#i'm exhausted from working so hardly any editing

[readychilledwine]

The Ruining of Seraphina

Summary - Seraphina should have known better than to make a bet against her mate. Especially when losing that bet means being free use for the Inner Circle for a week.

Warnings - all of them, this is a free use open relationship fic. Loose editing 💕 if you squint, there are no errors.

Prompt - Day 7 - Free Day

A/N - I know. You've all been waiting for this one. Happy last @polyacotarweek post! Please keep in mind while reading this, this is both kink and CNM, but the two do not always go together. The smut happens fast, but I tried to keep it enjoyable since this goes through a week, day by day, of Sera being used by the IC. I am willing to expand on any of these days, so I wanted them to be vague yet enticing enough for all of you that the filth was accomplished. For obvious reasons, Elain is not included. It would be super odd to have Sera hooking up with her brother's mate as Azriel watched.

I wrote this with the idea of Sera finding sexual freedom through an open relationship based on other polyamorous people and couples. Being in a CNM relationship can be liberating for someone who grew up with a very strict background, and she felt perfect for this.

💕Poly+Acotar Week Masterlist💕

“Azriel, I hardly know what this means.” Azriel kissed Seraphina’s palm, leaning It against his face as he smiled up at her.

“For a week, the inner circle will be able to use you however they want when they want. You said you wanted to fuck all of them, here's your chance, my flame.”

You bit, nodding, “And you will be there for all of it?”

“Only if you need. Open relationship, baby, we talked about this.”

“I want you there. Sometimes.”

“Then tug the bond in those instances.”

Monday was the first day it began, and to Sera's surprise, Morrigan was the first to enter her and Azriel's room. She wasted no time, pouncing on Sera and dominating her in a passionate kiss.

Sera smiled as her kissed trailed lower nipping at her lip slightly. “Top or bottom?”

“I've ever laid with another female before. I'm at your disposal, Mor.” She watched the blonde's eyes roll before she forced Sera onto her back. Mor situated herself on Seraphina's face, and instinct took over.

The position was so familiar to her, she replicated the movements she begged Azriel for, pushing her tongue into a tight opening, nose nudging her sensitive clit.

Morrigan was beautiful, but she knew now why her and Eris would never work, and the proof was leaking onto her face, tasting like honey with every drop.

Her hands squeezed Mor's ass and the message was received. Mor took control, hand tangling into red hair as she rode Sera's face.

She made the prettiest noises. Soft breathy moans that shot straight to Sera's core, soaking the bed below her.

In what felt like too short of a time, Mor fell apart on her face, plush lips parting into a silent scream as she did and leaned into the headboard.

She took a few breaths before laying next to Sera. “I really needed that.”

The Autumn female blinked. “You can have it any time.”

Tuesday she woke to fingers in her cunt and a tongue on her clit.

Nesta was, in Seraphina’s mind, the picture perfect female, and as she leaned forward on her elbows, moaning her name as her body began to shake, Nesta just smiled.

The female did not let up for hours, her face was constantly buried between long silky legs, finger in her cunt, mouth whispering to her about the filthy novel she was reading with two female characters.

It led to them covered in sweat, Sera on her hands and knees as Nesta and Azriel were kissing above her. She had her lips around Azriel, sucking him in time with thrusts from Nesta's strap on.

The strap was thick, faked veins running along her soft core and hitting every possible spot. Sera was whining around Azriel, body exhausted and overstimulated from countless orgasms from Nesta.

She came screaming, Azriel following her over the edge as she did. Nesta seemed to find completion as well, nails digging into the other female's ass as she did.

The three of them laid together in the bed, Seraphina reading the novel as Nesta and Azriel spoke. They began to laugh as her face flushed, “Don't act all innocent when I just fucked you with a strap on.”

Wednesday she was cornered by Rhys and Feyre after dinner. The High Lady smiled, pulling her into the room before pushing her on the bed.

For the second time that week, Sera enjoyed a female on her face, moaning as the taste of Feyre hit her tongue. The High Lady was not shy, chasing her own desires as Azriel and Rhysand watched whiskey in hand. The males were all smiles, watching the two of them as Feyre then leaned forward, returning the favor.

It was almost hard to focus, nerves being stimulated while she desperately wanted Feyre to cum for her, but she powered through, loving every second of Feyre's fingers and tongue.

They came at the same time, making both males lose a bet and allowing Feyre to then schedule a time with Azriel for a foursome later, a foursome you eagerly agreed to.

Thursday was a night alone with 3 males carved by Gods. Rhysand had taken her first, finding her in the shower and fucking her until she screamed. He buried himself inside of her as he came, biting her hard before carrying her out to her bedroom. Azriel and Cassian were already on the bed. The shadowsinger was sucking Cassian's cock, watching from hooded eyes as the general moaned for him. Rhysand laid you next to Cass, “Do you want more, or do you want to be forced to watch?” Lost whiskey eyes, blinked back at him, compliant to anything he would want. “You are just a little fuck doll, aren't you?”

Sera used to laugh when Nesta would make jokes about wanting to fuck Eris, Cassian, and Azriel at the same time. “I have three holes,” Lady Death would always smile as she said. Now she understood, and she would confirm to Nesta to take the opportunity if it ever arrived.

Friday morning, Rhys had been long gone, but she woke up to the sound of Azriel's moans. Cassian, the most eager male she had ever met, was between Azriel's legs, sucking his cock. Her mate's eyes were screwed shut, breathing heavy as his hand found Cassian's hair. The general motioned to her mate's wings, and Sera obliged immediately.

She licked the soft membrane, fingers delicately tracing the ridge. “You've been so generous for me this week. Isn’t it your turn, Azzy? Don't you want to cum for Cassian?” Her mated nodded eagerly, pulling her into a heated kiss.

Her and Cassian played with Azriel for hours, not stopping until they were all drenched in sweat and exhausted.

The three of them had dinner alone, Sera telling them about Nesta's fantasy and giving her mate permission to pursue, but not touch her older brother further than kissing.

Saturday was spent with Amren. The ancient being has no interest in her sexually, but they still spend the Day together. Amren wanted to study her powers, believing there had to be more to the female for her to have been with such a powerful male by the Cauldron.

She was correct, but Amren kept it to herself, not wanting to speak of what she discovered, nor how Seraphina scent changed when Amren cut her. No, she'd save that secret for another time.

Sunday was spent with just Azriel, his body desperate for hers, he had warded the door, wrapping her legs around his waist as he fucked her slow and deep, relishing in each breathy whisper of his name.

Sharing her had been fun, but the male had been jealous all week, almost territorial as he her heard moaning another's name. They had both wanted to try an open relationship, and they had both loved it, but they found their limitations.

Azriel groaned as Sera tightened around him, her back arching her breasts into him. “So good, Sera,” she whimpered at his praise, legs wrapping tighter as she lifted her hips more. “I've heard all week how delicious you are, you know that?” She whined as he hit the spot no one had found all week. “But who fucks you best?”

“You.”

His pace picked up, now slamming into that same spot until her vision began to blur with tears. “Who's Mate are you?”

“Yours.”

She could feel that familiar edge. Azriel always brought her to approaching, head buried in his neck as it did, and nails clawing into his back. “Cum. Cum for me, Sera.”

And she did, body so worn and sensitive from endless fucking that she came, moaning and crying his name over and over like a prayer. He spilled into her, biting her neck as he did to leave a bruise, marking his territory and who she belonged to.

He collapsed above her, forearms falling next to her face. He placed soft kisses on her cheekbones, nose, and then lips, smiling as he did. “Good week?”

“The best.”

“Feelings on keeping our relationship open?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Gods, yes.”

“I think so too.”

"You've ruined me, you know that?

Azriel kissed her shoulder. "Ruined you or freed you?"

"Freed," she said slowly. "I think you've freed me. Having no limitations on sex is-"

"Liberating?"

She nodded, kissing him again. "Liberating."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Poly+ACOTAR Week Taglist

@amara-moonlight @toporecall @littlestw01f @prettylittlewrites @anuttellaa @nayaniasworld @123345566

[dearchloe]

one big appy family

All characters are 18+

I was exhausted. Just back from my first term at university, wiped out from a long day of travel by a succession of trains, all of which had been either cancelled, delayed, or moved to a platform at the other end of the station at the last moment, I wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed from the moment I got home. Instead, I had to fend off a round of interrogatories from my parents and neighbours, pretend to be sociable as far into the evening as I could manage, tell them all the same (sanitised) freshers' week stories that they'd already heard twice before, and choke my way through a three course meal before finally being allowed to retreat to the sanctuary of my childhood bedroom and disappear under the covers into blessed oblivion.

It lasted, by my reckoning, about two hours.

I woke suddenly, the house in darkness and quiet at last, and stared into the black void that was my room, such an adjustment now after the past months of thin curtains above city-bright streets. For a moment, I wondered why I had returned to the land of the waking — and then a part of the darkness shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, and I knew, and I sighed internally at what was no doubt soon to come.

"What is it, Vicky?"

My sister came closer, sitting uninvited on the edge of the bed. "Erin?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. But I swear to god, if you've woken me up just to tell me that..."

"No, I didn't."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm wet."

Like a lot of people, I had to help look after my sister when I was growing up.

Unlike a lot of people, it was my older sister.

To anyone else, this would be strange. To me, it was simply my family.

"Let's see." Reluctantly, I pulled myself upright and leaned forwards, giving Vicky's nappy a good squeeze through the fluffy fabric of her pyjamas. She simply sat there, unresisting. "You'll last till morning. Get back to bed."

"But Erin! I'm gonna leak!"

"Keep your voice down."

"My bed will get all wet!"

"And I'll end up cleaning it, and probably bathing you as well, so what do you care?"

She whined. "It's yucky!"

"Bed. Now. I'm tired."

"But Erin..."

I clicked on my bedside light. "Victoria Drover. Just because I've been away, do you think the rules have changed?"

"... No."

"So what do you absolutely not do at night?"

"... Get out of bed."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Vicky?"

"But... But I need..."

"No, you don't." I put out a hand and grabbed my phone from the bedside table, and my sister suddenly assumed an expression of total panic.

"Erin... Erin, please... I'll be good..."

"Should have thought of that before." I opened my phone and flicked through the apps, looking for one I hadn't used in a while. When I was at home, the tracker app that the family used to keep tabs on Vicky's needs and behaviours lived at the top of my Most Used list. The rest of the time, I hardly opened it.

I ignored Mum's latest nursing stats on the Food tab and clicked into Sleep instead. As Vicky watched, bouncing from one foot to the other with nerves, I found the point where Mum had registered her as going down for the night, opened the entry, and edited the end time. Then I put my phone down on the covers and looked up at my older sister.

"Ok, Victoria. I'm going to put you back to bed, and if you go down ok for me, I'll write that you had a nightmare and I got you back to sleep. If you're going to give me a hard time, I'll write down what really happened. And your sleep stats don't look too good this month, do they?"

Mum kept a religious watch on Vicky's sleeping, feeds, and nappies, helped by the comprehensive recording service offered by the app. If any one of them didn't come up to scratch, she had a range of unpleasant methods of correcting it. For sleep, the answer was usually to put my sister on a newborn schedule — eighteen hours a day, more or less only interrupted for feeds and changes. But that was a hell of a lot of work for anyone involved, and I wasn't too proud to save myself the effort if it was possible.

My sister sighed. "Fine."

"If you're good, I'll change you first thing tomorrow." I glanced down at her records. "Though I think you're overdue to make a stinky nappy for us, so you might want to work on that."

"Night, Erin."

"Night, Vicky. Sleep well."

"Sleep wet, more like."

[roomwithanopenfire]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks to @monbons and @rimeswithpurple for tagging me! I don't always do the WIP Wednesday posts but I've been writing a lot this week, so I kind of want to share!

I'm finally almost done writing the second chapter of my COBB fic, I only have one scene left to write. I told myself these chapters would be less than 5k, but the second one is nearly 7k now so whoops. Here's a tiny contextless snippet from that (convo between Fiona and Baz):

“Tell him that rats aren’t so bad. It’ll be bad enough if the Coven finds out I’m with any vampire, let alone one that’s not a vegetarian.”

I scoff. “Can’t be a vegetarian if you drink rat blood.”

“Tell that to the Cullens.”

I had half a mind after that comment to refuse to go on principle (Fiona knows I hate Twilight jokes), but I can’t shake the part of me that wants to ask Nico why.

You can blame (or thank) @m1ndwinder for the Twilight jokes, she's encouraging me. (Also for some reason this is exactly 6 sentences, when I hardly can find exactly 6 for Sundays.)

I'm also working steadily on editing more chapters for Proof of Life! Taking a break from posting so I can get a bit more of a backlog, so if you haven't started reading it, now's your chance! Snippet for this will be under the cut—not because it's spoilery, but because the impact isn't the same without the 37+ words leading up to it. (I should take a page from @monbons's book and forbid you from reading it but 🤷)

I’m halfway under the covers when I realise the window’s open. I reach for my wand and mutter a spell to close it. Snow stiffens when it bangs shut, but he doesn’t get up, simply lays down in his bed, pulling the covers over him.

Maybe he’s forgotten how to be mean to me too.

Exhaustion takes me over, and I sleep with dreams of Snow being nice to me and me being nice to him. 

In my dreams I call him Simon. 

Look everyone!! They're finally going to be in the same room as each other again!! Are we excited for their reunion?? And this snippet is exactly 6 sentences too! I swear I'm not even trying, why doesn't this ever happen to me on Sundays?

Tags + Hellos!!

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee @onepintobean

@artsyunderstudy @prettygoododds @noblecorgi @hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16

@thewholelemon @shrekgogurt @brendughh @a-maisie-ng @fiend-for-culture

@hertragedyconnoisseur @beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @drowninginships

@supercutedinosaurs @cutestkilla @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife @arthurkko

@rbkzz @skeedelvee @bookish-bogwitch

This list keeps getting longer and I'm always afraid I'm going to miss someone 😅 anyone who wants to do it, feel free to tag me whenever, I love seeing these!!

[heliopauseentertainments]

I have a small amount of time today so I can share a piece for WIP Wednesday. Here's a chunk of chapter 4 of Course of Treatment, edited for readability in isolation. Chapter 4 is with the beta reader and I'm currently working on (and struggling with) chapter 5.

No wonder Megatron always looked so tired. He slept like he might be ambushed at any second. Tonight, unfortunately, that fear would be validated. At least a little bit.

Ratchet approached the side of the slab in the dark, navigating by biolights and vague outlines.

Hands up. One deep breath in and out. And another.

He grabbed Megatron by the arm, ignoring the fact for now that he wore the damn cannon to berth like an idiot, and shook him.

“Wake up,” he said, gently at first. When Megatron only groaned in response, Ratchet repeated himself with a bit more volume. “Wake up!”

If he was worried about being ambushed, Megatron wasn’t doing a great job addressing actually being attacked. Groggy grumbling would hardly deter someone who actually wanted to do him harm.

Though, Ratchet considered, it was possible this level of exhaustion was abnormal for Megatron. He didn’t have enough information yet to know for sure.

Optics still off, Megatron awkwardly reached back with one arm and pulled the recharge cables free. They flopped uselessly off the side of the berth, the jacks on the ends clicking together from inertia.

“What is—“

Ratchet let go of him, but still leaned over the berth to inspect his supine “patient.”

“I need to ask you something.”

[zillasafe]

I am literally begging. It's been many, many, MANY moons since the last chapter drop of kegare. My very best amazing lovely friend is genuinely tweaking so I'm here to ask on their behalf PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP (AND SPRINKLES) PLEASEEEEEE CHAPTER PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU ITS CRUCIAL TO THE FREEDOM OF AMERICA OR SOMETHING

OKAY OKAY JUST FOR YOU HERES A SMALL SNIPPET FROM THE UPCOMING CHAPTER (It’s almost done I just need to find the time to wrap it up and edit 😭)

The next several cycles of eat—cable—sleep (Days? Who could possibly know—) passed by in a haze. Well, more of a haze than usual. A bone-deep fatigue had settled within him. He hardly moved, half-asleep and lethargic even as the Others’ auras poked and prodded at him. He was too tired to put up any resistance, to fight back, to even really think. It felt like he was trapped at the bottom of the ocean, miles of water pressing down on top of him.

And even though he had sunk to the ocean floor, there was a deep trench nearby, one that stretched down to the very core of the earth. And something was down there, calling out and writhing and buckling under the pressure of the entire ocean. It screamed incomprehensibly from somewhere down below. Down, down, down, so deep that he could hardly hear it. But he could feel it. And he could feel that it wanted him. He didn’t know how he felt it. He didn’t even know what it was. But he knew it was down there… Down where? The ocean thing was a metaphor, there was no ocean, just pressure. But somehow he knew it was down. Below. Deeper. It was down there, somewhere, and it wanted him.

By the time he regained enough strength to move, he pushed himself up to stagger forward until he hit a wall he couldn’t see. He scrabbled for purchase, fingers scratching uselessly against the plush padding, desperate to get up and away from it. He had to get away, he had to get away, he had to gET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY PLEASE—!!

Exhaustion overtook him within a matter of minutes. He collapsed to his knees and then slumped over onto his side, panting. His weakened body rendered motionless in stark juxtaposition to the fear gripping his heart. It was down there, lurking just out of sight, poised to get him any moment. He laid there, stiff and trembling and resigned to his fate, and waited…

And waited…

And waited.

And waited—

Itchy cloth and rough twine coiled around his arms and torso, yanking him upright. His breath hitched at the sickeningly familiar sensation. Mogami was—no, Rope—who?—was here, binding his limbs with fabric. Almost immediately his mind started working on detaching itself. But no, it was still there, trying to haul itself up from the abyss. It was coming. He couldn’t let it get him. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Shigeo found his voice.

“P-please, please, what is it? What, what is it? Mm—make it stop. S’loud. It’s coming. It’s coming! It wants me! It’s gonna get me! Help!” Despite the urgency, his words were quiet, raspy things. Rope’s telekinesis dragged him away from the wall and into the white nothing. Hands began to poke at his mouth. He jerked his head away with an exasperated yelp. “No! Listen! It’s down there, it wants to get out, it wants me. I feel it, I feel it down there, I feel it!”

Much to his surprise, the Hands froze, and the tightening cloth paused. A brief splash of trepidation leaked through the cracks of Rope’s aura. For a moment, everything was still. There was just the sound of his quickened breath, the squeeze of Rope’s power, and the faint presence of it in the back of his mind. Did… did Rope hear him? Was Rope listening?

[pangolinheart]

(how far did you have to dig to find that post wow lol)

Anyway Lahabrea

[[Actually it wasn't that hard to find! My obsessive tagging system isn't only for forcing my followers to look at huge blocks of text they don't care abou - it's also so I can find posts when I want to go back to them without going through hundreds of pages of reblogs!

Anyway, when I saw this ask I thought this was going to be the hardest pairing to write for... but it was actually one of the easiest. At first I thought the only way to make something work was to do something Hephaistos/Azem, but I still haven't played Endwalker so I wasn't confident in my ability to write for that time period, and based on ambient spoilers it seems like Hephaistos was pretty preoccupied with his wife and child. Then I realized I didn't actually know what Lahabrea really looked like and, well...

I'm not super happy with the way this turned out, but I'm too lazy to edit it again so it's good enough.]]

Send me a character and I'll describe a ship with them and my OC.

Cid | M'zhet | Lahabrea

TW: Dubious consent (implied). Nothing graphic or anything, it's just, um, sketchy as hell.

What are you drinking?” He leaned over the bar, putting his weight on his elbows. He didn’t sit down – not yet. He waited for an invitation.  

The miqo’te perched on the next barstool looked him up and down appraisingly. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Not in the mood to play coy tonight, it seemed. Maybe she had had a rough day.  

He had waited for her to notice him from across the room. And notice she did. Their eyes met and he fancied he could almost hear her thinking to herself: He’ll do. 

“That depends,” She almost purred, “What are you buying?” 

She hadn’t asked him to sit down, but she might as well have. He slid onto the plush velvet seat. This was a nicer place than usual, he noted. A classy little place where respectable people came to get less-than-respectably drunk. Was she celebrating something? Or did she just want a change of scenery? Who could say? He beckoned the bartender over. Wine seemed like it would suit the mood. He ordered something red and expensive – it wasn’t as if money meant much to him, anyway. 

He was an elezen tonight – dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. He usually preferred hyur, but this body had been available and seemed like something she might like. Then again, her tastes were wide and varied.  

Why was he doing this again? 

It was no use asking himself the question. He didn’t have any new answers. He told himself that keeping tabs on this shard’s Warrior of Light was his business, but even he didn’t believe that. This could hardly be called business.  

Maybe it was because she made him feel the echo of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: interest. How long had it been since he was really interested in something? Detachment had been second nature to him for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like.  

And she was interesting for a mortal, at least in some ways. In others she was almost offensively average. And yet there were times she almost seemed… familiar, somehow. Perhaps it was because she was a Warrior of Light. He’d seen plenty of Warriors on plenty of shards; he could hardly be blamed if they all started to blend together. If nothing else, though, she was interesting because of how interested Hydaelyn seemed to be in her. She had expended quite a lot of power to protect her from the might of the Ultima Weapon, after all. With her strength already waning, he couldn’t help but wonder why she had risked exhausting what little of her power remained on this Warrior of Light. 

The bartender returned with two glasses of wine, and he offered one to her. She accepted it with thanks and took a sip, though her gaze never left his. His own traced along the features of her face with which he had become so well-acquainted – her dark eyelashes over her mismatched eyes, the swoop of her bangs across her forehead, the gentle curve of her lips. He smiled, and she smiled back. 

The first time had been an accident, of course. Entirely improvised. It had been shortly after he had possessed one of her colleagues, Thancred, but before he had been able to manufacture a pretense for the man’s absence. He had, of course, watched his vessel closely enough to confidently impersonate him, at least for a short time. He had planned to slowly withdraw from the Scions, until his presence would no longer be missed. A contingency he had not prepared, however, for was Thancred being seized by the Warrior of Light herself and all-but dragged to a dive bar outside of Ul’dah. He had been caught off guard by this turn of events and he was left with no choice but to humor her, drinking and laughing (or at least pretending to) until the early hours of the morning. Fortunately, he doubted she would be able to remember the night clearly enough to recall if he had said or done anything out of character. His grand plan had also failed to account for being pulled into her sleeping chambers upon their return to the Waking Sands, and into bed with her. He had no way of knowing if this behavior was typical and expected or not. He had never seen it happen before, but that didn’t necessarily mean it hadn’t. He was a busy man, after all. So, he had decided in the moment to just… play along.  

It had certainly been a novel experience. 

“So,” He said in the elezen’s low, smooth voice. “Are you here waiting for a friend?” 

She twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. Always so fidgety. “More like looking for one.” 

“Well,” He set his own wine glass back on the bar. “I’d be happy to keep you company while you look.” 

The second time had been… less excusable. 

After the debacle that was Ultima – curse Hydaelyn for her interference! – he had needed time to formulate a new plan. And while he devised his next strategy, he had had little else to do but keep tabs on the Warrior of Light and her companions. 

It was during this time that he had begun to recognize a pattern to her behavior. On a semi-regular basis, usually when she had quarreled with a compatriot or was otherwise upset about something or other, she would seek out an establishment that sold alcohol and spend several hours there, eventually leaving with someone else. A different person each time.  

Having been expelled from the body of Thancred, he had been forced to seek out a new host, presumably yet unknown to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and in his idleness he had begun to wonder… 

Would she even notice? 

She would not, it turned out. At least, she hadn’t yet. And that had been half a dozen times ago, give or take. It had become a fun little game to amuse himself with while he waited for wheels to turn. No round was ever quite the same, and he never used the same guise twice. He tried to vary his selections; different appearances, different origins, different genders. Recently he’d begun branching out into different races, as well (though they might as well all be the same to him). The other unsundered had always nagged him about the frequency with which he discarded his vessels, to which he usually responded that it was hardly his fault these fragments were so breakable and so boring. Not everyone’s scheme could include the industrialized production of clones like Emet-Selch’s did. In the event he hadn’t assumed a new vessel since the last time, though, projecting a different appearance was a small feat for an Ancient of Lahabrea’s caliber.  

He tried a different tact in each iteration, partly to avoid arousing her suspicion and partly because it made the game more interesting. He wasn’t always successful – sometimes she was only in the mood for drinking, other times there was another patron than interested her more than he did, which he found annoying. Once he had even said something that offended her for some reason. He couldn’t remember what it was. Did it really matter? 

She was watching him thoughtfully over the lip of her wineglass. She had half-emptied the glass already. He wondered if that was all it would take tonight. But when she opened her mouth, it wasn’t to invite him somewhere more private. 

“Have we met before? You seem familiar for some reason.” 

The question surprised him, but he didn’t lose his cool, didn’t miss a beat. 

“I shouldn’t think so. You don’t seem like the sort one would have an easy time forgetting,” 

Her grin took on a sly tilt. “Careful. With talk like that one might start to think you’re getting me drunk with ulterior motives,” 

Internally, he sighed with relief, though he didn’t let it touch his face. Instead, he gave her a coy smile and picked up his wineglass for another sip. “Perish the thought! I would hate for you to think me so ungentlemanly,” 

He probably should have stopped after one of her cohorts killed Nabriales. It was no small feat to kill an Ascian, even a sundered soul like his. In fact, he hadn’t even thought the mortals capable of it. Somehow, though, that only made things more interesting. It added the tiniest hint of danger to his little game, and he found he enjoyed it all the more. He had little real cause to worry, of course. Nabriales had been the architect of his own demise.  

Even so, after the last round he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t do it again. 

And had known with unshakeable certainty that he would. 

She set her now empty wineglass on the bar. She had shifted to face him more fully, and he might have missed the way she leaned ever so slightly inward had he not been looking for it. 

“Would you like another glass?” 

She considered it for a moment, or at least pretended to. “Please.” 

“Of course,” He ordered another glass and waited until the barkeep’s errand had taken him safely out of earshot. 

“You know,” he said, surveying her as she had him earlier. “I don’t believe I’ve given you my name.” 

Her lips quirked in a way that he found for some reason endearing. “I don’t believe I’ve asked you for it,” 

He raised his eyebrows in amusement and opened his mouth to respond with some quip or other when he felt someone tap his shoulder. 

He turned in his seat, a bit irritated by the interruption, to see a young Midlander with brooding grey eyes. “May I have a word?”  

He had never seen the man before, but he would recognize his brother anywhere. 

Oh dear. 

How was he going to explain this little caper? He wondered. His previous justifications had barely convinced him, so they certainly wouldn’t convince the Emissary. 

Ah, well. He was sure he would think of something. 

He was, after all, Lahabrea: Speaker of the Convocation. 

Okay in all seriousness this is definitely the most off-the-wall ship I was sent this round. I don't think it would happen, and if it did it would be a total shit-show. It's not necessarily because Lahabrea's a villain - there are of compelling villains ships out there. It's because he's both a villain and not Rhiki's type. He's braggadocios, megalomaniacal, and patronizing (and if there's one connecting thread between all of my characters it's that none of them would up with being condescended to by A Man.) And, for what it's worth, there's not really anything for Lahabrea to like about Rhiki. As an Ascian he's never portrayed as having any interest in or sympathy for mortals. The most any hyur, miqo'te, elezen, etc. could ever aspire to be to Lahabrea is "useful." To be honest, he doesn't really even seem to have any affection for his fellow ascians, though I'm aware there's something of a canonical reason for that. ARR really struggled with creating compelling antagonists, so Lahabrea (and most of the other villains) are painted as just... cartoonishly evil. I'm sure that he's given a lot more pathos in the Pandaemonium raid series, but I haven't played it yet so I can't speak to how well the original Lahabrea would have gotten along with Rhiki/Rhiki's Azem. Really, if you cut out all of the enw backstory, the above is really the only angle I could really see having any legs (as slimy and terrible as those legs are.) In realizing that I didn't know what Lahabrea actually looked like, I also realized that Rhiki has no idea what the real Lahabrea looks like. When I went over all of the times the WoL actually encounters Lahabrea, it dawned on me that the only time Rhiki sees him without his mask... he's Thancred, which is where the idea came from. (TBF to both of them I don't think ARR Rhiki would have had sex with Thancred no matter how shitfaced she was lol. This is just for the sake of exploring the possibilities.) Whether or not Rhiki actually found out about Lahabrea's body-hopping shenanigans is up for debate. I don't necessarily see how she would unless he or Elidibus told her. Lahabrea doesn't seem like he would have any motivation or opportunity to tell her. Elidibus might, if only to make it harder for Lahabrea to do anything stupid that might jeopardize their mission in the future. Obviously, Rhiki would not be pleased to learn this. I don't think any relationship the two of them could have could possibly change the trajectory of the story. The relationship isn't necessarily... romantic in nature. And I doubt there's anything about Rhiki that would make Lahabrea fall so head over heels for her that he would abandon his plans to resurrect Zodiark, which inevitably involves her death. Rhiki has no feelings for Lahabrea (except maybe anger, if she ever found out) but even if she did, she doesn't really have the opportunity to spare his life, since it's Thordan VII that ultimately kills him. BUT this was still a very fun thought experiment! I still apologize for everything that's happened above this point in the post, though. ^^;

[tehuti88-art]

3/22/24: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Sergeant Major Revell (no first name ever given), with peaked cap (top drawing) and with garrison cap (bottom drawing). He's a largely undeveloped character from the previous reboot; pretty much all I know of him is he's antagonistic toward Camo and Drake for some unexplained reason, and seems mentally unstable. Lots of room for development. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, I decided he's a Great War veteran, so gave him some signs of that--facial scars and a prosthetic ear. His eyes are a weird yellowy color and I wanted to give him an unusual fur pattern featuring dark contrasting colors, originally planned to be gold with a black muzzle, but I thought he'd look too much like a German shepherd.

TUMBLR EDIT: Sgt. Maj. Revell appears in the 2002 character list of the first reboot as such:

REVELL: Sergeant-major; Camo's main source of opposition in starting the Trench Rats battalion. Cynical and confrontational; may also be somewhat unbalanced, with his sometimes bizarre behavior. Detests Sgt. Evans for helping Camo out, and takes out his anger on his subordinates. Has been accused of more unsavory acts, which have not been substantiated. Most of the soldiers try to avoid him, not always with success. Appears in prequel

Revell was mainly intended as an obstacle to the creation of the Trench Rats, on the American side. He's the primary reason Gunnery Sgt. Evans ends up having to grant an uneasy favor for Sgt. Irene Beaudry to obtain her support with Maj. Dupries and other higher-ups. Evans, Beaudry, Dupries, and Revell, who appear only in the first part of the first story arc, Genesis (which, weirdly, is the storyline presented second), and MAYBE make a brief appearance at the very end of Reunion or a small appearance in Ultima Thule--meaning they hardly appear in the story as a whole--were thus never really developed. I lost interest in them. Welp, time to dust them all off.

I just went and did a search of a piece of early (undated, likely pre-2000) writing of mine, The Trench Rats: The Beginning, which was an unfinished early version of Genesis, as I thought it made brief reference to Evans and Dupries and their roles, though I don't recall ever writing about Revell. The text actually makes no mention of them, so, I won't include any here. EDIT--ahaha, oh, WAIT. I just now found a major character change! Dupries IS in the text...just that he's named DEVRIES. Somewhere along the way, his name changed! I have no explanation for this, aside from maybe I didn't like the ambiguous pronunciation of "DeVries" (I mistakenly thought it was French--turns out it's Dutch--so in the text I say most people pronounce it "Devree," which appears to be incorrect), so I dumbed it down. I already have a Dupries family in my Manitou Island fiction, so maybe I'll end up changing it back to DeVries. Could use some more Dutch representation in my work. Anyway, he's the only one of these four to be included in the text, and I still won't excerpt any here as it adds nothing to this entry plus it's ferkin' stupid. I apparently never got around to writing about Evans, Beaudry, or Revell, not even in an unnamed fashion. ("DeVries" interacts with a few other unnamed officers in the text but none quite fit Revell's description, and the two sergeants are completely absent.) So, okey-doke, my source texts are now exhausted, so here we go.

Obviously, early on I intended Revell to be mentally unhinged in some way. I'm thinking he could be sort of an American counterpart of the French Champere, who in this newest reboot is suffering from some sort of religious delusions which have made him rather fanatical and influence his decisions. Difference is, Champere genuinely believes he's doing good, and ultimately he aids the Trench Rats, though he's pretty contentious at first and his actions are often contradictory and indecipherable; whereas Revell is just downright spiteful and malicious. He seems to have no moral guidelines, however bizarre, driving his behavior. He is mean and hateful and driven to sabotage everything Sgt. Camo and Cpl. Drake do. As for WHY this is, or what specifically motivates him...I don't know that yet. If he's truly mentally ill, he doesn't even need a reason. That doesn't make for dramatic plot, though, so I'll assume he has a reason, he just hasn't told me what it is yet.

One particular line has stuck in my head; Revell privately corners Drake and in a very soft but grating voice, says right into his face, "Make no mistake. I can put you into the ground...and no one would ever find you." What is the context, exactly, of this quote? I don't know. I can't even say with certainty whether Revell is antisemitic or not, though even if he is, I don't believe that's his primary motivation, as he despises Camo--and by extension, Evans and possibly Dupries--too. For some reason, he does not want the idea of the Trench Rats battalion to go forward, so this involves attempting to intimidate Drake (who is rattled, yet tries brushing it off).

I just mentioned Revell despising Evans "by extension," meaning he's just a secondary target of Revell's hatred, yet this is a possible theory. What if Evans is actually the source, and Camo, Drake, and their plans for the battalion are instead the focus of Revell's hatred by extension...? Meaning I'd need to determine the cause of the rift between Revell and Evans, not between Revell and the Trench Rats. Interesting possibilities here--a homophobic angle, perhaps? Especially given the old character list's reference to unsubstantiated "unsavory acts." I seem to recall that this comment was intended to be sexual in nature, though it was purposely kept vague, and as Evans's orientation was unknown at the time, that could not have been related in any way. So it was something else probably involving women, or children. (Urgh...yeah.) The characters have developed since then, so Evans is a potential target. OR...Evans possibly KNOWS about said "unsavory acts"...and that could be the source of Revell's hatred. Evans might have been an unsuccessful whistleblower of a sort and is forced to continue working in association with Revell afterward despite the obvious conflicts (similar to how PFC Klemper's and Sgt. Lange's units continue working alongside each other for a time following Lange's attempted assault of Klemper), and Revell's reaction is to try to tank the entire Trench Rats plan which Evans supports.

SO...as you can see...lots of undeveloped potential here.

...I just had to step away for about an hour, and new possibilities have arisen. Revell is a Great War veteran, and may be vaguely familiar with Camo from there, though it's uncertain. Here's a possibility that at least some "unsavory acts" could date back to that time--perhaps Revell is a war criminal. He suffered serious injuries, which I believed as recently as yesterday were related to combat; he has scars on his face, and lost most of an ear, resulting in a prosthetic (unlike Papillon's, it's one much more based on the types of prosthetics and plastic surgery used on survivors of WWI, see HERE for what I mean, also there's an artificial hand there that's pretty nifty in light of my earlier entry about Harrier and Papillon). It could be possible, I suppose, however, that he only claims combat caused these injuries, and maybe he was involved in something more sinister. I do think his experiences in the war helped unhinge him, but if he indeed committed any sort of shady acts it's likely he was just "off" from the start, sort of like Ernst Dannecker. Dannecker has a weird habit of engaging in sexually suggestive dominating gestures toward other males without being gay himself...here's a description from Josef Diamant to Gret Dannecker in an adult WIP, warning that it's a tad objectionable but it's the tamest way to explain it:

"He did other things though, too. A couple of weeks after he came to the barracks--ja, that's how long he waited, before striking again. He was good at holding out, at being patient. I was painting the wall. Not far from where I'd cowered away from him. A few of the others said they saw him walking toward me and knew something bad was coming but nobody said anything, because nobody else wanted to end up where I was. I didn't even hear him coming--he walks...walked...perfectly silently whenever he wanted to. In those shiny, shiny boots. No idea how he did that. I had no idea he was there either until he shoved me against the wall and pressed close. His mouth was right at my ear. 'Guten Tag, Jew,' he said. His breath smelled like cinnamon...so odd. 'You're doing pretty light work today,' he said. 'I thought you were better suited for hard work?' And he...shoved his hips against me." Diamant grimaced. "'I can give you hard work,' he said...grinding against me...and then he just stepped back. 'You missed a spot,' he said, and he gave that little laugh, like he did when he fired his gun at my head, and he walked away. That was all. I stepped back and there was paint on my clothes." He fiddled his fingers between his knees. "I honestly thought...thought he was going to do more. Do worse. Right there in the open and nobody would do or say anything. Of course, I was wrong. Your stepfather was many things but he wasn't eine Schwuchtel. He...had other ways of getting his point across."

Dannecker later forces Diamant and the camp kapo, Isaak Schindel, into a humiliating situation where again Diamant expects him to get off on it, yet he doesn't, it's purely a power/control thing meant to break them. It's possible Revell could share some similar traits (witness his threat toward Drake), though again, I'm unsure. It's also possible that Evans somehow digs up evidence of things Revell did in the war and this could incite Revell's wrath toward him and the Trench Rats. Potential!

One more detail I wanted to get out of the way. Revell isn't a screaming, shouting madman type. He almost always delivers his threats in a soft, understated manner, without needing to raise his (naturally rough/gravelly) voice. This trait comes back to Camo's mind later on in Germany when he comes face to face again with Capt. Otto Himmel. (I say "again," as Camo first encountered Himmel when the latter was a teenager fighting in the Great War, then a second time just after arriving in enemy territory during the current war.) Himmel's throat was cut in a botched attempt on his life, and as a result, he can't raise his voice above a hoarse murmur; usually he just whispers when he speaks. Many people aren't aware of this as he keeps his collar buttoned tight to cover the scar, so his whispery voice is often considered merely a behavioral quirk. (This is never properly explained in the imaginary animated version I mentioned in Turquoise's entry, where Himmel is misrepresented as a purely evil guy and is nicknamed something like the Whispering Captain.) When Camo first hears him speak, it reminds him of Revell, and it prompts an almost visceral reaction; he later on gains a much better reason to detest Himmel (i. e., Anna Julian), but the reminder of another person he despised ensures that he dislikes Himmel from the start.

AND...that there is currently all I really have to say regarding Revell. He's an antagonist whose motivations--and mental state--aren't certain just yet, but you can see I already have some tentative ideas. As time goes on perhaps things will become clearer.

[Revell 2024 [‎Friday, ‎March ‎22, ‎2024, ‏‎12:05:04 AM]]

[Revell 2024 2 [‎Friday, ‎March ‎22, ‎2024, ‏‎12:05:24 AM]]

[brittle-bone-gabe]

(This is Reddie-Fangirl24) “I thought you knew.” - Reddie

Sorry this took so long, working in retail right now is a huge bitch. THEN Animal Crossing came out so ya know I had to play that. Thanks for the writing prompt! 

Or you can read on AO3: Here

Richie was pacing back and forth in the medium sized hospital room, the sound of various beeps and footsteps seemed to be all around him. Everything was lowkey overwhelming him, knowing that the love of his life, who he has yet to admit his feelings to, was laying in the single hospital bed with bandages wrapped around his entire torso, so Richie’s anxiety was already through the roof. Thank fuck that he and the Losers had managed to pull him out of that literal hell hole, they only helped Richie after he had begged and pleaded with them to get him out, otherwise he would’ve stayed behind with Eddie. Mike had been the first one to agree with Richie, saying that maybe Eddie was in a coma due to blood loss, getting Bill and Ben in on it too. With their help they managed to save Eddie, it had turned out that Mike was right about him being in a coma, who would’ve guessed. 

The emergency surgery that Eddie had to be put in the moment he arrived at the hospital was nerve wracking for everyone, but none more than for Richie. He refused to leave the waiting area, it felt as though his leg was going to fall off from how much he was bouncing it. The rest of the Losers waited in the waiting room with Richie for about two hours before deciding to head back to the town house, as everyone had an obviously long day. Beverly stuck around for a while longer, making sure Richie was going to be okay. Richie being Richie kept saying he was fine, nothing was wrong, which was bullshit. Even though it’s been twenty-seven years since they’ve seen each other Bev still knows when her best friend is in distress. He was more scared and anxious than he’s ever been in his entire life, hell, not even performing his first sold out show compared to this, Richie had to keep himself from throwing up due to all this anxiety. Hearing that Eddie successfully came out of the surgery with little to no complications was a huge relief, thankfully the stab wound didn’t hit anything vital, although trying to explain a lie that would suffice how Eddie got these injuries was difficult. 

Richie snapped out of his thoughts, stopping his pacing in the middle of the pure white room. It was the first time he actually looked around, new thoughts were crashing in around him as his eyes were starting to burn from the tears that were threatening to fall. This isn’t how he should be meeting Eddie again, not like this… None of this should’ve fucking happened in the first place. Fuck Pennywise. Fuck that fucking fuck. It was dead now, thanks to Eddie for weakening it and saving Richie in the process. Stan should still be alive, Eddie shouldn’t be in a hospital bed, and Richie and Bev shouldn’t be having these strange visions due to being in the Deadlights. 

The first time Richie dozed off since being in the Deadlights scared the absolute shit out of him. Sure, he’s had nightmares before, who hasn’t? But nothing compared to this… he honestly couldn’t tell if it was, in fact, from the Deadlights or just from the sheer panic of losing Eddie. Either way, it was awful. 

In the dream Richie had seen Eddie standing in front of him, a hole in his chest that Richie could visibly see through, blood staining through his shirt. It felt as though the air was trapped in Richie’s throat, choking on nothing. Oh to reach out to grab Eddie, to hold him close as if that would take the wound away and make everything okay. Even though Eddie was standing in front of him, it was like he wasn’t actually… there? Like he was a ghost just visiting him in a dream as like a sick, twisted joke. 

“Eds?” Richie had called out in his dream, reaching out to grab Eddie’s wrist but his hand phased right through. Richie could only think that the surgery wasn’t going well, that they must’ve lost Eddie. 

“It’s okay, Richie,” Eddie had told him, the moment he had opened his mouth blood started pouring out, causing Richie to flinch, “it’s not your fault.” 

Tears welled up in Richie’s eyes, no matter how many attempts his hands still phased through Eddie. 

“You’re dead and it’s my fault!” Richie yelled out, attempting to hug Eddie even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. This wasn’t fucking fair. 

“I just said it wasn’t your fault. You never listen to me, Trashmouth.” 

Richie swallowed hard, looking Eddie in the eyes, although it didn’t hold the same emotional sensation that he would if it were real life.

He couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry… you did say that… Dude, are you like… dead?” 

“Am I…” Eddie trailed off, staring at Richie as if he had two heads, “no, I’m not dead! I’m just telling you it’s not your fault!” 

“…am I high?” Eddie groaned in frustration. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“I swear if you beat yourself over this I will kick your ass.” 

“But, I-” 

Seeing Eddie as a potential ghost had startled Richie to his core, sure it wasn’t horrifying, but it was something he would never want to see again. Having Eddie in the hospital bed in Richie’s presence, a heart monitor hooked up to him to show that he had a pulse was oddly reassuring to Richie. However, more than anything Richie was hoping that Eddie would wake up soon. There was so much they needed to talk about, but at the same time Richie was hoping that Eddie didn’t notice the fact that he had his hand on the back of his neck, trying to work up the courage to bring Eddie down to him so he could kiss him. Was Eddie even gay? Of course not, he had a wife, right? Yeah, Richie clearly remembered that conversation with the silent heartbreak he was suffering while trying to keep the mood elevated in the restaurant as everyone was excited to see each other and he didn’t want to ruin it.

Realizing that he’s been standing in the exact same spot for almost five minutes, Richie moved back over to the bed, kneeling down next to Eddie. He was exhausted from the day he had, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to take a shower, he wanted to get out of these sewer and blood covered clothes. Beverly had offered to stay at the hospital for him while he went back to the town house to take a shower and get changed, but Richie refused, obviously. There was no way he was leaving Eddie’s side until he was 100% sure he was awake and okay. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he rested his head on the mattress next to Eddie’s hand, if only Eddie could see him now, he’d rave and rant about how sick Richie was going to get for leaving that shit on him. 

Richie let out a sad sigh, looking at Eddie’s hand that was next to his face, it had an IV stuck in one of his veins. He reached out, lightly messing with a couple of Eddie’s fingers. His skin felt a little cool to the touch, sending Richie’s heart pounding against his chest. He had to keep reminding himself that the heart monitor would tell them if Eddie wasn’t… alive or not. God, why did Richie’s brain have to go straight for the worse case? He had to keep reminding himself that they kicked Pennywise’s ass, the rest of them came out alive, and they got Eddie to the hospital. What more could they want? Well… besides seeing Stan again, even if it was just one more time… 

“I’m sorry, Eddie…” Richie mumbled, burying his face into the mattress, his tears were soaking the sheets from underneath him, “it’s my fucking fault. It’s my fault…” 

In the middle of his mini breakdown he didn’t even realize that Eddie’s hand moved from the spot that it stayed in for hours prior. Richie jumped and his eyes went wide when he felt Eddie rest his hand on top of his head, stroking his hair. Was this real? This couldn’t be real… Eddie’s fingers curled around Richie’s glasses, pulling them off mindlessly from his face. 

“What…” Richie had no idea what he wanted to say as he lifted his head, his vision blurry yet could make out Eddie putting the glasses on over his own face. “Eddie?” He asked sheepishly. 

“Your vision is still awful.,” Eddie said in a groggy voice. Honestly, that wasn’t what Richie was expecting to hear from Eddie the moment he first woke up, but just to hear his voice enough was worth it. “What’re you doin’ here, Trashmouth?” He asked through a yawn, rubbing his eyes from underneath the glasses. 

“I…” needed to make sure you weren’t going to fucking die on me. “Didn’t want to leave you alone in a hospital full of big scary germs,” he finally said with a stupid smile on his face, trying to hide his true emotions behind it. Eddie could see behind it though, he always could. 

“How uncharacteristically sweet of you.” He put Richie’s glasses back where they belonged on Richie’s face. His face turned into instant disgust seeing how gross and dirty Richie still was. “Are you serious?!” 

“Wh…” 

“How long have I been here?” 

“I…”  

“You didn’t even bother to take a shower before getting that… that… gross sewer grime on my fucking bed?!” 

Well… it was great seeing that Eddie was more or less his usual self, if not at least a bit exhausted, but that was valid considering he almost died saving his best friend and surviving an emergency surgery. Fuck. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Richie, for once, was stumped on what to say. He, the man who always had to say something, even if it was stupid didn’t have a single word to say. 

“Eugh, just…” Eddie waved his hand, the stench of the sewer was finally catching up to him. “Back up, please. You’re gonna give me an infection.” 

“Sorry…” Richie stood up from his spot next to the bed, backing up two steps.

 The entire time Eddie was watching him with an eyebrow raised, he didn’t understand why Richie was acting like this. He seemed distant, acting like Eddie was fragile, which wasn’t goddamn true. Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Richie could barely make eye contact with him. What the fuck? 

“Here.” Richie grabbed the large styrofoam cup that was sitting on the bed’s side table, holding it out to Eddie, who struggled to grab it because of the pain in his torso. He waited for Eddie to take a couple of sips before opening his mouth again. “How are you feeling?”

Eddie shrugged, looking down at the cup he was holding while fidgeting with the straw. “Hurting, but at least I’m alive.” He looked up at Richie when he heard an odd sound coming from him. Tears were in Richie’s eyes as he was trying to hold back the sobs in his throat. “Rich? What’s wrong?” 

“No…nothing…” Richie reached up, using the palm of his hand to rub the tears from his eyes, sniffling. If there was one thing Eddie absolutely remembered about Richie was that he was a horrible liar, especially if it was about his emotions. “I’m just glad you…you’re okay.” 

“Richie, seriously… what’s wrong?” Eddie tried turning a bit to face Richie, but the intense pain spreading throughout his torso stopped him immediately, he hissed in pain as he settled back in the bed.

“It’s…” Richie chuckled, giving Eddie a forced smile, “nothing. I’m just happy you’re alive.” 

“Yeah… I’m happy I’m alive too…” 

Eddie knew there was more to it than that, something was obviously bothering him. He wanted to reach over to grab Richie’s hand to reassure him that everything was going to be okay now. IT was gone, everyone was okay. Even though it was touch and go for Eddie for a while before getting to the hospital, but he pulled through and that’s all that matters.  

“Talk to me, man. What’s the matter with you?” 

“I…” Richie started, about to spill out some sort of lie, but his brain locked up. It was like his mind wasn’t going to let him live behind this lie anymore, it’s been years since Richie came to silent terms with his sexuality but hasn’t told a single soul about it. “I just… I really…” He let out a sigh. He needed to tell him the truth, Eddie already had a close call and if he did die then Richie would live with this secret for the rest of his life. A secret that burns in his chest every day. When he saw Eddie looking at him waiting for an answer with an eyebrow raised he knew that it wasn’t going to be easy to spill. “Eddie I…” Tears were in Richie’s eyes again as he was scared of the rejection that could possibly follow. “Dude, I fucking… love you, okay?” 

As soon as the words left his mouth he turned around so his back was facing Eddie. He couldn’t bear to see what Eddie’s expression could be anger, disgust, confusion… Richie couldn’t deal with that. 

“Richie-”

“I’ll just go, okay?” Richie cut him off quickly, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes. 

“Wait-”

“I’ve loved you since we met, alright?! I didn’t know how to tell you without it either sounding like a joke or you hating me.”

“I don’t-”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you-”

“Richie!” Eddie said loudly. The sudden raise of his voice caused Richie to jump, slowly turning back around to face him. 

Richie was surprised, Eddie didn’t look pissed off at all. In fact, it looked like Eddie was trying to contain a smile. 

“Richie, you’re a fucking idiot. I thought you knew.” 

“Thought.. I knew?” He had no idea what Eddie was talking about. “Thought I knew what?” 

“I thought you knew that I knew.”

“You…” It took Richie a moment to process what Eddie was saying to him. He knew? Hew knew this whole fucking time? “Then why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“I’ve been flirting with you for years?” Eddie said this as though everyone else knew that except for Richie. Well, maybe that was true, maybe everyone knew they’ve been flirting with each other since they were teenagers. “Why do you think I got on your case so much? Or why I keep entertaining your stupid jokes?” 

Richie was frozen in his spot, going through every single teenage memory that he could force out of his brain. Connecting all the patterns and exchanges it became so obvious. Was he the only one who didn’t notice? No wonder Bev kept asking him weird questions when they were teenagers… This whole time…

“Are you telling me this whole fucking time we could’ve built a life together?” Richie blurted out. “It’s your fault!”

“My fault?! What’s my fault?” 

“You just had to move away when you were six-teen!” 

“That wasn’t my fucking fault! You could’ve told me how you felt!” 

“Well, I love you!”

Hearing the three words coming from his mouth a second time caused Richie to freeze up again. Even though Eddie admitted that he’s always had feelings for Richie too still made him feel like this was some sort of joke. 

“I love you…” Richie said again in almost a whisper. 

“I love you too.” 

“Dude, can I kiss you?” 

[willsimpforanyone]

ANY REYNA SMUT I BEG OF U 😩

ooo my first reyna fic! tysm for waiting so patiently!

edit: i've remembered that reyna is in fact asexual, which is fine there are sex-positive aces, so i've just included a little detail that makes it clear that she wants this and the reader would never do anything she wasn't comfortable with

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

Her shoulders were so incredibly tense. Hunched over her desk, my girlfriend focused so hard on the parchment she had spread over the surface.

The clock on the wall said it was well past midnight and frankly, I'd behaved so well the last three hours, letting Reyna work peacefully and reading some Latin book I'd picked from her bookshelf.

I allowed my eyes to drag over her, gaze getting caught on her braid, loosened from her hand absently tugging it, on the loose t-shirt slipping down one shoulder as the other raised in stress. One bare leg was crossed over the other, tan skin bathed in a warm glow from the lamplight.

Reyna shifted, aware of my eyes on her, and cleared her throat.

"Stop looking, you're distracting me." Her tone was firm, but her voice was tired. "I have to get this done, and you're not helping."

I hummed, amused. "I'm not doing anything, the book isn't holding my attention." I didn't say that she did.

Reyna's pen hadn't moved in a couple minutes. Shoulders were practically up around her ears, tension practically flowing from her. Slowly, deliberately, I closed the book and put it back on the shelf. I swayed over to her, gently placing my hands on her shoulders that immediately relaxed. "Honey, please, you can't focus this late." I pressed a kiss into her hair.

She tilted her head back to lean it against my stomach as she closed her eyes, but her words didn't match her actions. "I can focus, and I will," she hummed as I traced my hand down her hair and began unbraiding it. "Stop that right now, I'm very busy."

I nodded, though she still had her eyes closed. "Oh, I know, I'll let you continue..." Dragging my fingers through her hair, I leaned down to press a kiss on her jaw. "...don't let me distract you."

The pen in her hand shakily met the paper once again and her head came up to focus on the task at hand. I smiled to myself, my lovely hardworker. She deserved a break, even if she couldn't bring herself to take one.

Patiently, I waited until the smooth motion of the pen meant she'd almost forgotten I was there. My fingers carefully began combing through her hair, smoothing out any knots and slowly moving my hands to where her neck met her shoulders.

I kept one eye on the pen as I massaged Reyna's muscles, feeling a little guilty I didn't do this earlier- she was so tense. Under my touch, I felt her begin to relax again, and slowly, slowly the pen's motion ceased and fell from her hand.

"Reyna?"

I recieved a hum in response.

"You sure I can't pull you away from your work?"

The barest flicker of a smile on her lips and I knew I'd won. Smoothing my hands down her arms, I twisted my fingers with hers and gently pulled her out the chair. Her eyes were tired, fixing on mine as I cupped her cheek and ran a thumb under her eye. "Honey, you're exhausted, come here."

To my surprise, she hardly resisted as I led her to the bed and sat her down, kneeling in front of her. Reyna's skin was warm to the touch and I pressed a kiss to her knuckles as she gave me a tiny smile. Normally so confident and sharp and so in control, seeing Reyna's softer side was a thrill that sent sparks down my spine.

"Will you let me help you relax?" I murmured, keeping my voice low. "We don't have to do anything, I just think it might help- if you don't want to be touched, tell me and I'll back off."

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation. "Yes, please..."

She must really have been struggling to give in to a lesser-used method of relaxing so fast.

I touched her thighs and settled between her legs. Looking up, I saw a hint of red on her cheeks but to her credit she maintained eye contact. I grinned and winked.

The red colour flooded her face and down her neck. "Oh shut up, are you going to help or not?" She huffed, thighs threatening to close.

Holding back a laugh, I nodded and reached up to place my hand flat on her stomach, pushing her back to lay down on the bed with her legs hanging over the edge.

"I'll help, I promise." I ghosted the words over her skin and saw her shiver. "Just lay back and let me take care of you, hm?"

Reyna shifted and I just about saw her nod her assent.

Enough teasing.

I nipped kisses into her inner thigh, a trail of red stars in my wake as I kept my eyes on her breathing, delighted when I saw it stutter or stop for just a second. I tapped her hips and hooked my fingers under the elastic of her underwear and she lifted up so I could pull them down her legs.

Experimentally, I touched the pad of a finger against her pussy. It came away shiny, glistening in the low light. I couldn't resist teasing her. "My, my, the big, strong praetor, so wet for a few kisses."

Immediately she was up on her elbows, scowling at me. "Shut up."

I held up my hands in surrender. "Yes ma'am." I shifted closer to her, a smirk dancing on my lips. "After all, my mouth can be put to better uses I'm sure."

Reyna didn't have time to invent a comeback before I pressed my tongue against her and she inhaled sharp enough to cut. Her hands fisted in the sheets as I twisted my tongue, lapping at her with excitement.

It made for a shift of pace, my gorgeous in-control leader girlfriend slowly losing herself to me. I adored her dominant personality, but it was such a high when she allowed herself to fall from the pedestal she held herself on, falling into my arms.

I watched with reverance as she breathed heavier, biting her lip until she couldn't surpress the little noises I drew from her. Her knuckles were white and shaking in the sheets as I pulled out every trick I knew.

Grazing my teeth over her clit sent an almost visible jolt through her and before she could stop it, a desperate moan reverberated from her chest and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Kneeling up, I reached for her arm and tugged it away from her face. "I wanna hear, don't hold back honey, please." I punctuated my words with kisses directly to her clit. I laced my fingers with hers and brought both hands to my head, letting her tangle in my hair.

"That's it, you're doing so well, my lovely strong girl."

Hands now free, I slipped a finger into her, relishing in the way her back arched and her grip on my hair tightened. Reyna squirmed as I pumped my finger in and out, angling my fingers every time she moaned just that little bit louder.

Adding a second finger brought an almost-scream from her and I redoubled my efforts, making the most of her sensitivity.

"You're doing do well," I breathed over her skin. "I love your beautiful sounds, my darling, so, so pretty for me." I licked a stripe up her soaking pussy, savouring her taste as much as I could.

Her chest heaved, pants and moans and strangled cries flowing freely from her as her thighs struggled to close against the grip I had on them.

A choked 'I-I'm so cl-lose...!" was all the warning I had before her legs snapped shut despite my efforts and she came hard on my tongue. I swallowed as much as I could, licking her through her orgasm and into oversensitivity.

I only stopped when Reyna's hands pulled my head away from her and I could finally see her face again.

She was flushed, still panting, eyes bright and a more sure smile on her lips. I kneeled up and fixed my eyes as she brought up the hand that had been inside her. Her tongue darted out, cleaning the mess she'd made and I swear I nearly collapsed at the sight.

Swallowing, I pressed a quick kiss to her lips when she was done. "You feeling better?"

Reyna rolled her eyes slightly, but nodded. "I am, thank you, my love."

Despite everything, I blushed at the pet name. I blushed even harder when she brought a hand behind my head and pulled me forward into a messy kiss.

Her lips were shiny, as I'm sure mine were, when she pulled away. "Want me to return the favour?"

I smiled at her offer, but shook my head. "Nu-uh, this was about you. Plus it's-" I glanced at the clock. "-almost half one in the morning and you, praetor, have too many meetings to be healthy tomorrow."

She grinned. "Well, I'm sure I can take a break from them if this is my reward."

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

i really hope stressed!reyna isn't too ooc?

thank you for requesting!!

[cozymoko]

Voicemail

PAIRING: Obsessive yandere x reader—☆

NOTE: draft from May 2020; I'm about to do hell editing.

MAY 5, 9:56pm

Life has been so exhausting lately, with all the work, bills, and...gifts. Hell, you even had to sneak out of your house and dwell at a hotel for a bit. Even if it did little to nothing to alleviate your stress.

It was beginning to get you. The unsatisfactory sensation of paranoia crawling up your spine, growing greater with each passing day. Your boyfriend could hardly keep his hands off of you, much more than usual. Not to mention when you suggested "taking a break", he nearly lost it!

MAY 5, 3:46pm

"Hey {Nickname}, I heard that you weren't at work today. Are you okay? Do you want me to come over? Please call me back, okay? I love you, baby, see you soon."

You groaned, raking your fingers through your damp hair. Taking a seat on the white coverings of the hotel bed as you play the following voicemail.

MAY 6, 12:09am

"Baby, why haven't you called, I just want to know how you are. I miss you. Are you avoiding me? Just call me let's talk this out! I don't want to take a break...I–I need you..."

What's there to talk about, you inquired yourself. All you wished for was some space, how hard was that? You picked up a towel, positioning it on your head to ignore your periodic frustration. Hmm, there's non for May 7th, how strange. None for the 8th either.

What the hell was that about? I know you're wondering that, you must be confused, so lost and confused. All you wanted was some space and look at this. You can't even get some time on your little vacation! How sad.

MAY 9, 7:12am

“Hey, babe, how’d you sleep? I’m on my way to work right now. Heh, I kinda miss you making me food every morning, allowing me to pick you up after work...coming home to your sweet kisses...ugh-sorry, have a nice day, okay? I love you.”

Your eyes softened as you kick off your slippers, crawling into the hotel bed. You replay the message, face glowing cherry red at his soothing voice. Snap out of it damnit, don't give in! You probe through the numerous messages, observing the last one ending on the 10th.

MAY 10, 1:00am

"Please, come home {Name}~! I need you so badly, I miss the taste of your lips, your pretty face, that dumb smile — God damnit {Name} I miss you~! Baby, I don't know what I'll do If I don't have you~!"

He was drunk out of his mind, his slurred tone said it all. You groaned, looking down at your phone. “Please Min!” You shout, gabbing your car keys off the bedside table, throwing on any close in sight. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

You complete your messy apparel by heaving a shirt over your head and pushing out the door. Almost misstepping on your way to the Elevator. Your heart thumping against your chest like several bullets as you departed.

"They always come back, don't they?"

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

I'm having brainrot after going through some of your hc

Could you do some of the character's (that you view as introverts) being adopted by an extrovert? (I think ldazai, aku, sushi they're introverts?)

Kinda like your personality? Bubbly cute etc?

Oh, the power you have given me for this. I’m in a ‘far too hyper to sleep’ mode right now. This has been in my inbox for a while and I now shall write it. I thank Lords for this request as it had driven me from the pit of angst I was writing earlier today. ( I question, why my personality, i would annoy every bsd character in existence, so I edited that part a bit)

Okay, this turned out to be hc on crack, I apologize for that but uh enjoy lovely! :)

Extrovert Reader adopting Introvert with Dazai, Aku, and Sushi

~Dazai~

So difficulties arise here T_T

Is he really an extrovert suffering from major depression, so he kinda hides in a shell???

I’m sorry Dazai gives me mixed vibes but people seem to agree he’s introverted. (which I agree with since he does appear to get most of his energy from himself instead of external sources.)

Alright, so you’re a little too energized 24/7, a little cute, a little much.

Well here is a lovable brunette who may equal your chaotic but childish energy. (minus all the attempts he has with his life)

He will jump right on the chance to call you his partner in crime.

Oh, the things the two of you could do :)

Kunikida, the poor soul shall face the wrath of chaos upon his schedule each and every day.

On the one hand, you have Dazai’s ever-growing boredom that leads him to torture his poor co-worker.

On the other hand, there is you, a very restless child who needs constant attention or else things tend to spiral.

With both hands combined, there is not a moment where he shall rest.

There is hardly time for Dazai to wallow in his not-so-happy thoughts as you are there to suggest burrito blankets or pillow fights, or just snuggling.

~Akutagawa~

This man is a whole emo introvert.

Now adopting this one shall be…. How do I say.... it is extremely difficult.

He does not like touches.

He says no to any form of affection.

He must be powerful and strong, and he’d like to do it all alone.

Well, my friend, do not fear for as long as you continuously take him and his emo-ness into the sun you shall grow on him.

He will eventually stop trying to fight the inevitable hugs he somehow always ended up receiving despite protests.

He may sigh and grumble, but he shall let your arms squeeze him until you are satisfied with the affection given.

Do not worry, for these acts will be repaid!

He likes to leave small subtle gifts on your desk because he is shy with his intimacy.

You are now, besides his sister, the only being he allows to pet his hair when he wants some attention.

He will let you touch his beloved Rashumon, whilst he watches.

Sadly the emo boy does not trust you to not steal all of his clothes including the beloved coat.

So, you must be supervised when touching things he’d like to keep in his closet.

Good job you have officially taken in an emo boy who does not understand how to deal with affection.

Enjoy the flustered mess he becomes whenever you show him said affection. :)

~Atsushi~

I have a soft spot for this human.

He does not want to bother people.

So you must make sure it is you bothering him at work.

The best way to score an introvert is to pester them until they start answering you back.

Which takes one second because Atsushi would never ignore somebody offering to talk to him.

He is far too kind for this world.

If you start to give him affection expect him to become an immediate cherry tomato.

He does not know affection well.

Considering that upbring he had... This must be completely new to him.

He will eventually warm up to you.

Good because once you have set your sights there is no escape anyways.

Now the two of you sit and chat.

Sometimes all he has to do is sit and listen to you go on and on.

Don’t exhaust him too much though, he might insist you keep going until he’s completely worn out and fast asleep.

Enjoy your adopted introvert :)

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ KIDNAPPED ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY @supervalcsi: Yayyyyy requests are open!!! Can I pretty please get random prompt #13 with my man Kevin Atwater? Thank you, so much love!!! 💕❤💕💕

❚❙ Prompts: “You could have gotten yourself killed!” “But… I didn't?”

❚❙ KEVIN ATWATER MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.2k

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to the author.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13 @mcgreads @graniairish. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

When you woke up this morning and noticed how cold was the other side of your bed, you knew something was wrong. The lack of texts or a call from Kevin was the confirmation. You have been dating for the last three months, but you already know him better than anyone. Whenever he's not working or having a break at Molly's, he is with you. He told you he had to go to see a friend and after that, he would drive to your house. But he never came. That's what took you to the twenty-first District. You didn't know anyone there, beyond what you had heard from your boyfriend, but you were aware of who you were to look for.

Walking to the desk, you waited patiently for the old woman to attend to you. Platt. Kevin had talked about her a lot of times and, in your opinion, she didn't look that grumpy.

“How can I help you?” She asked, putting down her glasses.

“I… I need to… talk with Adam Ruzek”.

She raised an eyebrow with curiosity, quickly noticing your nerves and the way your eyes became crystal, at the edge of the tears. Her gesture turned abruptly, nodding with parted lips before stepping out from the desk to guide you upstairs through a fence. You were almost shaking when you reached the top floor. Recognizing Kevin's best friend instantly, after seeing some pictures together, you ran towards him to wrap your arms around him. You broke into bitter crying, while your boyfriend's partners looked at Platt waiting for an explanation.

“Huh… you okay?” The man asked confused, stroking your back in an attempt to calm you.

Hardly sniffing, barely breathing, you pulled yourself away trying to form a phrase with sense to explain your paranoia. A brunette girl offered you a kleenex, as a blonde one helped you to sit on a chair. Burgess and Upton. You were very sure. The other men at the other extreme of the place were Dawson, Olinsky, and Voight.

“I am… Kevin's girlfr—girlfriend. I think he's missing”.

You cleaned the tears wetting your cheek, while Kim squatted close to you. Everybody was confounded and disconcerted because of your affirmation. Because of both.

“He texted me telling me he'd go to see a friend and the—then... he'd come to my house. But he didn't come. He didn't text me or anything. I… I know how it sounds. I know it sounds crazy, but… he never shut his phone off…”

“What hour was when you talked to him for the last time?” Ruzek whispered thoughtfully.

“Eight o'clock”.

“Hm…”

Your eyes went straight to the sergeant, to his boss. He saw the desperation in your eyes. He saw you were telling the truth and, for him, it was strange that Kevin hadn't come to work yet. It was almost ten in the morning.

“Burgess, stay with her and give her something warm to drink. Everyone else; I want Atwater's phone and car signal. Let's find him”.

Soon, the whole department was patrolling the city, even looking under the stones. Officers walked from one place to another making phone calls, checking security cameras, triangulating every move Kevin could do last night… Anything to locate him and bring him back. Apparently, all his friends agreed with your paranoia, turning it into reality when Adam received a call on his undercover phone. But Burgess didn't let you hear it, closing the door after abandoning the small kitchen separated from the work zone.

You were a bundle of nerves not being able to stop sobbing, feeling a strong headache growing in the center of your forehead. Just by thinking that something had happened to him, the pressure within your chest contracted your lungs and closed your throat. No one noticed before you did. What if you hadn't given it any importance? Sitting on the sofa and nailing your elbows on your lap, you covered your face with both hands. You couldn't hold the furious and frustrated tears for any longer. Even if you didn't have a reason to, you were feeling guilty.

The incertitude was driving you crazy as the hours continued passing away without any news about Kevin. You could see his Unit working through the large window, trying to read lips to figure out what was happening. But nothing. You were good at serving drinks, not being a detective. The sensation of being useless was killing you. The only thing you wanted to do was to help, but Kevin's boss asked you to wait there for them before leaving the building.

It's almost noon when you hear voices and steps again coming closer, going upstairs. You can't help but jump from your seat to open the door of the kitchen, trying to recognize Kevin's voice, but you don't. Their partners appear on the scene with satisfied smiles on their faces and you don't know what it means until they open the way for your boyfriend, walking behind them. He looks exhausted, but he isn't hurt. Your lips start to tremble about to cry when he raises his eyes towards you and you can't feel your heart stopping for a second.

Taking some steps closer, you don't question why their friends leave you alone continuing their way through another door at the right of the stairs. You want to say sorry for coming to the District because maybe a call would be enough, but you couldn't wait. Even so, you're aware that if it hadn't been for you, he probably would be missing yet.

“I was worried”. You babble rubbing your hands and biting your bottom lip.

But Kevin doesn't reply, going straight to you to place his arms around your body, embracing you with the strength he has left after all that has happened. You break into a soft cry, a happy one for finally having him back. Safe and sound.

“It's okay, baby… It's okay”. He whispers trying to comfort you, tilting his head to place some kisses on your temple. “I got you really spoiled, uh…? I don't text you and you think I've been kidnapped”.

Gulping a loud laugh, you nod pulling yourself away a little. Luckily, you weren't wrong and his friends didn't think you were crazy.

“Why did you go alone? You could have gotten yourself killed…”

“But I didn't”. He jokes drawing a funny gesture, turning it after in a brief smile. “You were protecting me, weren't you?”

“Kev… I just…”

“You did the right thing coming here, okay? I'm not angry, or upset”.

Your boyfriend cups your cheeks onto his palms, leaning forward to press his lips on yours, pecking them once and once before spreading kisses all around your face.

“Lemme take you home, alright? You've earned all my attention for today”.

“I will take care of you today”. Shaking your head as you sniff, you hug him again as much tightly as you can, not wanting him to be separated from you another time. “I… I love you, Kev”.

“I love you too, (Y/N). You can't really imagine how much. What you've done today… I'm sure other girls would've thought I just ghosted them. But you came here and put my friends to work”.

“I'm more like the psychotic kind of girlfriends”.

“Yeah, you have mobilized more than eighty cops to find me. Should I be scared?” The jokingly on his voice, while he raises both eyebrows, makes you laugh cleaning your tears with the fist of your sleeves.

“Maybe just a little…”

[thedancingcrab]

This week marks mental health awareness week. I don't know how much a social media post really does.. Maybe nothing at all. But I'd like to start this off in saying that I've become a lot more confident in my body since I let myself gain weight instead of holding onto the idea that I should always be slim to be considered attractive. And let me tell you why.

This past year and probably years and years before that I've had to put so much time and energy into healing. It's been one of the most exhausting processes but also so rewarding at the same time. Because I can tell you this whole heartedly. I now like myself. No. I love myself. I love everything that I am and what I've become. But this wasn't an overnight process. It's been painful, I've had to confront a lot of my wrong doings, mistakes and negative thoughts about myself to get to where I am now. I had to find hobbies. I had to pour my energy into other things than myself. Because honestly. When you die, no one's gonna think about how beautiful you were. They might say it, but they will focus on how you were beautiful in other ways. Maybe how you lit up the room with your smile. How you were so positive and how much they miss your energy.

A hobby I've found in this past year is cycling and going hiking and it's done wonders for my mental health. Because I started worrying less about what my body looks like and more what it can actually do for me. I have legs that allow me to walk up mountains. Not everyone is that lucky. I live somewhere where I get to see some of the most beautiful sights in the world (Wales isn't a shithole trust me there really is incredible places). We hardly ever criticise how nature looks so why do we do it to ourselves? Another thing I've noticed as well is that the only person who really says bad things about my appearance..is me. Nobody really cares. People are so focused on themselves and what they're doing. I used to get told I was ugly in school all the time. Even by girls who were supposed to be my friends. But I refuse to carry the weight of those opinions with me around anymore. Maybe I didn't look the best in school, but it wasn't my focus. I was quirky and I owned that. But I didnt have the self awareness back then that I do now. And the weight of those opinions got on top of me so much, until they became a problem and I found myself with an eating disorder and I stopped eating and increasing the amount of makeup I wore cause I thought that was what happiness felt like. Skinny, glamorous. It didn't get any better.

I convinced myself I was happy whilst I ate sugar free jelly and low calorie ice cream. But it was hell and I'm so glad I know what real ice cream tastes like now. As for my face, it's nice to let it breathe every now and then as well. I'm beautiful with no makeup on and I'm beautiful if I want to wear it. But I don't always feel that way. I still have bad days and there's still that voice somewhere that tells me I'm out of shape and should maybe increase my exercise and eat a bit better. It will probably always be there. When you've struggled with your body perception for years I'm not sure it ever quite goes away. But I also recognise when those thoughts come up now and it's easier to flick them away. Cause I know there is so much more to me than how I look and I get so sad when others don't have that awareness too cause I've been there and I know what it's like to have your appearance consume your mind day in and day out. I think all the women I've compared myself to over the years are dealing with the same thing. Maybe when I was comparing myself to the girl that had the body type I wanted and the face I'd love to have she was also dealing with the same battles of her own. The only person we should be comparing ourselves to is the previous version of ourselves and how much we've grown or will continue to grow. We don't know what others are dealing with at the end of the day. And just because someone looks like you want to look doesn't mean they're better than you in any way shape or form. You don't need to be pretty like somebody else you need to be pretty like you. Cause nothing compares to that. If there's anyone else that I know who is still battling with what feels like a never ending hell of not loving yourself.. Here's some tips I've learned along the way that really help me.

- Try to stop mirror checking. I say try, because I still do now and it's a work in progress. When you find yourself doing it, create some distractions. Think about other things you have to do. I guarantee your washing basket needs sorting out right now. I can guarantee something in your room or anywhere else needs tidying and fixing. Go and sort it. We can't change our bodies in an instant, but we can sort out those mundane tasks we keep putting off and it's way more fulfilling when you do one of those tasks. Trust me I have plenty...

- The next time you go outside, look around at people. Is anyone really focusing on you? Probably not. They're probably focused on themselves. Or their dog if they're out walking them (I'm also trying to focus less on myself and the cute dogs I get to see when I'm out). Another thing.. Acknowledge what you're doing in that moment. We get to use our legs, our legs are allowing us to walk and see daylight. Not everyone is that lucky as I mentioned before. Okay maybe my legs weren't as skinny as they used to be but seriously who cares. There are so many other things I can be focusing on right now and you can too.

- Again another work in progress but seriously I'm working on it and it's getting better. When people compliment you, stop trying to find reasons on why they're wrong. Because if they turned around one day and told you everything you say to yourself on a daily basis it would break your heart. Trust me it would. But the people who love you don't think those things and they never will. Because if you asked them what they like about you the most your appearance won't be one of them. Maybe your partner will say something jokey and sweet about it. But trust me, it's not what they love about you the most. Other things are far more important. And they probably love you because you make their life so much more bearable in some form. We all have our own problems. Think about how much you add to that person's life when they're facing struggles of their own. I guarantee, you will be able to find at least one thing.

- No food is a bad food. We can all have too much of something but that goes for every kind of food. And exercise is amazing for our mental health but it doesn't mean we have to over indulge in it just because we ate 'bad' for a few days and now we feel guilty. Be kind to yourself in those moments. Once again it's another work in progress for me too. I pretty much eat whatever I want when I want now. But there's still that voice in my head. They're a bit annoying at this point I don't know whether I should give her a name.. Maybe Ursula cause she was my least favourite Disney villian. Ursula just needs to piss off sometimes. I went through years of restricting myself and I don't wanna do it anymore.

- Let people take pictures of you. I know. Its terrifying. I still hate it now. But one day all people will have of you is a memory and that picture you hate of yourself so much might be their favourite. In this day and age all we ever get exposed to is picture perfect filtered people who probably shaved off half of their thigh with some editing programme like face tune or whatever it's called. Then someone takes a normal picture of us and we zoom in on it and start criticising ourselves from our face all the way down to our toes. We start asking people to put a filter on us before they take the picture because anything is better than being confronted with our real selves. I just don't wanna live in a world like that anymore. I'm still guilty of doing it myself from time to time, but the less people do it the better. I'd love to start being more of an advocate for that.

When you put your phone down and get into the real world and it's something I've started making more of a cautious effort to do lately, everyone just looks normal!! Everyone has textured skin, everyone's got pores, people have oil, people have spots, people have dry skin. Maybe some are better at hiding it than others. But it's just skin. Thats literally it. Social media has warped our brains into thinking we're not good enough cause we don't look like the person who's completely cellulite, pore and acne free in their gym gear living their best life. But in all honesty, they probably don't look like that either. I'm not saying people can't, but the tiniest bit of editing can go into a photo and we think it's realistic. And they're probably insecure about something as well. Don't compare yourself to images that aren't real life. I know it's hard. Once again I still do it myself. But we can make a cautious effort to realise when we're doing these things and implement little changes on how to stop.

If you got this far and read all of this, then thank you. It means the world. I hope I was able to maybe get you to think about life in a different way and maybe.. Just maybe more positively. If not then thank you for reading anyway! I hope we can all stop being so unkind to ourselves one day. 💚

[shadowtongued]

DISCLAIMER; THIS HAS BEEN IN THE MAKING SINCE DEC 2017, I was just too shy to post it. Keep in mind that I'm not in any way, shape, or form trying to put my headcanons or interpretation of lore over anyone else's and this is pretty much just a general long-form run down for my roleplay blog to help people who aren't familiar with RS, so for my non-RS friends it's more of an explanation of how this 'tall ancient magic alien man' is and works. Physiology and some other cultural blurbs with the occasional emphasis on Sliske, because, well, that's what my roleplay blog is for. This is also mostly a passion project since I'm pretty fixated on this, if you read this at all, kudos to you and ily, ty for coming to my Ted Talk about this. Special thanks to people/friends who put up with me ranting abt this obscure fandom and helped me flesh out headcanons, and @theresiidentdevil  the artwork that i commissioned that i use way too much bc devil really... really did my version of snek man nice. Other imgs used are scrounged from ja.gex’s concept arts and etc. ONCE AGAIN THIS IS NOT CANON, AND JUST MY PERSONAL HYPOTHESIS, feel free to reblog but please don’t like... edit or try to give me heavy crit or come @ me with some lore bit from so-and-sos tweet that I am wrong and am a doodoo head or something. This was just a spot o’ fun and please don’t try to drag my interpretation or expunge this for laughs on the official lore discord. I’ve seen it done before and it’s not cool. individual creative interpretation is beautiful, mob bullying is not.

To kick things off, the Mahjarrat are one of a few ancient tribes that live on the ash, lava, and stone wasteland that makes up the dead planet of Freneskae. They are highly skilled in magic and intellect by nature, as well as living by a firm form of kratocracy; a government by those who are strong enough to seize power through coercive power, social persuasion, or deceptive cunning. Along with this, their survival revolves around two rituals, one of death and sacrifice, the other of life and breeding. That right there should tell you a LOT about them, socially.  

HEIGHT.

Height varies from Mahjarrat to Mahjarrat, they are always going to be towering over most species, and most humans, as lore states that they generally are 1.5x the average human height. Sans that one wild ass gene of hyper height that makes gargantuan Mahjarrat like Lucien and Zemoregal, who tower over even Azzanadra's spike pope hat. Sliske himself stands at an 8′4 height, but that's just my headcanon for this blog's sake.

SKULLS / BONES.

The Mahjarrat have thick skulls, if this wasn't pretty obvious with the additions of dual lines of bony ridges running parallel from the brow to back of the skull, and lower. Some, but not all individuals have rather, short horns as their 'first ridge' before normal ridges. They also seem to have a subtle browbone ridge above each eye. Sliske, as well as some of the canon Mahjarrat we know, have these short horns and I like to exaggerate them a bit as sharp and more obvious, because who doesn't love horns? I'd imagine there are also ridges across other parts of their bodies such as the shoulders, elbows, knees, smaller ones on the knuckles, and perhaps down the back and along the hips. Go wild. Anyways, their skulls are thick and heavy, as in if it comes down to having to head-butt someone at the sacrificial ritual as a last resort physical conflict when magic is exhausted, someone is going to be using every exploit they can to survive. Anything counts when your life is on the line. 

*above concept art is of their lich-like forms. good for seeing skull shapes.

Most also have rather large jawbones and powerful jaw muscles, and have a decent bite force to clamp down; like above, can and will use the force of their jaws if they have to with a good 1,069 psi (pounds per square inch), a little less than a hyena, meaning they can break bones with enough force. The main reasoning for this is their powerful mandible adductor muscles and the leverage needed to keep their jaw closed in their lich-like forms with the loss of skin and some atrophy, when they begin to run low on energy before every 500 years ( more on this later ), otherwise their toothy jaws would be hanging open and they'd look quite silly. It's quite rare for a Mahjarrat to bite unless as a last resort attack, out of spite when healthy ( almost as if saying 'you are weak and aren't worth the waste of magical energy' ), or for other minute reasons. Males tend to have very pronounced 'spikes' on their chins and larger skull ridges, but it's not completely unheard of a female having a 'spiked' chin and larger ridges. Sexual dimorphism isn’t too well explained or solidified by Jagex, we haven’t really seen much due to the few living Mahjarrat we see.

TEETH / CONSUMPTION.

personal interpretation of sliske’s teeth here.

Speaking of teeth, Mahjarrat have exceedingly sharp teeth for being part of a race that is not carnivorous or needing any sustenance at all. They have more teeth than humans (not really canon, just my personal interpretation, I prefer them being very Alien over ‘grey human reskin’); while almost every tooth has a sharpness to it, be it incisors or tines in the molars. Their front teeth seem to be ridged with smaller points, you probably don't want to get nipped by them, even if it's just playful or affectionate (uh, whatever they deem as affection). It's a real shame that Sliske seems to enjoy this, in the few moments he puts on a faux air of affection to scratch an itch or when deciding to use seduction as a ploy to further his manipulation or intel gathering, among other rare, convoluted feelings towards someone he's 'affectionate' with. Teeth shape and sizes can vary due to the Mahjarrat way of breeding and eugenics to create survivability through offspring on what traits work. Basic Darwinism, tbh. Following my ever favorite serpent motif for Sliske, you can expect his teeth to be pretty ophidian/snake-like. Due to my headcanon to their dark blood color, Mahjarrats may have dark or black gums. Small addition: babs do have sharp defensive baby teeth that fall out into hellish adult ones. Nice.

Mahjarrat do not need to eat or drink, as they are fueled fully by an arcane energy that they receive from rituals, and slowly deplete this over several centuries. Their power can last even longer if an individual is stingy with their power, or unaware of their power like Kharshai, who spent several centuries in a human guise hardly using any energy while unaware he was even a Mahjarrat. Despite not needing sustenance, it's not unheard of for Mahjarrat to attempt eating or drinking for whatever reason, be it pleasure or to emulate others. Hazeel's memories almost adorably describe some Mahjarrat attempting to sit and politely eat with humans to 'bond with them', despite them later having to regurgitate what they had eaten and Hazeel's repulsion at any creature eating at all. Several lore snippets include Zamorak enjoying wine and in Kindred Spirits, Sliske making the comment he may be drunk after downing the contents of a bottle. Whether or not they actually can become inebriated or have any sort of digestive system to even mildly uptake anything is debatable. For headcanon's sake, I like to think Sliske has no issue with pleasure eating and for taste, especially chocolate, fully knowing he'll have to bring it back up later. Most Mahjarrat have tongues that can be dark in color to only slightly brighter due to their dark blood color. Like horns, some end up with a slightly bifurcated tongue tip, some do not and have a single, sharp tip. Sliske is an extreme mutated case and has a very obvious black, snake-like, forked tongue. Just don’t ask him to do the thip thip because he won’t.

(WHERE’D YA GET THOSE) EYES / SENSES.

Usually, A Mahjarrat's eyes correspond to the color of the jewel embedded in their crown, but not always. They have very, keen eyes and their eyesight is exceptional to suit the darkness of Freneskae due to the constant ashfall and cloud cover. They can see short distances, but farther into heavy smoke and ash than most species, and can indeed see in the dark with excellent night vision and have a structure similar to an animal's tapetum lucidem, which is what reflects light and makes that eerie glare you see from animals in the dark. Due to spending a lot of time on Freneskae and being well adapted to that environment, it was quite a jolt for them to get accustomed to sunlight on Gielinor when brought during the Menaphite War, as they were used to heavy 'cloudy' weather due to ash blocking out what light they did get, and being used to the constant lightning strikes and the glow of volcanic rifts and lava pools. But they adapt quite well and while they still prefer muted lights, they have no problem in the sunlight after adjusting a bit. Think of when it’s a sunny summer day and you leave your dark house and how for a few minutes you have to acclimate. Sliske has the most trouble with this, seeing as he still spends quite some time in the darkness of the Shadow Realm which is hazy and muted in light. He's quite prone to straining and headaches/migraines from bright lights on Gielinor ( and Earth since a lot of my writing takes place on Modern Earth ).

Mahjarrat have fairly acute senses and sharp ears, and while most concept art shows them similar to human ears, why not lorge, sharp, and pointy ( as not to be so human )? Plus, imagine a few with larger, pointed ones that flick when irritated. That's cute, but deadly. They can hear fairly well and can hear you talking shit. Not exactly up to par with a bat or a moth, but quite up there with horses or cats. I'd imagine the rest of their senses are pretty keen despite not using taste or smell as much as a human, but most senses are still fairly above a human’s.

I'm not exactly sure how they'd fare in the aspect of touch, but it is known that they are very, very strong and can break bones with their bare hands. They have exceptional strength in their bodies and despite teleporting some ways, I'll bet most of them are decently muscular or lean under those robes due to their solidity and a bad example perhaps, but, uh, have you seen Zamorak's exposed chest? I'm sure 'godhood' didn't change that much, albeit some. Who wouldn't love a decently built Enahkra who will hand your ass to you? A babe. Sliske himself, while being one of the leanest of the Mahjarrat, probably has core strength and broad shoulders under those pauldrons. I'd like to imagine he'd also ( as some other of his kin) would be pretty flexible and train his Praetorians to be similar and absolutely strong in the event of having to resort to physical combat or maneuvering out of capture. Most of them were born on Freneskae, a planet made of plenty of solid rock/crystal cliffs and caves, they made pilgrimages pretty often to the ritual site, so some rock climbing was probably involved as they grew. Plus, image small, child Mahjarrat, not able to teleport or be proficient in magic, just out on a day with less lightning, climbing around, chucking rocks into lava for fun. I'm getting off-topic and we'll talk about babbies some other post.

SKIN / STRIPES / SCARRATIONS.

personal interpretation body/stripe of sliske here. (mildly nsfw)

 Skin colorations are usually running the gamut of dark grey, pale grey, and dull color such as a grey-green, grey yellow and more. It's also notable that Mahjarrat are shapeshifters and are known to slowly take on the appearances of the conditions they are in for extended amounts of time; Kharshai becoming more 'viking-esque' like the Fremennik people who took him in when he was unaware he was human, and also Bilrach's warped appearance from spending god knows how long in Daemonheim with larger ridges, scarring, and some more demonic-looking features. Sliske himself has a very deep, dark slate grey skin tone from the amount of time he spends in the dark of the Shadow Realm, beginning to mimic its dusk. 

Mahjarrat have thick skin, built initially to withstand the heat and abrasion of their home world’s rocky and dangerous climate and environment, but also notably protective against icy and snow-fraught climates, as they have little to no issue or complaint at heading far North of the Fremennik Providence, near the icy fortress of Ghorrock where their ritual stone lays on Gielinor ( it's also notable that Jhallan asks the adventurer to re-seal him within a fuggin’ block of ice to rest again, proving they do not mind the cold at all ). Their skin can scar if proper regeneration is not taken to heal wounds, as Mahjarrat are known for almost instantaneously healing themselves of most wounds on the battlefield to their own volition, but this is quite rarely seen on them, sans Bilrach.  For all we know, they could be quite scarred from lack of regeneration fueled by magical energy or quite severe wounds under those robes that cover most of their body, I personally headcanon that some may have some scarring on their hands and forearms due to the might of some of the spells they use. I also personally headcanon Sliske having a pretty nasty burn across his shoulder and ribs trailing to the hip on the left side from Tumeken's explosive self-sacrifice detonation that wiped out the entirety of his army and at least 3/4ths of the Mahjarrat present, sans the ones spared by Azzanadra's quick shielding. I would think that some of them also may have suffered from similar scars due to Kharshai admitting they were tired and wounded after the event.

Striping and markings can litter their forms in sparse or rather heavy. Most Mahjarrat have at least some facial striping that can be a monochrome pale grey or darker, or a bright color such as Wahisietel's bright red trailing across his ridges to his chin spikes, Enakhra's vivid pink colorations, and Khazard's orange striping. While stripes may look similar from individual to individual you are hard-pressed to find two Mahjarrat with identical markings, and we have never heard of any twins being born from their tribe in canon ( Not saying it's not possible! But that would be a lot of strain seeing as once child is hard enough for a pair to conceive ). It's unknown if the stripes are across the rest of their bodies, but I say to hell with it. Why the hell not? Let the stripes go as angular or curvy as they please across their skin. Why limit the imagination. They are aliens. For the sake of me writing Sliske; he's a very pale silvery, parallel stripy thing under those robes with handsome slate skin. Go figure, that's jus' me though. ( Whatddya mean I made a personal ref of that?? s w e a t s?? slight warning for some not safies. )

CLAWS / FEET.

personal interpretation of sliske’s rock climbin’ sharp feets here.

Mahjarrat probably do have clawed hands and feet, and they are thick and sharp, along with strong ( most likely calloused for some ) palms and heels for climbing ( possibly before they were so proficient with teleporting ) They are also prime last resort weapons if need be and constantly need filing down on Gielinor and other terrains since they aren't around the rocky outcrops of Freneskae and using them there as much, most Mahjarrat seem to opt to wear gloves anyway. Their legs and arms are also pretty sturdy for climbing despite not needing to do so as much. I’d imagine they might just have longer toe and finger bones for mild gripping abilities when it comes to climbing. I’ve also kinda headcanoned often that they probably might have wrapped parts of their feet in bindings, just to keep things like soft arches or tendon areas save when climbing or walking. Ancient hellplanet fashion, baby.

GEMS.

Just about all Mahjarrat ( and Dreams of Mah in general ) have at least one 'crystal' or 'gemstone' in their brows or crowns ( whoever in the wiki said Sliske doesn't have one is a fraud, just because we don't see it due his V tapered hood doesn't mean it's not there, as it has been shown in several concept arts that he does have two yellow-green or 'peridotite' colored diamonds, like his half-brother’s four of the same color ). When asked about it in the Children of Mah quest, Wahisietel states that even they are not sure as to why they have them but believe it to be a direct connection to Mah. It's also implied that a dead Mahjarrat's 'crystal' often records their last thoughts or actions. Most Mahjarrat have the exact same bright iris color as their stones ( the concept art with Sliske having gold eyes throws me off, but I'd imagine there could be some minor color differences ). It seems that gemstones look-alike from siblings and offspring, as Sliske and his half-brother Wahisietel have almost the same colored crystal and shape despite Wahisietel having four diamonds to Sliske's two.

 ORGANS? OR LACK THEREOF? 

personal interpretation of nasty snake man blood here.

It's truly unknown as to just how many organs Mahjarrat have and if there is any comparison to be made to humans. It can be hypothesized they do have at least a heart ( With more chambers than a humans? Or two! Who knows! ) and lungs. If they do have lungs, it could be stated that they are very strong and made to filter out the heavy ash and debris of Freneskae's poor air quality, our adventurer had enough trouble breathing on Freneskae if you didn't take face gear. They do not seem to have a digestive tract as they do not need sustenance or hydration and perhaps have a makeshift stomach that leads nowhere as if they do eat anything, they just have to regurgitate it. Onto blood, they possibly do have a circulatory system and blood, as Lucien states he didn't 'want to spill any more Mahjarrat blood'. Normal human blood would be a bit boring so I like to imagine they have thick, dark-colored blood that has some iridescent properties to it ( not glittery, but if you have ever seen what the ink in a ballpoint pen looks like when dumped out, it has a particular shine to it. ) and never seems to be just one color, like an oil slick. Probably because it's so rich in arcane properties which would also make it pretty toxic, bitter, or awfully sickly sweet. This also means that they would blush pretty dark in color and have dark-colored tongues and etc. rather than red like humans, that's.... kinda cute.  Also, if we are talking about organs and parts, a small blurb, no, female Mahjarrat do not have boobs. There's no need since they probably do not feed their young at all. So breaking canon for the sake of biology, hi, Mahjarrat probably don't have boobs or nips. Kinda doesn’t make sense. SHRUG. But they do have belly buttons, so maybe they are gestated with umbilical cords.

THE BANE OF THE JMOD’S EXISTENCE: MAHJARRAT REPRODUCTION

Y'all wanted it Jmods yell when we ask for it, here it is: my reproduction hypothesis. We have little to no real canon lore for Mahjarrat other than that they do(?) reproduce sexually, it takes a lot of energy to do so (abt 50% physical effort, 50% the pair pooling their life energy into the event, kinda dangerous), and that they are culturally fond of breeding during earthquakes ( this was just a cultural tradition and it's probably possible to breed outside of this tradition, the jokes say it’s almost Pavlovian ). They have a specific ritual for breeding, The Ritual of Enervation. The Enervation is the foil of a Ritual of Rejuvenation where one of their kind is sacrificed to provide all others with energy and return them from their lich-like states to fleshy filled out ones, the Enervation is a pilgrimage to select a mate and breed to create a new Mahjarrat between a pair. It's slightly hinted that the pair chooses their mate based upon battle prowess or cunningness ( Zemouregal Senior chose his mate based on her skills in battle ) . Much like real animals today, they want only the strongest genetics and mutations to continue on. All of them fight each other for their pick of a mate. Very rarely do the pairs have any emotional attachment, this is rare. And the ritual still isn't pretty; I'll say it, they are rough lovers. Expect biting, scratching, bruising, and more. Kinky. Let me tell you, human genitalia are boring as hell when you are describing aliens. Phallic genitalia differs a lot from individual to individual, it's a slight 'grab bag to see what part works best for future genetics'. Mahjarrat bits are pretty internal until aroused since it makes no sense for them to be external seeing as all Mahjarrat lose a lot of skin and muscle to atrophy as they age and lose energy, so they'd do better internally and tucked away. Vaginal genitalia differs heavily as well, anything goes. Barbs? Sure. Flowery looking bits? Sure. It's aliens, guys. Go wild. Same thing with sexualities and genders, other than what they want to present themselves as, we don't know shit, so go for it. I'm fairly sure Mahjarrat really don't mind gender identity and anything goes, they see power, survival, and fighting over everything else. Sliske, of course, is male presenting and yes, has his own unique bits. Uh, ridges, bifurcated tip, fan-like appendage for preventing backflow. I'd describe more but I'm already pRETTY FUCKING SHY RIGHT NOW BC I DON'T KNOW HOW TO talk much abt this. I'm a beginner alien fucker. Give me a break. UPDATE: I went there, I no longer have shame. bc I roughly drew it.

I’m not sure what the good estimate would be when it comes to how long a Mahjarrat gestates, is it longer than a human? Quicker due to magic? We just don’t know. The birth rate is exceedingly low due to the dangers and strain of Freneskae, it's not unheard of for miscarriages or mothers to pass away from lack of energy or during the fray of the constant other tribes attacking each other. Generally, it's a duty to protect a gravid mother of the sake of population, mate or not. Putting aside your disdain for your nemesis was hard but needed if you wanted to keep your tribe thriving. Fathers don't tend to stick around after the ritual other than to check in to protect their child and future genetics as insurance. Mothers rear children and if they could get along and not spat at one another, often looked after each other's children. Maternal groups were pretty common and one could leave another to watch their kids while they went off on their duties of making lightning rods, scouting, and more. 

MISC? 

Mahjarrats don't exactly have the same bonds as humans and familial life was harsh, mainly due to the stress of knowing your own blood one day might betray you and vote you off to be the sacrifice at a ritual. They are not affectionate as much as humans and care in their own backwards way about each other if they are family, but it's an arm's length approach. Sliske and Wahisietel seem to get along and still probably have their ferocious verbal quarrels and have possibly even physically scuffled a bit over things, but managed to have concern for one another, as do Mahjarrat who are as best a definition of 'friends' can be to them. Remember that they are very paranoid of one another and usually only see eye to eye if in the same political faction or having to make a deal or coerce one another to stand up for you if you are challenged at a ritual ( later on this became a huge political agenda between the two main sides; Zamorakian or Zarosian and fighting intensified at dislike for each other ). As they evolved from their creation, they just generally became more and more mistrustful of each other to point of paranoia. So affection is incredibly weird to them and the first thought that comes from it is 'what do you want and why?' and it's expected to be a deceitful notion. Hence, Sliske is incredibly good at persuading others and using deceitful action to lure people but the moment it's done to him, he'll play along but consider it warily as false notions. Sorry not sorry, that's pretty habitual to him and will stay with him, as well as his kin. You're never going to have a 'stable relationship' with any Mahjarrat. Well, not 100% at least. You can try, they might even appreciate it if they aren’t offended.

That’s about all I wanted to say and anything left out of this word spew can be covered in other posts. Like culture.... or babbies. I have a lot to say about Babjarrats but no place right now to keep up this long shit.  UPDATE: i talked abt my thoughts on babjarrats. it was the best of my life.

[frogsandfries]

As I write this

I'm going to take advantage of the mild weather and walk to the place where I would like to get hired.

Oh, I was so exhausted by the time I got to sleep, I didn't end up posting that I finished my first cross-stitch ATC. I don't know why I keep going back to the ATC format. Maybe it's because I imagine once I have the thumbnails, I can arrange them into pages? Maybe it's because two and a half inches by three and a half inches is low-commitment, which is good for someone who hates drawing. I can sketch a little thumbnail and be done.

Well I mean, given my personal style, it's more like, scribble in pencil and polish in pen. Which reminds me, I want to at least pencil a few more pages, ink a few more frames, and photograph them so I can grid them.

It took about seventeen sessions, ranging from one to probably twelve hours, with the mean session probably being four hours, to stitch the first ATC. The story is probably going to be some thousand or so frames. The whole thing is just an absolute mess; I haven't even straightened out the actual narrative I'm working from, and now I've added more layers in my push toward finality.

Of course, at two and a half weeks per frame (not even counting everything from penciling, which takes a couple minutes, inking takes a couple more--which honestly feels like cheating, which has me wondering if that's why I'm almost punishing myself with these super-intricate cross-stitches--gridding takes a few hours, sometimes all day), the procrastinator I am likes to convince myself that I'll be fine, I have plenty of time to straighten out my original narrative. Which I do, if I could just buckle down enough

I really love that the driver was going to give me a transfer, but I guess technically they aren't valid on the originating route and I'd feel kinda silly to have one and have to dig out fare anyway. Edit: I'm dumb; this whole bus thing in this city confuses me. I should've taken the transfer because that bus changed routes. So confusing.

They say stress is just a code word for fear and I feel some stress about this. I'm a little afraid that it's going to get very cold, and even rain. I'm a little afraid of showing up soggy. I'm a little more afraid of walking all that way, and everyone is at lunch, and I wait for someone to come back from lunch to say they aren't hiring and they don't want to give me a hiring tour/schpiel. I'm afraid of missing my stop. I'm afraid of getting lost since I don't have any reception. My biggest concern is putting forth the effort that I am and being told no. I know the effort I put forth is kind of silly because I should just get someone to give me a ride; I'm old enough, why don't I have a car? Why don't I have my license?

I know I don't have a license because of a series, at this point, of choices. At this point, I'm simply choosing to not ask for any kind of help. I think it's become a matter of pride, pride that I've made it this far and continue to make it work and I'll get my license on my own. But also at this point, I'm really just making life harder on myself. I can't even look for a vehicle, whether I have the money or not, until I have my license. I don't want to ask my friend and put more on her plate while she's struggling with her health.

Speaking of her health, we live in a red state, so when the gastro asked if she uses marijuana, her marijuana use was the magic answer to her digestive issues. We all know goddamned well if she'd seen a doctor in a weed-friendly state, marijuana would not have been the magic scapegoat.

This walk to this place is dreadful. There's hardly any tree cover. Even if I used the bus plus my scooter (when I figure that out), it's still going to feel like the longest stretch of road ever.

[regenderate-fic]

And Still I Will Live Here: Chapter 3

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: Teen Ship: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Tony Tyler Series: And We're Not Out of the Tunnel Word Count (Chapter): 2,378 Other Tags: Pete's World, Pete's World Torchwood, Angst, Chronic Illness, Disability, Disabled Character Read on AO3 / Read in order

Summary: Rose has been tired for a couple years now. She thinks it's from working so hard on the dimension cannon without a break, but then she gets a break and she doesn't quite recover. Finally, she starts going to doctors, but they're no help. At least John (the metacrisis Doctor) is with her every step of the way.

(Fic is COMPLETE with chapters posting Tuesdays and Fridays!)

NOTES: posting early because i am tired and i want to go to bed now. you're welcome.

editing to add— this fic is only getting angstier from here, i don’t have trigger warnings because i don’t think anything really unexpected happens, it’s just emotional, but if you’re worried about something specific being triggering you can ask in a comment or a message to me here and i’ll do my best to answer.

also this is the chapter where the other shoe drops, so to speak, so i'm going to link my playlist for this fic. if you don't want spoilers don't click it until you're done with the chapter (there's only one song that could really be a spoiler but you know). this playlist is very dear to me i hope you like it

Soon after Christmas, their normal routine resumes. It’s cold out now, and the cold makes Rose feel flushed and achy, her body desperately trying to warm itself up. She stays inside as much as she can, adjusting the thermostat every couple hours to keep herself from overheating.

She struggles to keep up at work, but she’s managing, sort of. She can’t imagine being any less exhausted at this point, although she vaguely remembers a time when she had enough energy for a heart-racing adventure and a night out besides. Back when she was nineteen, and free. It feels so long ago.

Her cardiologist appointment comes and goes. They tell her she might have something, but she immediately forgets what. They tell her to come back for more tests, and she schedules them over the phone. They’re still months away. John gets hold of the notes they give her and starts researching. He orders her compression socks, tells her to eat more salt. Eventually, he starts taking her pulse randomly throughout the day, pressing his fingers tenderly but firmly against the soft part of her neck.

“Just for extra data,” he explains. “In case we need evidence.”

Rose laughs tiredly. “It’s not a mystery novel,” she says. “It’s just me.”

John holds her close. “I just want you to be taken care of.”

“I am,” Rose says simply, looking up at him. He’s helped her so much, with everything.

She goes to the neurologist in March, when spring is just promising to come. They schedule her for an MRI, still months out, and prescribe her a migraine medication. She takes it. She thinks it helps, on the days her brain is threatening to escape her skull, but she can’t quite be sure.

And then one day in May, she’s having lunch with John and a few of their coworkers, talking about what they’ve done in the past, and the conversation lands on Rose’s time dimension hopping, looking for the Doctor. Two of the coworkers they’re eating with are new since then, looking at Rose with wide eyes; and one, Sasha, traveled through a few universes with Rose, once the holes between universes widened enough to accommodate two people at a time. Rose is talking about the different universes she walked through, trying to remember what it was like to be able to jump through dimensions with no guarantee that she would have food or shelter on the other side.

“Which one was your least favorite?” Sasha asks. “Mine was the one where everyone had all those computers implanted in their bodies. Creeped me out.”

“Plus we could hardly participate in conversation,” Rose agrees. She thinks for a moment. “I don’t think that was my least favorite, though. Mine is probably that one with Donna, where the Doctor was dead.”

Sasha shudders. “Yeah, things were pretty grim over there.”

“It always felt so wrong,” Rose says. “Just being there, I mean. Gave me a headache.” She grimaces. “Like, I could tell it wasn’t supposed to exist, you know?”

“Um, no,” Sasha says, uneasy. “Felt the same as always to me. Except more apocalyptic.”

All of a sudden, Rose can feel John’s eyes on her, burning a hole in her sleeve. She looks at him, and for a moment she sees the Doctor, wild-eyed at the moment of realization.

“That’s it!” he yells.

“That’s what?” Rose asks, staring.

“That’s— that’s what we’ve been looking for.”

And suddenly it hits Rose like a ton of bricks. “Oh, I’m so stupid!” she exclaims. She should’ve figured it out ages ago. It’s been so obvious, right in front of her, this whole time. “It’s the universe.”

“We’ve got to run some tests.” John jumps up, pulling Rose with him. She follows, a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as they leave their baffled coworkers. John rambles as they go down the hall— “It was silly of me to think all that looking into the TARDIS wouldn’t affect you. Or, silly of him, maybe. I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner. We’ve got to test you for artron energy, huon particles, time sensitivity…”

They’ve reached a lab. Rose sits at one of the benches, staring at the flat black tabletop, while John fiddles with test tubes and machinery. All she can think about is how thick she’s been, to miss the correlation this whole time. She knows she never started feeling so tired until she was in this universe. There was a time when she could run miles and miles without taking a break. And Donna’s universe always gave her a headache, every single time— and the adrenaline rush she felt every time she managed to get back to her original universe. She always chalked it up to the nerves of thinking she might see the Doctor again— but now she puts the bursts of energy into a whole new context.

It sinks in, then. The only way she’ll ever feel better is if she goes back to the original universe.

And the walls between universes have closed— it’s going to be much, much harder, if not impossible, to get through. The chances that they’ll be able to open a hole big enough even for one person to slip through are so very slim, and opening one any bigger would put multiple universes at risk.

Which means—

Her heart feels like it’s falling in her chest.

She looks up. John is looking back at her, a tear running down his face, and Rose knows he’s come to the same conclusion. Any trace of the Doctor about him is gone now: he looks so very human, swaying in the middle of the lab, a test tube in one hand and a stethoscope in the other, his expression so totally lost.

“Oh, John,” Rose says, but it comes out a sob. “What are we going to do?”

John swallows. He walks over to where Rose is sitting, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to find a way to get you back.”

“Even if—” Rose can’t even get the words out. “Even if you can’t come?”

“Even then.” John pauses, speaking through a shuddering breath. “You deserve health, Rose.”

“I want you.” Rose turns in her seat, burying her face in John’s chest. “It’s not fair.”

“No.” John’s arms are around her, strong and sure. Rose can’t think what she would do without them. “It’s not fair.”

They stay like that for a long time, holding each other in the empty lab, quiet tears running down their faces. Rose suddenly can’t hold John tight enough, like maybe if she keeps her arms wrapped around him she won’t have to leave him.

So when John steps back out of the embrace, Rose panics for a moment. But he’s still less than a foot away, his hand digging in his pocket as he says, “Hold on. I was going to do this later, but—”

And then he’s down on one knee, a small box in his hand, and it’s all Rose can do not to start sobbing again.

“Rose Tyler,” he says. “I— I love you. Across universes.” Tears are still running down his face. “The time we have left— I want to spend it married to you. If you like.”

It feels like every possible emotion is swirling in Rose’s stomach. Sadness, happiness, love, fear— she can’t put a name to them all.

The worst thing is, she wants this. She’s wanted it, in one way or another, for years, for longer than John has technically existed. But why does it have to happen like this? What’s the point in getting married if they know the marriage has an end date?

But… John is right. They have to make the most of the time they have left. So she nods, wiping tears off her cheeks, and says with as much of a smile as she can manage, “Of course. Yes. I love you. I’ll marry you.” She reaches for John’s hands, pulling him to his feet, and he kisses her, hard, pressing her against him like he’ll never let go, before taking her left hand in his and slipping the ring onto her finger. It’s a silver band set with two small diamonds, and Rose can’t stop looking at it.

“I can return the ring if you don’t like it,” John says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Get a new one, and all.”

Rose shakes her head.

“I love it.” She rubs at her face, trying to wipe away her tears. “It’s perfect. Really.”

She looks up at John, and he���s looking at her so tenderly, with so much love, that she can’t help but start to cry again. It’s starting to give her another headache. She wraps her arms around him again, trying to let her happiness drown out the sorrow. It doesn’t work.

“D’you still want to run those tests on me?” she asks, her voice thin and quiet. “Just to make sure?” Maybe, just maybe, they’ve gotten it all wrong. “Maybe it’s something else. Or we can fix it here.”

“Don’t know until we try,” John agrees, but his voice is dull. He moves around Rose, setting up his instruments: he listens to Rose’s heart and lungs, measures her for artron energy, vortex energy, huon particles, dimensional interference, all while she sits on her stool, letting him poke and prod at her. He does something to try and figure out her positioning in relation to time, and then he looks at Rose. She can tell just by the look on his face that it’s not good news— he’s got that sad-but-trying-to-hide-it look, the corners of his mouth turned distinctly down.

“What did you find?” she asks nervously.

He sighs. “Oh, Rose. It’s not good.”

Rose nods. It’s like there’s a weight on her chest, pressing down, threatening to crack her open. She asks again. “What did you find?”

“You’ve got more vortex energy than any human should,” John says, avoiding her eyes. “Traveling in the TARDIS, you pick up a bit of artron energy, that’s the background radiation, but it protects you from raw vortex energy.”

“Like what’s in the TARDIS,” Rose says slowly.

“Exactly.” John lets out a breath. “No one’s meant to absorb so much vortex energy. And I got it out of you—”

“But it still changed me.” Rose understands now. “The TARDIS… made me more like it. I wouldn’t have survived if it hadn’t.”

John nods. “It was trying to protect you, Rose. It needed to change your biology. It made you feed on vortex energy, just like it does. Not a problem if you don’t leave the universe— plenty of vortex energy there. But this universe—”

“It’s the wrong sort of energy.” She remembers when they came to this universe for the first time, how the TARDIS seemed so dead outside of its home. “And I didn’t know until now.” She takes a deep breath, willing herself not to start crying again. “What— what happens if I don’t go back?”

“I don’t know.” John takes both of her hands in his. “You could get sicker. You could keep going, just like this. Maybe, eventually, your body would adjust to the new vortex energy, and you’d start feeling better.” He hesitates. “Or maybe it’ll kill you.” He squeezes her hands, looking her right in the eyes. “I don’t want you to take that risk.”

Rose nods. She’s never felt this scared before, or this uncertain. “What’ll I do?” she asks. “If I get back there?” The tears are starting to fall again. “My whole life is here.”

“You’ll figure it out,” John says, full of sincerity. “Find the Doctor, maybe. Or Jack. Or travel on your own. Settle again on Earth. You’ll have loads of options.”

“None of them with you,” Rose says. “And what’ll you do? Without me?”

John shrugs. Rose can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he schools his face into a relaxed smile. “Oh, I’ll manage. Maybe I’ll hang out with your mum.”

Rose’s eyes widen. “Oh, God. Mum. I’ve got to tell Mum.”

John’s hands move up her arms to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles on her skin. “You don’t have to say anything right away,” he says. “You’re not about to drop dead tomorrow. And it’ll take us time to get the dimension cannon working again.”

If we can get it working at all, Rose thinks, but she doesn’t say it.

“We can’t wait too long,” she says instead. “She’ll kill me if she doesn’t know early.”

“This weekend,” John suggests. “We’ll have her over for tea.”

“All right, then.” Rose leans forward, resting her forehead on John’s chest. “Can we not think about it anymore today?”

“Of course.” John runs his fingers through Rose’s hair. “Do you want to go home?”

Rose nods against John’s chest. “I don’t think I’ll be any good to Torchwood.”

John laughs. It’s all choked-up. “Me, either.”

They see Sasha in the halls. She takes in both of their tearstained faces and asks, “Is everything all right?” Neither Rose nor John really knows how to answer.

“We’re working on it,” John says finally. He squeezes Rose’s hand. “We’ve got to go, though. Emergency.”

“I’ll spread the word,” Sasha says. She glances from John to Rose. “Feel better, both of you.” Something bitter twists in Rose’s chest at that.

John doesn’t let go of her hand the whole way home. When they get out of the car, he lets go just long enough to come around and help Rose out of her seat, and then when they get inside they collapse on the sofa, hopelessly intertwined. Rose keeps kissing John just to remind herself he’s there, desperate to make every moment last. They order food, delivered to their door, all the things Rose can still eat, and John’s thoughtfulness makes her want to cry again. She turns on the telly as they eat, trying to lose herself in whatever random show is on, and it almost works. But John still won’t let go of her, and she won’t let go of him, until finally they fall asleep on the sofa, slumped against each other.