can in fact exist beyond my own conditioned responses or whether any improvement simply exists within those confines. my body, muscle memory, and even (sub)consciousness are like the boundaries of capitalism, and maybe my aims to improve myself beyond what i am are mere attempts at participating in my own free market under the guise of pseudo-socialism. 

i don’t know why i felt like writing to you - or maybe this could be considered reaching out? i woke up from the dream carrying the emotions and thoughts i had held while dreaming it, and i spent all day attempting to untangle myself from the made up scenario my sleeping mind had conjured that had felt so tangible it had made me lose track of reality. in the dream you had insisted that we meet up (again, your suggestion was met with childish remarks on my end) and throughout the day i kept thinking i needed to rush home and shower so that i could get ready for this meeting, as if you had jumped from my sleeping mind onto a table at a nearby coffee shop and were ready to continue scolding me. beyond this sensation that i haven’t been able to shake off regarding this fake conversation that never took place but was so real in my mind it feels like it did, it’s become increasingly hard to reconcile just how much i’ve wanted it to have happened with how much i know it won’t ever happen. you see, i’m just all types of fucking angry all the time about you and everything that went down, but this isn’t an email about that or about my anger, i promise. this statement is just to say that i am upset with myself for wanting what my logical mind has strictly placed off limits: to just be in your orbit without the memories of the past year and a half weighing me down. 

i’m not asking for that now, so don’t worry. i’ve thought over and over again about your general anxiety with receiving emails from distant folks whom you feel bound and committed to in some way or another. probably you’ve already done the work to extricate yourself from those ungrounded self-imposed obligations, but maybe you haven’t. and if you haven’t, well maybe you’re reading this email (maybe you’re not at all, maybe you didn’t even open it, in which case these words are just space on your google cloud and don’t matter at all and I can make some ridiculous confession that will never be seen) and feeling pangs of anxiety and dread at the idea that soon after you’re through you might have to set time to process it all and then perhaps consider actionable steps around whether you type a response or not. or maybe you haven’t worked through this particular anxiety but you have worked through our failed friendship and no longer feel or think anything about me and these words are just boring and slightly sad because you had wished i had just stopped thinking about you all together and would leave you alone. in deep retrospect i can understand that this particular anxiety that you have, combined with my conditioned response to pretend that nothing or no one i deeply care about can hurt me in a real way, is a dangerous thing. 

anyways, this email is sort of pointless. it acts as a creator of self-inflicted anxiety and self-indulgence more than anything else. i’m not going to ask anything because that would put us both in a really awful position, right? it forces you to decide whether you answer me back or not and brings with it all the implications and annoyances that come with either of those things. and it puts my pride on a heavy and potentially unbalanced line, in where the only proper way of restoring it would be for you to send me something in return. if you do, then that’s a mess, and if you don’t, well that’s just a mess too in its own way, just less compromising and collective. instead i’ll say sometimes i think about you and wonder so many different things, and sometimes amongst that wondering i wish certain things. i can imagine all kinds of shit about how you are, where you are, what you’ve become in the last year, and most of the time i have no choice but to let my imagination do its thing. but ~sometimes~ im able to actively wish you were well, healthy, somewhere you want to be, with the people you want to be with, and that you are no longer entrapped in relationships that make you feel cornered or unable to set your boundaries. those wishes don’t come often, but in the spirit of having felt that we had talked on the phone, set up a meeting time and place, and felt that we would be alright after all, i wished that today. that’s good enough for now.

p.s. here is the article i mention above, but be warned, it's not consequential enough to even warrant a read, imo https://organizing.work/2021/01/you-cant-win-without-a-fight-why-worker-cooperatives-are-a-bad-strategy/?fbclid=IwAR07R1hJogQ8cemiH9vZfLbSOJa6AnoCufPTeEG-QzzpDW_X3Qt2h8tZm9Y

[aircoil50]

Do Not Use your Cell phone in Sociable Environments

Is incredibly common for all of us to use somebody else's cellphone also to be each of our very first time. In doing so , were looking to duplicate that initial sense of independence a mobile phone provides. A family member in another express was in the hospital. It was a Saturday nighttime, and I have been invited into a party. Rather than being away having fun I was sitting in my apartment, waiting for the phone to call, restless for reports. It was a pal who lend me his cell phone to make certain I will understand any reports as soon as possible, and in addition, be able to go to the get together. Obviously there was no reason for myself to be connected to my own landline. My spouse and i look backside at that occasion, and in addition in wondering at how gracious my good friend was in loaning me his phone intended for the night (who would volunteer their cell phone away these days? ), I actually couldn’t has stopped being amazed at the freedom this cellular phone gave me. I was able to step out and be cultural - although still becoming accessible at the same time. This is the kind of freedom cellphones provide. But today our telephones are about much more than audio communications, and they are will no longer an optionally available possession. They are integrated into our lives in ways not really their creators thought. But screen period is the fresh sitting in a office chair for hours at a time, which I happen to concur is a awful thing. I have a standing table and it’s been a life-changer. In a time when we are electronically connected nowadays, yet sense even more disconnected than ever before, we are being taught, even admonished, to reduce each of our dependence on cell phones. To limit our amount of time in front of monitors, to put the telephone down and still have a real discussion with an individual, in the flesh. Avoidance of products and display screen time has become becoming a luxurious item; to be able to disconnect from your phones to get an extended time period bestows a status that a lot of us can’t find the money for or attain. Get it done, we are told, for your sanity if not humankind, and also for your neck: regularly looking down at your cellphone strains the lower back, that leads to all kind of physical soreness. I’ve actually experienced recurring stress symptoms with my hand from excessive scrolling, and i also could vow my forearm sometimes is painful in a strange place in the event I’ve employed my mobile phone for too long. Nevertheless is usually using our cell phones a lot really so bad? Does being addicted to each of our phones genuinely disconnect all of us from other folks as much we think? Are not generally there rewards for the actions that occupy us while we are clutched to our cell phones? When we use our phones, perhaps there is something we are missing that we would be carrying out otherwise? We get a lot out of using my own cell phone, so no, Dont really want to place it down. The answer is not to be socially shamed in to using my cell phone fewer. The solution is to be sure cellphone use is hard to kick and beneficial and entertaining, not a distraction coming from boredom or perhaps isolating you from cultural or professional settings. The key is to be deliberate and aware about how youre using your phone, not whether you’re using it at all or perhaps too much. Each of our minds will be constantly operating, processing each of our many thoughts, worries, concerns, plans. We really need a distraction from everything, but at times, life is not so clear cut. Take those movies. We go, nearly exclusively, into a movie theater using a strict simply no phones, no texting insurance plan. They will chuck your rear end out when you use a mobile phone in the theater. However when I was having a friend, in which theater, who was being endlessly texted by his partner. As it happens her mother is at critical well being trouble. This individual wound up leaving the movie to organize to go to the airport. As wonderful as a continuous movie encounter is, it doesn’t trump emergencies when they arise. Few experiences with some other person will be as romantic and connecting as a shared meal. (Hang on, I’ll get to sexual intercourse in a day. ) If perhaps there was at any time a moment once you would need to bond with another individual, directly, eye to eye, without distraction, it would be over a food. Yet, much like everything, there may be exceptions. Imagine if, over the course of the conversation, you begin referring to taking a trip together, or perhaps about countrywide parks, or perhaps about decreasing in numbers species? Looking up photos showing your companion can add to the conversation. Quickly Googling a well known fact or reference point can help inside your argument. Writing a social networking post you found provocative, interesting or perhaps important could be a launching point of a chat. In those occasions, you aren’t distancing yourself or putting something among you and another person, you are sharing your thoughts. Believe me, sharing can be a good factor. What Im not arguing is that the both of you should be taking a look at Facebook, individually, without interesting together. What I am stating is that your phone can be a conduit, a guide, a personal resource intended for source material, to bring and help the talk. In the event the focus continues to be on the both of you, the smart phone is a prop. If the focus is usually centered on the phone, the gadget is the main seduction and you’ve dropped bond. The previous is wonderful, these is not really. All of our phones are a device. Just how all of us choose to use this device is actually give them all their benefit. One could think the past place you would want cellular phone distraction could be the bedroom. On the surface, two people lying down in bed following to each other, every with cell phones in their hands, all but neglecting each other, feels like one of the most gloomy, soul-hurting scenes one may easily think of modern life. Nevertheless would it be naturally negative? If I’m reading the New York Times, what does it matter if perhaps I’m examining the actual paper or the digital version in the cellphone? If I’m checking e-mail, what does it subject if I possess a notebook computer or mobile phone? If I’m practicing games or otherwise distracted, what does it matter if I am browsing a book of playing some game? https://www.macworld.com/article/3278585/apple-smartphone-addiction-ios-12.html And besides, would not we occasionally glamorize studying in bed together? I love studying books, and discover it kind of hot my partner will too. Carrying out that during sex together, after that talking about what we’re browsing, is a great intellectual turn-on. So with all due admiration to plenty of experts, in this case, the medium can be not the message. What matters here is not the device itself, but the activity you’re engaged in, either jointly or separately. There can still be togetherness when two people are on their very own phones, in the same way there is when ever reading books. Their challenge arises when utilization of a phone changes something, or triggers a split up when a point of interconnection would otherwise take place. Might removal of your mobile phones from understructure mean more sex? Maybe. Should likewise lead to somebody getting out of bed faster in the morning hours, or perhaps sleeping faster at night. And while we’re while having sex, did you know that through your phone, you can watch video clips? Or perhaps look at photos of…. what ever it can be that arouses you? Or work with applications intended to foster discussion or activity with a loving partner? The product is a device. It is present without inherent judgment, qualities or worth. What we label of it is about us. Must i really need to tell you this? Certainly there are times when you must absolutely hardly ever touch your smartphone, beginning, certainly, with traveling.

(Guilty as incurred: I often use the Roadmaps programs on my phone to assist me acquire where I’m going. It isn’t really so straightforward, is it? ) I think religious services must be device-free areas, as should particular spaces, like gym bathroom rooms, where privacy needs to be respected. I have a distaste for those who use all their phone at the health club; I don’t need to hear your company calls while I’m lifting weights. On the other hand, I realize a lot of persons using work out and workout applications on the smartphone, demonstrating the point, that once more, these kinds of mini-pc systems within our pockets will be what we label of them. If you’re among those individuals that attend a live performance and insist on documenting video clips and shooting photographs the complete time, I actually ask how most of that is important. Experiencing the moment in time for yourself, not merely through a device, is highly recommended. But…. have got I ever watched live concert footage on YouTube taken by someone else? Yes, I've. Just a few years back I was for a field hockey game with my Dad. I have been in the habit of checking Myspace during games to follow along with the city of followers and mass media to help boost my experience of the game, also to know more about the fact that was going on. And that’s perfect for when watching in the home. But I had been there. My spouse and i didn’t need that network - I had been with twenty, 000 persons, and my father. Thus I set my mobile phone in my pocket sized. I missed the discourse. I skipped the details of items I didn’t see because live, you miss more than you think. Nevertheless I was able to soak inside the setting. I had been able to talk to my Dad as to what we believed would happen following. And later, during the night, when we mentioned the game, we all reflected in so many different moments, details I would have missed had We looked at my personal smartphone even more. So there is always a trade off. You will discover moments when your smartphone may distract you. That frenzymadness, desperation, hysteria, mania, insanity, delirium, derangement can be a poor thing (when you should be talking with a liked one) or possibly a good thing (when you’re miserable and alone and want something to cheer you up). It can detach you (when you avoid another person simply by diving in social media) or provide you with together (if you look up a joke to share or make use of your cellphone to turn on music to dance to). Let us not keep our products responsible for the human condition. A couple, lovers, let’s say, laying in bed. In one moment, they are both on their cell phones, lost inside their own sides. In the next, their very own phones happen to be off, for the bedside stand. What happens next? Anything can occur. It’s up to the two people included. That’s true whether you have your phone in your hand or not. And if you do, in addition, you choose using your telephone: in a disconnecting way or possibly a sharing way. If you’re feeling bad or guilty about being on your own phone, you know what you should perform. You are required to trust your instincts. Is undeniably critical to keep the person holding the cellphone liable, do not blame the product.

[purge-that-urge-rhackathon]

you're wonderful in every conceivable way, I love both your general blog content and tireless posting of your own creative content - I have literally read every single one of your borderlands fics like 100 times each. No pressure or guilt-trip intended, as a writer I fully appreciate the effort I'm asking of you, but also jsyk my heart will explode soonish without injection of chapter 11 of All Sales Final

AHAHAHAH ILU ANON

and thank you this does kind of light a fire under my butt ahaha xD Here’s my dilemma: i really want to start writing that chapter of All Sales Final, but i’m in the zone with Broken Bonds atm, and (like ya’ll reading both) i’m getting whiplash from fun/cool/neato!Jack and total dickhead!jack xD i can keep the stories separate in my head, but i dont want the train to run out of steam, so to say xD (also thank you for this moment to kind of like…talk about myself and general plans, to inform others about whats going on hahaha).

I am, however, at the point where I wanted both stories to be updated to the same chapter count (because i was writing both at the same time and wanted to update them at the same time too :D) SOOOO perhaps i’ll settle and do a big outline for Broken Bonds for me to faithfully follow (and keep myself in line) and also get All Sales Final content arranged the same way :D That way i might be able to stick to a schedule and motivation and script, so to speak xD

….i also though, honestly, dont know where im going with All Sales Final after the heat chapter(s?) so im a little concerned (i mean i know endgame, but yeah). Feedback with Broken Bonds has been awesome and detailed, so it’s helping me put more things/flesh more stuff out into that fic content wise, but All Sales Final hasn’t necessarily been the same in terms of that, and as i’ve said multiple times, i am a freakin’ talentless hack; i rely so hard on input to see what vibes/ideas are being picked up, and it helps me write faster when i need to get it out xD

SO i have the weekend off, maybe i can get some of that shit done :D I’m trying to run around getting house stuff done, i’m paying off my younger sister to help me clean out my car and organize my closet/watch my poor dying fish :( AND i need to do my taxes and also help her with hers. so im getting shit done, and maybe that can be it :D

Just an FYI to folks out there: i might end up doing a content dump with no tags again just to stay ahead on keeping this blog fresh and updated (and i like to expose everyone’s work as well, and i really havent had time to read fic which isnt fucking fair, thank you life xD) and i feel bad for not leaving any tagged comments (cuz theyre fun as hell to read and mean a LOT to content creators like myself) but i figure, this blog has a lot of followers, better to get the content out and exposed than sit on it and not, right? with my apologies for no fun tags, of course D: i know it’s hypocritical to bitch about tags and then not do it myself :/

—> I can reblog with tags and keep the blog’s heartbeat normal, or leave it fallow until i content-dump, and write fic. But i can’t do both, I just don’t have the time, it takes hours to write an update. Think an hour per 1k/2 pages.

And it does get discouraging sometimes, the lack of tasty feedback for the hours put in that could be spent doing taxes/laundry/fixing my car/sleeping.

So…thats my dilemma ahahaha xD

[the-elf-mahat]

Solace

(( A sort of sequel/”one year later” companion piece to Solstice, the first IC story I posted on this blog. A lot has changed since then, for both me and Mahat, almost all of it for the better. We’ve both been moving from just surviving to actually living life, and it’s a rough journey sometimes, but having friends along for the ride makes all the difference. Special shout-out to @coldwall-collective, all you nerds are my family and I love you and you’re gonna have to live with that. Thank you also to all of you who have taken the time to get to know ‘Hat in game, or to read the stories here on Tumblr. It means so, so much to me. I hope you all have a beautiful and bright New Year. ))

-music-

It was the longest night of the year, and Mahat wasn't alone.

They made their way up the mountainside together, the three of them—two dark-sighted elves helping along a small, half-human child when the path grew rocky and steep. Their progress was much slower than the last time she had come this way by herself, but Mahat didn't feel the need to rush a single moment of it. She kept looking back over her shoulder and smiling at her two most beloved: the tall elven man, lean and strong, long white hair dripping over his shoulders like moonlight while silvery stubble did nothing to hide the crooked grin on his face, and the little girl holding his hand, bouncing and bubbly even at that late hour, her dark curls as abundant as her eager questions.

“Are we a'most there? Have you ever been 'ere, Mister Jaoyn? I en't gone cuz Mum said I were too small an' couldn't make the climb but I'm a really good climber now, see? I kin almos' do it all by m'self! What kind o' tree is that? D'you like countin' stars, Mister Jaoyn?” Her sweet, fluting voice flowed around and over Jaoyn's softly amused answers, as easily as a creek over stones, darting from one subject to the next with barely a pause for breath.

Eventually, the terrain leveled out, before dipping them into the small, deep bowl of a clearing. There was a lake at the center, black and gleaming like obsidian under the night sky, while the rest of the crevice was lush with mountain grasses and moss, sheltered from the winds by the high rock walls. The trio unrolled a thick wool blanket onto the ground and curled up together, Saera in the middle while Jaoyn and Mahat framed her like parentheses.

They lay like that for a long time, watching the stars drift by above them, telling each other stories about the things they saw in the sky. Jaoyn gave his rendition of a Tarauhe legend about how the moon fell in love with a white stag, and Mahat recited an ancient tale about a sky goddess that no one else in the world would ever remember. Saera, meanwhile, regaled the adults with the exciting adventures of her stuffed rabbit Ham and her rag doll Paedru, as they set out to steal a star for their very own and ended up jousting with an ill-tempered dragon and answering riddles set for them by a harpy queen, before finally succeeding in their quest and coming home just in time for a crucial tea party.

“Saera...” Mahat said cautiously, as the story drew to its close. “I 'ave a question fer ye.”

Sensing in her mother's tone that this would be a Very Important Grown-Up Question, the girl immediately sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap, nodding solemnly, her grey eyes wide with interest. Mahat covered her mouth briefly to hide a smile, before collecting herself once more.

“I know ye an' Jaoyn is still getting' 'quainted wi' each other, but I reckon ye two is on th' way ta bein' good friends, eh?” Identical eager nods from the man and the child greeted her statement, and she almost lost her composure to laughter again. “Aye, an' I feel th' same abou' th' both o' ye. Matter o' fact, I love both o' ye ver' much.” She took a breath to steady herself, hoping against all evidence to the contrary that this, all of this, was the right thing to do. “I asked Jaoyn ta marry me. Wha' d'ye think abou' tha'?”

Saera's expression crumpled in sorrow and Mahat felt her heart seize in her chest. “But he's no' my da!”

“Oh, love—nay, nay, 'e en't but--” Mahat reached out to her daughter without thinking and plunged onwards, trying to ignore the churning in her gut and the stricken look on Jaoyn's face. “But I swear, 'e loves ye an' me both, jes' as much as yer da e'er did. I bloody—I miss yer da like crazy, ev'ry damn day an' I know ye do too. But ye know… y'know 'e wouldn' want us t' stay sad an' lonely f'ever, eh?” Her voice softened as Saera's lips quivered and her eyes swam with held-back tears. “There, love… 's all righ'… nobody's fergettin' yer da, or replacin' 'im… there's more'n enou' love in my 'eart fer ye an' him an' Jaoyn too, an' I reckon… if ye look, ye'll find there's more'n enou' in yers too. Ye didn't stop lovin' Ham jes' cuz Jaoyn gave ye Paedru, eh?” The child sniffled heavily and shook her head. “Aye, 'course no', e'en though ye love Paedru too, jes' as much. It'll be like tha'. Ye'll always 'ave yer da wi' ye, watchin' o'er ye, bein' a part o' ye. Ye won't lose 'im—neither o' us will, I promise. We's jes' lucky, ye an' I, cuz we found one more person we kin love, who loves us.”

Saera wavered, looking hopeful but still hesitant. Jaoyn spoke up then, hastening to soothe the child even through his own worry and mild horror at her reaction to the news. “Miss Saera, everything your mother says is true. Your father… I never met him, but it's clear he loved you and your mother very, very much. I would never—I would hate for you to think I wanted to steal him from you, in some way. All I want is for you and your mother to be happy and safe… and to be there to make sure of it.” His odd, gentle formality seemed to sway the little girl, and she nodded slowly.

“I think—you're nice, Mister Jaoyn. I don't think you would do mean things or try an' steal my da. I think Mum loves you a lot an' Ham an' Paedru both like you and think you're funny.” Saera gained some confidence as she spoke, though she was still a bit unsteady and the tears in her eyes hadn't entirely vanished. “Um. I would like it ver' much if you married my mum. But if you en't my da then wha' is ye?” Her brow furrowed in deep concern.

“Whatever you'd like me to be, Miss Saera… an uncle perhaps… or simply Jaoyn,” the man replied, meeting her gaze with equal gravity.

“I have a uncle a'ready,” she said dismissively, before brightening suddenly, the tips of her half-elven ears flicking up to peep through her mass of curls. “Oh! You can be my an'da.” She used the Darnassian word for “father” blithely and firmly, as though that settled the matter. Jaoyn and Mahat exchanged a brief look of desperate relief—was it really just that simple?--before the girl spoke up again. “Does tha' mean we kin live t'gether, Mum? Like we used ta? Like a, a family?” She was nearly breathless with excitement all of a sudden, her eyes gleaming in the night almost as brightly as a true Kaldorei's.

Mahat felt the back of her throat drop out and her insides plummeting into endless void. “N-nay… nay, lass. No' yet. It en't safe--” Her voice was dry as the dust of a tomb as she watched the shining hope in her daughter's face twist itself into despair and then an instant later, furious anger.

“Why no’?!” Saera shrieked, eyes welling with tears once again. “Ye said—you said—he loves us! He wants to keep us safe, an', an' happy! We should be happy an' we should be together! It en't fair!” The child's howl of grief echoed off the canyon walls, cutting into Mahat deeper than most knives she'd felt.

“It en't, it en't, y'right love...” Mahat mumbled, trying to keep from cracking to pieces while her daughter needed help, needed her to be strong. “There's nothin' 'bout this tha's fair, an' ye kin be angry, ye 'ave ev'ry right t' be angry, at—at th' world, at me—I's sorry, I's so damn sorry, I's doin' ev'rythin' I kin--” Her voice cracked on a harsh sob just as strong arms settled around her shoulders and pulled her in close.

“It's all right, my love,” Jaoyn murmured in her ear, holding her tightly as she clutched at his shirt and struggled to calm her erratic breathing. It was only a moment, but it was enough, the kiss he pressed to her forehead centering her, making the world swim back into focus. She squeezed his hand gratefully and glanced at Saera, who seemed about an inch and a half away from total meltdown herself, only momentarily stalled as her rage vied with concern for her clearly stricken mother.

Jaoyn nodded in understanding, and gently released Mahat, turning his focus to Saera. “Indeed, it's all right to be angry, Miss Saera. Sometimes it's even good to be angry, because it helps us fight against the bad things. But sometimes you get angry and there's no bad things around to fight, so you know what I do then?” he asked conspiratorially, drawing a suspicious yet curious headshake from the girl. “I fight a tree.”

Saera let out a stifled little giggle, and Jaoyn widened his eyes and waggled his ears in exaggerated emphasis. “It's true! Them barky sorts have to be taught a lesson, always lookin' down on us shorter folks. I go out and give 'em a proper beatdown, even though they try to fight back by puttin' all their splintery bits in my knuckles.” He offered her his hand, rife with the callouses and scars of millenia, a stark, massive contrast to her tiny, soft palms. “In fact, I think I spy an aspen gettin' all snobbish on the other side of the lake. Come help me show it what's what?”

The child nodded eagerly, getting to her feet and scrubbing the moisture from her eyes. Hand in hand, they headed off to fight the trees, Jaoyn shooting Mahat a soft, encouraging smile over his shoulder as they went.

Mahat couldn't help but smile in return, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them tight as she watched the two figures recede into the distance. “I do no' deserve tha' man...” she whispered wryly to her knees, her panic ebbing away as her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace—until it was sent spiking by a too-familiar voice in her head.

“Damn righ' ye don't.”

“Fuck off,” Mahat growled, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. She didn't need this too. Not tonight.

“Ye always need me. 'Specially t'night. Wha' th' fuck is ye thinkin'? Playin' houses like a damn schoolgirl? Ye know 'ow this story ends, 'ow it always ends.”

“It don't always 'ave t' end th' same.”

“Sure it does, an' ye know it. Ye's on'y lyin' ta y'self by pretendin' diff'rent.”

“Sometimes lies become th' truth when they's believed in hard enou',” Mahat murmured, weary but still defiant. “Ye weren' born wha' ye is. Ye made y'self—ye lied t' yerself abou' wha' ye was 'til it became true. I kin do th' same.”

There was a bark of cruel laughter in her mind. “Ye think ye kin lie yer way inta bein' a good person? Fool y'self inta bein' a lover, bein' a fuckin' mother? Y'stupider'n I thought. Tha' kinda shite's beyond us.”

“Beyond ye. But I en't ye.”

“Aye, so y'keep sayin'. But 's jes' another lie ye tell y'self, eh? Elsewise… why en't ye tried ta get rid o' me, if y'so sure I's summat other'n ye?”

“It en't poss'ble.”

“Horseshite. Ye en't tried. Ye know all manner o' fancy magic spooks an' mindfuckers, y'tellin' me ye don' think a single one o' 'em cou' do summat? Don' bother lyin', I know th' truth. Ye's scared. Ye know if ye lose me, ye lose y'self. An' th' damn irony is, ye's gonna lose y'self one day anyway. One day soon, when yer playhouse comes crashin' down around y'ears.”

Mahat bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood, her vision going red at the corners. “Shut y'fuckin' mouth.”

The other voice turned suddenly, absurdly, gentle and earnest. “'S th' both o' us t'gether, love, an' tha's all we'll e'er 'ave. Bes' accept tha', accept us, afore ye lose summat else y'held close an' then lose y'mind entirely. Ev'ryun else kin break. Ev'ryun else kin die. From th' greatest t' th' smallest...” A child's cry carried across the dark water of the lake, and Mahat bolted upright, every sense and instinct frozen in place by a bolt of perfect, horrifying fear.

It was a laugh, she realized a second later. She could see the two figures in the distance under the aspen tree. Jaoyn had punched the trunk and was miming a dramatically pained reaction, and Saera was cackling in delighted laughter, her tears and anger forgotten. Mahat dropped back down to the blanket and curled in on herself, adrenaline making her heart pound and her shoulders shake. The rush faded quickly, leaving her numb and empty, but when Jaoyn and Saera returned, she folded the latter swiftly in her arms and leaned back into the other's embrace.

The three of them cuddled together on the blanket again, Mahat in the center this time. Jaoyn kissed her neck and softly stroked her hair as she whispered an apology to Saera, who accepted with sleepy amiability, yawning and burrowing into her mother's side like a heat-seeking kitten. Fighting to crawl from beneath the shadow of her fear, Mahat found herself emerging into starlight, surrounded by love and comfort, suspended in a moment that was untouchable, inviolable by whispers, by lies, by secrets. It didn't matter who she was, or who she'd been. The past was an echo and the future a question; only the present, only that moment, was real.

Saera murmured a request for a song, a lullaby that had always been her favorite. Mahat's lips parted, voice hesitant and creaking with emotion at first, slowly building to something smooth and strong and sweet. Jaoyn knew the song, she'd sung it to him before, and his warm baritone voice came rolling in, supporting her and filling out the lower notes. Saera let out a happy sigh, radiating peace and contentment as she drifted off. Mahat soaked in that peace, drowning her fears and her senses, relishing it like the Light itself.

It was the longest night of the year, and she wasn't alone.