#i'm gonna do most of the talking in the tags because i dunno

[silasbug]

brain going brr... but not in a good way

i don't feel like a person

i look in the mirror and i can barely comprehend that.. that is supposed to be me

skin and appendages and twitching muscles when i move, unconsciously

i really don't like it

[blujaydoodles]

💌 : How would they plan a romantic evening for a significant other?

I'm cheating I choose all of your blorbos

YELLSSSS JUSTIN THERE ARE SO MANY BLORBOS!! This has also been tricky to think about because 'a romantic evening for a significant other' is not (necessarily) the same thing as 'a date', and also all of my OCs have either not been in an actual relationship in a long time, or have not been in one uhhh ever at all lmao

Elyss's idea of a romantic evening is private and intimate; I feel like she would plan something like an evening walk in the woods, but depending on the other person maybe also something cozy, like staying in and reading together by the fire (preferably the other person reading out loud to her)? I don’t think she’d plan anything near water for a romantic evening in case it distracted her (unless her partner can also breathe underwater, in which case yes yes obviously yes WHAT could be more romantic than sharing the overwhelming joy and peace of the quiet depths with someone you love)

Idri gets all her ideas about Romance from books and goes over the top setting up a fancy candlelit dinner, dancing, roses, chocolates, wine, rose petals all over the bedroom-- a very archetypal Whole Shebang. She can't cook, so the fancy dinner is at a fancy restaurant. She's the exact perfect blend of self-aware of how ridiculous it all is and playfully playing into that, while also being completely earnest about wanting it to be really fun and nice-- winking at them over the rose in her teeth, but only because she knows it’ll make them laugh

For Juniper, I feel like a part of her might be inclined to try to Do Things Correctly, especially if she’s not very confident yet in the relationship-- dinner, flowers, candles, dressing up probably. But if she’s more comfortable, she’d plan something less formally by the book, but more romantic to her, personally-- something like stargazing together, or getting up early just to watch the sunrise. There would still be flowers, but it’d be less ‘an obligatory bouquet in a vase’ and more ‘a bed of druidcrafted flowers she’s set up where they’re going to be stargazing’ or ‘a wild blossom tenderly tucked into her partner’s hair’

Aubree dotes-- she's cleaned the whole house, she's got a hot bath with candles and fancy soaps ready for them, she cooks their favorite dinner and dessert and presents it all as artfully as she can, and there's a bouquet of wildflowers on the table cause you've gotta have flowers if you're being romantic, she’s gonna give them a back rub at some point, etc. There’s also gonna be a lot of wine, cause wine pairs well with dinner and with dessert and with a cheese board and with backrubs and romantic bubble baths and suddenly that’s A Fair Bit, haha

Melliwyk is not especially good or well practiced at romance, so I think she’d struggle to figure out how to plan a romantic evening at all :’) I think she’d generally lean on Going Out (because that's what people do, isn't it?)-- a nice restaurant, or a museum or something-- preferably stuff more in line with the latter, because what could be more romantic than bonding over experiencing something interesting together? She probably would also bring a gift-- specifically, something personal and handmade

Nyssa’s romantic evening emphasizes sensuality; this is wine and chocolates in bed, surrounded by flowers and silks, and if you’re not already naked you’re overdressed. Her ‘plans’ aren’t any more specific than setting aside the entire evening, but the loose plan is to lounge and bask and talk and feed each other grapes and get drunk and play music and kiss a lot and get frisky whenever the spirit moves them

Kethri is the kind of person who loves going out and doing stuff, so I think a romantic evening (as opposed to a basic date night) would be a private night in, to center the relationship/ her partner and how much she cares about them. She’d dress up however she knows her partner likes best, and she’s probably written a song just for them, which she plays for them over after-dinner drinks by the fire. Kethri tends to be really playful and cheeky, so I think if she's planning a romantic evening it's going to highlight her tender and sincere side

Felix, even moreso than anyone else, is very minutely tailoring his to his partner’s tastes. In general, he really loves seeing people light up about the things that interest them and make them happy, so in a relationship, being able to do that for his partner would be the height of romance for him-- especially if it gives them an opportunity to get excited and talk about what interests them, like going to a play by a playwright they love so they can discuss the themes afterward, or whatever.

Um, also, this is a crossover ship I’ve only very casually indulged but this is SO specific to them I can’t just generalize about it: if the partner is Melliwyk, he has boobytrapped her entire house. Like, this is the ‘scavenger hunt that leads to the bedroom’ thing, but instead of clues that are just sheets of paper that amount to ‘look in the toaster’ the clues are all, like, meticulously planned escape room puzzles and actual riddles and shit. Also, they actually lead not to the bedroom but to a hot bath and an actual dinner, because the woman needs to be lovingly tricked into eating and relaxing literally ever

Ask about my OCs?

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.

As A Dog

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,085

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.

Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.

I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!

Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.

He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.

Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.

"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.

He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.

"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"

She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.

He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.

That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.

The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.

His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.

"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.

Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.

"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.

The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.

"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.

His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.

"Leave him. He'll be fine."

"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.

"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.

"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.

She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.

"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.

"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.

"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."

That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.

Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.

True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.

When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.

It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.

It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.

The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.

"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."

"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.

"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"

He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.

"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.

The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.

She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.

When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.

For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.

By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.

But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...

And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.

She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.

"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.

"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.

He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.

"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."

When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.

She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.

"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.

Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.

"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"

He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.

A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.

There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.

Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.

She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.

When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.

Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..

He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.

"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.

Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.

"Prove it."

She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.

"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.

Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.

By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.

It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.

Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.

"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."

His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.

She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.

In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.

The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.

He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.

"Take that shit off."

Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.

"Suck me." he growled.

While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.

The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.

Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.

"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."

She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.

He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.

It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.

He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.

"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.

The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.

Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.

What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.

He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.

On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.

He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.

"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.

This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.

"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.

Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.

"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.

Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.

Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.

She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.

"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.

As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.

He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.

For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.

Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.

Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.

He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.

Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.

He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.

If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.

His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.

"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.

"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."

"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.

"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."

She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.

"Good girl." he murmured.

[copperbadge]

I'm starting to think one reason (of many) you're such a good writer is you think in words instead of mental images. It could make it easier to express yourself in words to other people. When I write I have to try to fully express what's on in the three dimensional, surround sound smellovision cinema in my head, and I will never be able to do that.

I do wonder -- whether for good or ill it has definitely had an impact. (For new readers, I have aphantasia, the lack of a "mental eye" or inner visual world, which you can read more about in the "aphantasia fantasia" tag; it's disproportionately common to neurodiverse individuals, along with poor autobiographical memory). I don't know if it's better training for expression, because without knowing how words invoke mental images I don't really know how effective I'm being, but I think it does make for easier first drafts. And probably some of the popularity of my fanfic in specific is that it allows people to project a good deal onto the story/characters, because I tend to keep the visual details vague.

One of the longest-running complaints about my work is that it's much of a muchness, all my characterizations and stories are the same. While on the one hand that's obviously not a compliment, I think that is also attached to the fact that I'm not very visually specific, so not entirely my fault; if people are reading the same things into my work over and over it's probably because of a lack of imagination on their part as well. (I've tried to work on this as a skill, but I'm aware that haters gonna hate, so I don't take envy-driven criticism too much to heart anymore.) I think it's less homogeneity than it is simple vagueness.

But yeah also I would imagine if you're driven to give a very specific visual impression it would be SUPER frustrating if you feel like you can't, either because there aren't words or because you don't feel you have the skills yet. A lot of skill in writing is just practice, but "just practice" is a real minimizing phrase. I'm not someone who subscribes to the idea that talent doesn't matter, because I think it does; I think it's much easier to practice when you derive pleasure from the thing you're practicing, which I think is linked to talent.

Yeah, I dunno. Certainly it explains why most of my early adult writing was in theatre, where you're leaving a lot up to the designers and director in any case.

Rutherford & Fry did a podcast episode about aphantasia that I should probably get back to listening to, but I can't listen to much of it at once; some of it is the sense of being perceived, but some of it is also envy, because they talk to someone who has aphantasia but not ADHD and she's like "Yeah my mind is super quiet, it's nice" and I may not see images or hear noises in my head but still somehow manage a truly inconvenient level of chaos there. :D

[freddie-77-ao3]

sup yall we're vibing here

anyway. hey, my name's freddie, and i'm finally trying to write an actual intro/master post which... we'll see how this goes.

important stuff is highlighted in orange.

so, basic stuff:

as I said, my name's freddie. he/him pronouns. i'm a college student (majoring in accounting, might add a psych minor). not gonna say which college but i'm currently in california.

i've been on tumblr since 2019 i think? not under this account, this started as a fandom account and then spiralled out of control... really fast. um, my regular tumblr which i've not actually opened in ages is @chronicchthonic14 so. yeah.

not particularly relevant to this blog, but i might mention it at some point so, i have autism and adhd. and some other things but. like. that list is very long and those are the two most relevant because i promise if i come off wrong/mean, i didn't mean to, i just forget to make my words normal. but. those are the two most referenced. if for whatever reason someone wants to know more or has questions you can send an ask ig?

i'm scottish, born there. moved to US when I was four. finishing uni and moving back.

some quick warnings

this blog definitely contains cursing/vulgar language, whatever you want to call it, so if you're not comfortable with that, probably not the blog for you, as i don't tag cursing or anything for you to filter out.

if, for whatever reason, if i ever reblog something that contains a slur (against racial minorities, queer people, anything) i will ABSOLUTELY tag that though.

also if anyone has any trigger warnings they think any content needs, please let me know-- asks, dms, comments, reblogs

the cursing thing also applies for sort of dirty jokes? think that only applies to like. two posts and very not explicit. those aren't currently tagged but if they get any more explicit they certainly will be.

queer identity because the explicit reminded me, i'm asexual, and probably straight. maybe bi? dunno, don't particularly care. and i'm trans. ftm. this isn't the blog i talk about that on usually though, unless it relates to a specific ask or a fandom thing.

which, getting into what this blog is for because i can't think of anything else i need to add here (guys let me know if i forgot important stuff, please, i'm an idiot!!! i will forget the important stuff and write random shit instead!! i've already deleted three tangents from this!!)

sooooo

fandoms!! ones i write and/or post about or will potentially post about

percy jackson extending to hoo, toa, tkc (definitely post way less about this), mcga (again, way less). haven't read TSATS or COTG yet, but spoilers are fine. i post way more about minor characters. write fanfiction for and have some posted (both on here and ao3) and a bunch of snippets.

dcu-- films, comics, animated shows, all of it. personally, my favorites are young justice (the comics, not show version), new teen titans, and batman inc (batgirls, nightwing, and red robin esp). late 90s yj run is my favorite, and i loved the DCeased event. favorite batman comic is definitely court of owls run. no fanfics posted, but some on docs.

mcu-- way less so, but have a stucky oneshot. slowly making my way through in timeline order.

throne of glass. i'm an aedion and chaol apologizer because they do a bunch of dumb shit but then WHO DOESN'T in this series. fanfics in doc, not posted.

this would go on for ages if i listed everything so instead, here's an ask i answered on my fandoms/genres and everything. feel free to send me asks about anyone. if you send me something about radium girls i may cry though (tears of joy) so there's your advanced warning.

main things you'll see on my blog are incorrect quotes, snippets, and the occasional fic

this^^

my... idk, contact policy? seriously what do i word this

asks are always open, anon is on.

if you send hate... whatever. i'll probably delete it.

unless i find it funny. then I'll post it. there's really little you could say to me that would hurt.

when i say asks are always open, you can drop anything you want.

literally anything

you need to vent? want advice? want to request headcanons? request a fic? give me a prompt? ask random things about me? something else I've forgotten? go right ahead

if you want to ask me to update my fics? go right ahead. sometimes i forget i didn't post something.

send as many asks as you want, i don't care if it might be spam

i can't promise i'll respond to asks in a timely manner, sometimes i open my inbox and forget they exist for months, i'm sorry. if it's something you really want answered you can send another one

dm's are alright? if you want to be friends or something, go right ahead.

anyone can reblog any of my posts/comment/heart, i don't care. you want to heart 50 things in a row? i adore you. if i had kids, you would get my firstborn

if we're mutuals you can ask for my insta/give me yours.

now, other accounts:

anyway, i think that's it?

[dragonsdendoodles]

Dunno if this has been mentioned, but can we talk about (in A Map of Days) Enoch teasing Horace about gaining weight when he complains about the sodium content in pizza?? 😭

So that scene is... weird. To me. Because that part specifically I don't particularly know how to feel about, but the scene itself is my favorite scene in the whole series.

Talk of whatever the fuck was going on in this bit below the cut. Trigger warnings in the tags. (This one is long. There's a TLDR at the bottom.)

This is also a pretty tricky subject, so if I say something stupid, please please please correct me.

Before anything else: a very common interpretation of this scene is that it's hinting at Horace having an eating disorder. I am not here to tell you that interpretation is invalid, because it's not. It was not my interpretation, but it makes complete sense to me. I am not the right person to talk about that interpretation because while I do experience body dysmorphia and dysphoria, I have never had an eating disorder. So I'm not gonna do that.

My personal interpretation of this scene was that Horace is a picky eater and also has body issues and/or body dysmorphia, because those are both things I can relate to. That has always been my interpretation, and after several rereads that's what makes the most sense to me personally. I could be wrong. This is entirely my own interpretation and opinion.

Completely literally, this is what the full conversation tells the reader, before it's brought around to Millard being sent out for the second half of what we want to joke about:

Claire likes pizza.

Horace does not. He picks at it, commenting on the sodium content.

Enoch jokes that Horace doesn't want to get fat and laughs at the mental image.

Horace corrects him, claiming it's more about his clothes, then insults what Enoch's wearing, comparing his clothes to flour sacks.

Enoch specifies where he got his clothes in an effort to dispute Horace's point.

Claire further specifies Enoch's clothes came from a corpse.

Enoch makes a joke about getting clothes at funeral parlors.

Horace loses his appetite at Enoch's comment.

Miss Peregrine scolds Horace for not finishing his food. Horace reluctantly complies.

Horace expresses jealousy over Millard's peculiarity, stating that he could gain as much weight as he wanted without anyone noticing.

Millard clarifies that he's actually decently skinny.

The conversation moves on to Millard's lack of clothes.

If we go over it point by point and dig a little more into it, we get a few more details, which I think are relevant for the most part, so that's what I'm gonna do.

Claire likes pizza. Not particularly important to the scene other than starting it, but a cute detail nonetheless. We love cute details about Claire.

Horace does not. He picks at it, commenting on the sodium content. Horace does not like pizza and Horace does not like olives. (Agreed on the pizza point, but I will gladly take those olives if you don't want them, Horace.) The big thing here is that "There's more sodium in this than in the whole Dead Sea" comment, which isn't a concern someone his age should be having.

Enoch jokes that Horace doesn't want to get fat and laughs at the mental image. The problem child of the scene, because that's a really mean joke to make about someone, Enoch. Thus far the sodium comment makes it debatable how affected Horace would be about it, but still, not cool, man.

Horace corrects him, claiming it's more about his clothes, then insults what Enoch's wearing, comparing his clothes to flour sacks. This is the interesting part to me, because in seemingly trying to return Enoch's rude joke, Horace somewhat confirms that Enoch hit close enough to home to get under his skin. The specific line in question is, "That I'll bloat. My clothes are tailored just so, unlike the flour sacks you wear," which brings up another thing--these books have a habit of finding ways to call Enoch fat. Occasionally it'll be through deliberately calling something about him pudgy, and more often than not it's through stereotyping (you have twelve important characters and you picked the one established fat kid to be the one constantly talking about and stealing food? Really? Olive or Horace would've worked just as well, but whatever,) but this is the only time it comes from another character's mouth. This isn't just a comment, this is deflection. Horace is hurt by Enoch's comment, so he takes the first opportunity he gets to turn it back on him. This is deliberate. (We'll touch on this and the last point again later.)

Enoch specifies where he got his clothes in an effort to dispute Horace's point. He's focusing on the "flour sack" comment, not the implications of it or anything else about what Horace just said. It's just Enoch being Enoch and responding to Horace taking his bait. It reminds me of the scene in MPHFPC where Horace and Enoch suggest gross things for dinner to tease Olive and Claire. (Which I can confirm was them, but that's a different post.)

Claire further specifies Enoch's clothes came from a corpse. Again not super relevant, but not uncommon, fun fact. During the French Revolution when someone died they would immediately start taking the clothes off of them because I mean they're dead, they don't need it anymore. Just something I think is cool.

Enoch makes a joke about getting clothes at funeral parlors. Back to my MPHFPC point, Enoch has been established to be willing to say things just to freak people out. Just because Horace did it with him does not make him immune to it.

Horace loses his appetite at Enoch's comment. Reasonable reaction. I don't want to hear about leaking corpses when I'm already being forced to eat something I don't particularly enjoy. Like pizza.

Miss Peregrine scolds Horace for not finishing his food. Horace reluctantly complies. Classic parent move. It does suggest that the previous conversation isn't very concerning to her, because if it was she'd have said something during it, and she isn't someone who would hear that about one of her kids and just not care if it was something bad. Personally this lowers my concern level a bit, but I also like Miss Peregrine a lot more than other people I've talked to about this, so take that with what you will.

Horace expresses jealousy over Millard's peculiarity, stating that he could gain as much weight as he wanted without anyone noticing. The other concerning comment Horace makes. It all but confirms he is struggling with body image issues of some kind, though we don't know how severe they are. It confirms that Horace's reply to Enoch wasn't just about his clothes, and that if Enoch didn't hit the nail on the head he came pretty close.

Millard clarifies that he's actually decently skinny. This is something we kind of already knew, it just clarifies Millard's body type a bit more. In MPHFPC when he faints Enoch says it's because he "ain't as fit as he pretends to be," so now we have a little bit of detail on that. Regardless, I don't think it particularly helped the situation, but that's unfortunately a theme for Millard in this book.

The conversation moves on to Millard's lack of clothes.

Essentially, the big things we learn from this conversation are that Horace is insecure about his body and that he will tolerate Enoch poking fun at him about it.

The whole conversation, at least Enoch and Horace's contributions to it, revolve around their insecurities or lack thereof. Horace all but confirms he has body issues, and Enoch could honestly go either way: he doesn't react at all to Horace's jab back at him, he only focuses on the insult about his clothes. Enoch could not care how his body looks at all, or he could have avoided responding because Horace's comment had the same effect that his had. We can't tell from that alone, but I'm leaning towards the first option, because in the same book Horace comments on Olive eating a lot and Enoch jokes about her gaining weight as well. (Olive doesn't respond, Olive doesn't care.) His comment to Olive is more lighthearted than this, which I don't think it would be if it were also an insecurity of his.

The reason my feelings are conflicted about this scene is the way Horace and Enoch talk during it. This is played as a joke, it's very obviously meant to be comedic banter between two characters who are known to take shots at each other for the sake of comedy. That's all well and good, but this scene also proves that Enoch touched a decently sensitive nerve here, and Horace doesn't respond particularly uncomfortably. Yes, he deflects, but it reads as if they can only have this conversation because of how comfortable they are with each other. Horace avoids situations that make him uncomfortable, so if he was hurt too badly by Enoch joking about his body issues he'd have shut the conversation down instead of biting back. Enoch is also established in nearly all of the books to care very deeply about his loopmates and their feelings--if he genuinely hurt Horace, he'd have stopped completely, as shown with Bronwyn about Victor in MPHFPC. They've also known each other for what is implied to be nearly if not the whole time the initial Cairnholm loop was open, after seventy years being as close as they are shown to be they would know each others' insecurities. Enoch's significantly more likely to test Horace's limits, but he's absolutely smart enough to know what buttons he can and cannot push: look at the fight he has with Jacob at the end of AMOD. He cuts pretty deep at the end there, but had he not known (or cared) about Jacob's issues with Abe, he'd have said a lot more than, "You're not Abe, so stop trying to be," and he'd have said it a lot sooner.

It's a conversation that flows somewhat naturally and is portrayed a lot lighter than most people would take it, and arguably lighter than it probably should be. The way it reads to me is similar to how my boyfriend and I would talk and joke about our own insecurities, which leads me to believe they can only do this because they know they both know the boundaries. No boundaries appear to have been crossed here from both of their reactions, and this scene is all but forgotten when it's over. If anything this solidifies to me that the narrative wants us to interpret them as very close if not best friends, because a conversation like this wouldn't have happened otherwise. Horace doesn't let random people bully him. He threatened to bite someone, remember. He threatened to hit Jacob once too.

Personally, their exchange is far from a normal conversation, but I think that's the point. Narratively speaking, Enoch and Horace's friendship is fucking weird--you tell me why the nervous yet arrogant neat freak spends most of his time with the jerkwad who probably doesn't shower unless he's forced to and frequently bullies him. Their entire dynamic revolves around lovingly picking on your best friend. The whole point of this conversation is to strengthen that idea in the reader's mind, that they're close enough to be able to take these shots at each other without worrying they're going to hurt the other. Yes, Horace is implied to have gotten hurt, but at most it's only slightly. He doesn't react too much to it other than making a couple of concerning comments about his own image, which are pretty much immediately moved on from because at the end of the day it's really not all that important.

TLDR: It's a weird conversation about a touchy subject that is promptly forgotten about afterwards, which implies neither Horace nor Enoch think it's too big of a deal. Ultimately, it doesn't matter to anything other than giving us insight into Horace's character and Enoch and Horace's weird-ass friendship. It's not a comfortable conversation for anyone except them, and I'm pretty sure that's the whole point. The whole scene overall is still my favorite in the series, because I think it sets up what AMOD's going to be pretty nicely and my juvenile sense of humor means Enoch's singular allotted dick joke was a lot funnier than it probably should've been to me. (Sorry, Millard.)

[winterlogysblog]

I've just watched an interview Nakaba did for Netflix, it was quite old something like 3 years ago. But there he was saying about the Sin's interactions, on how Ban is Meliodas best friend and hang out with him a lot while Meliodas and King barely talk to each other: he said it was on purpose to reflect how people have different relationships irl.

This makes me somewhat worried for the 4KOTA, will they ever be closer and feel like a real group, and especially now that Percival's gone for two years? What are your theories?

Oh this is a good question... A good question

Firstly, I like Nakaba's approach with the dynamics and relationships of the Sins it is definitely realistic.

With Four Knights. I like to believe that soon they're gonna have this close relationship between all four of them. It's not a big stretch since they're just four of them and the group started off as teens compared to the Sins which are Seven individuals with most ranging from over hundreds and a thousand years old with different kinds of past trauma that they don't even talk about to each other since there is a rule about that.

With this 2 year timeskip and Percival dipping out. There's a whole bunch of emotions. Lancelot is pissed off and blaming himself for it. And if we look at Tristan's and Gawain's reaction about his death.

Tristan is angry and Gawain seems devastated at the fact that the moment they got together, the moment she accepted herself as part of this rag tag group, Percy left.

When Percy returns, Lancelot is probably the first one to accept it and be happy that he's back. I'm not saying that's his immediate reaction (it probably will, who knows). Next is Gawain then Tristan. Tristan might take a while to process all this unless the probability of Percy actually coming back is really high and Tristan hopes that Percy comes back to them. Cause out of everyone Tristan is mad at Percy.

With the rest, I don't think it really would change much at this point. Lancelot is at rock bottom right now. Lancelot. This is the dude who refuses to go home without Jericho because he thinks it's his fault why she left. After Percy left, Lancelot literally went home and cried. That's the sum of it. He went home, locked himself in his room and cried. (My poor boy) I dunno what everyone is up to after 2 years since we haven't seen any of them. Heck we haven't gotten time skip Nasiens yet. There's a possibility that Lance might have grown closer to Gawain they do give similar "I'm surrounded by idiots" vibes so yeah. With Tristan and Lancelot though. I think they'll be fighting. Since like I said Tristan is mad at Percy and Lancelot isn't, so yeah I can smell possible conflict arising.

Also, speaking of Lancelot being absolutely depressed with Percy gone. I think this is a great way to introduce his cousin.

At this point it's obligatory. I've been waiting for years and I do mention them every time I have the opportunity.

[whysojiminimnida]

WELL I SEE IT'S TIME TO TALK TATTOOS AGAIN

Holy cats, hoes mad:

I just adore Black&White KM, don't you? Honestly, never yells at me no matter how often I steal their pics, they give out freebies at concerts, they're respectful -- if you're gonna make a living off photographing famous people, do it like they do. Honestly. So they're in Qatar doing their whole job and hoes losing their shit all over the internet, apparently, all because a certain JM is darker. STILL.

This is not a brand new development.

Y'ALL HE DID THIS MONTHS AGO WHY ARE WE JUST NOW FREAKING OUT ABOUT IT?

This is at LAST YEAR'S GRAMMYS Y'ALL:

And completely unedited, unretouched, the JM was darker enough then that I did a whole post about it.

I MEAN DAMN have we not gone over this, like, several times? (In case you're new to this house elf situation we have here, yes. YES WE HAVE.) We have talked about Jungkook's tattoos at GREAT LENGTH. Well, I have, as far back as a while ago, most recently along about here but also here and here and here and several other places. There is zero tag organization in this house, I don't know what else to tell you.

Anywho Jungkook's tats do not, as nearly as I can tell, mean this:

Because, like the nice graphic above says that I just edited, THIS IS FAN-MADE BULLSHIT. I dunno who made it but I suspect the addition of the J upset some folk enough to need to make JeiKei's motivation anything OTHER than Jimin. Because, as we know, he started out with his ink like this:

Yes, that is a pic someone ripped off. I don't like using it. But it's what we have, and it's years later, and it's been out there for a long time, don't shoot. But I have expounded more than once on why it makes NO SENSE to GO BACK LATER to add one letter to a near-complete hand piece. It doesn't. And that A is not, never has been, a V. In Korea you can go literally anywhere and see Samsung logos, Shilla hotel logos, and of course Jimin's dad's cafe' all using that stylized A with no crossbar.

And I think it's pretty clear what JK thinks the JM means. It means Jimin. Ji Min. JM. DUH. And just like his "rather be dead than cool / make hay while the sun shines" crossword ON HIS ARM, he has a crossword on his hand. A very obvious crossword. Who he loves is written for all of us to see: ARMY, and JM. And lest I forget about that crown:

It's THE SAME CROWN. Wanna go one better but likely utter fanfiction, you could even go heart-arrow-crown like so: 💜 > 👑... ... and make that story work. It actually makes more sense than one J for four people and four letters for three. But we're not here for that. Occam's Razor tells us that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one, and the simplest explanation is the one that's got bitches tearing their hair out. Because THEY KNOW. They KNOW that JM means Jimin, and they HATE IT. (And so what, to quote JeiKei directly. We're gonna talk about fan hate today, too, just... not in this post).

MEANWHILE JUNGKOOK is always showing us his hand, too, have you noticed? Ever since he got the tattoos, but I think more in the last year. It's gotten really pronounced since the PTD dates.

Jeon Jungkook does what Jeon Jungkook wants, and what he wants is for us to pick up what he's been throwing down since, oh, FOREVER but even more recently. Like, it's NOTICEABLE, the way he gets that tattoo in frame at every opportunity. I'll run out of image space before he runs out of ways to show us his touched-up hand.

Yeah. I think the fanmade bullshit has been exposed for what it is. Some of us have known it all along, but even if you're baby Army and you accidentally got stuck watching a lot of comic sans rainbow font youtube garbage (or got up on the wrong side of stan twt), there's no shame in that. I ain't even mad. I'm just happy you're here. Jeon-Park house elves, how we doin'?

[spilledmilkfkdies]

Dunno if anybody asked you this before but

opinion on different ships involving wotbc? (that you know of)

ALL of them?? Deranged ask, muting you on the server for a thousand years, no trial. Jk of course but :O!! I have gotten asks about ships before, plus I did a silly lil ship bingo that I may have to bring back- But just for YOU, joyous one, I will simply summarise and link things! Put it all together!

Starting within the Black Circle itself:

There is no ship combination between them I'm inherently against, I say boldly and bravely. Could probably write for most of them too, even if they're not my absolute favourite, because again, I don't straight up dislike any of them.

Of course I do have my personal top dogs cough cough cough- Like at this point it's no secret I'm a very normal and casual enjoyer of Ogron x Gantlos (gantlogron? ograntlos?? I like gantlogron better ngl). Maybe it's the way I personally enjoy writing Gantlos, but it's just so easy? To make them work?? And if you're not a fan of easy, you can always take the more angsty route and make them. Slightly less equal. They come in multiple flavours!! I think this might be my favourite ship for both of them currently, but I'll elaborate on that in a sec.

Next is my other top dog, Duman x Anagan (DUMANAGAN 🦅🦅). I feel like I've talked about them way more than I actually have?? Maybe it's hidden in reblogs and tags but dang sjsksk, either I should tag better or yap about them more. It's probably gonna be the latter. There's just something about their 'decently normal guy x the HORRORS he keeps inviting everywhere' that does something for me idk, in a platonic way as well. I just really appreciate them as a duo, in whatever dysfunctional form their relationship comes in. Frequently bought together ass couple smh.

About both Gantlos x Anagan (anagantlos? GANAGAN!!!) and Ogron x Anagan (????anagron?) I can be kiiinda brief. Haven't seen a lot of Gantlos x Anagan, but it's fine, why not. Ogron x Anagan is slightly more interesting to me, but maybe that's because I personally enjoy making them clash a bit. Probably still doable though.

Now- Not to slut shame Duman, definitely not during pride month, but this man gets around in a way the others don't and it must be said. Maybe it's his adaptability but DAMN. Ig that's kinda the point of him though. To me. Just the age old question.. Duman is every wizard's favourite, but who's his favourite? Nobody knows. If it's between Ogron x Duman (..dugron?) and Gantlos x Duman (dumantlos) I probably like Ogron x Duman slightly more? They both have angst potential though. Is something I've noticed. Duman gets around but at what cost? Maybe I should just read happier fics.

Actually NO it's Duman's fault there's so much angst around him, that's what he gets for canonically dying and having ties to envy. Dumed Doomed from the start fr.

Moving on to?? There being ships with three of them?? Which is extremely funny to me. Exclusion. Some of these I've only heard about, some I've seen actual content for- Ogron x Anagan x Duman, brought up by someone in the server unironically, Gantlos was NOT invited. Ogron x Gantlos x Anagan, ah yes, sometimes a family is three husbands and the weird pet they found that's their son now. Ogron x Gantlos x Duman was just angst, and Gantlos x Anagan x Duman gives me dumanagan convincing Gantlos to mess around with them vibes I'M SORRY. This is really taking me places.

Y'know you could always just have them all date each other at that point. Affectionately nicknamed 'dumanagantlogron' right here right now. Don't see it a whole lot, but that's probably because it gives you less group dynamic wiggle room. Understandably not for everyone because of that, but there's nothing inherently wrong with it. Me personally, I could be convinced. Be wild be free. Also imagine being at a bar or whatever, one of them comes up to you and goes "Hey, me and my three boyfriends just love your vibe" what do you do where do you go from there bye

This is gonna be a BIG one bro, I might have to cut it here for now and make a second part just so it doesn't become scroll hell- I'm only now "done" yapping about ships INSIDE the Circle. I still have so much to say, I know too many ships. Yeah I'm really cutting it here sjsks

[getvalentined]

Finally updated my directory with the links to bsky and cara, as well as links to my screenshot and gif tags for easier access (for me, mostly) and the Strifentine tag because it belongs with my top ships.

I keep wondering if I should put a little list of my NOTPs and disliked characters up there too, but ehhh. I have one on my website, and the fact that I dislike a ship or a character doesn't mean I'm gonna talk shit or anything. I don't like Ang*al and still dedicated almost 2k words to creating closure for the character at the end of Smoke and Mirrors, I don't like Lucrecia and I still go to bat for her pretty regularly—these are good characters, I just don't personally like them, and don't like how the fandom treats them. Ships are a little more touchy, since people can be really bad at tagging them, but I can just scroll on by and not engage in conversation about them for the most part.

More personal random update nonsense under the cut.

I'm actually feeling really down lately, for a handful of reasons. Some of it is the weather and air quality recently (it's so hot I want to throw up, there's been smoke in the air so I can't breathe, etc.), but some of it is more...mental and emotional, I guess.

I am so artistically burnt out I kinda want to die (I have no plans to make this happen, don't worry), but I'll deal with it. I've been like this since Turtle's health scare a few months back, when I got less than ten hours of sleep in the span of a week, and then proceeded to get less than five hours a night for the two weeks following, so it's no shock I'm still a mess. It doesn't seem like it's going anywhere any time soon, which sucks because I still owe people commissions from fundraising for her treatment. I may end up just...saving up to refund people.

The issue is that I feel like I can't draw unless I'm working on commissions, but when I try to work on commissions I literally burst into tears and can't do anything. It's a really fucked up cycle where I end up just paralyzed and on the verge of throwing up every time I even think about drawing, which is super hard on me as an artist. I feel like a failure, I feel like I'm letting everyone down, I feel like I'm ruining everyone's opinions of me forever. It's a really shitty feeling.

I'll figure something out. I'm an adult, that's what I have to do.

Speaking of people with ruined opinions of me, I think I'm going to start muting or unfollowing people who reblog/interact a lot with BB$C. I know she has a lot of friends, and maybe she's gotten better, but she still has me blocked so I'm not exactly hopeful. This is the woman who (apparently) told her friends that I abused and lied about her because one of my friends reported and called her out for tracing, and when she faced no consequences I made a vague sad thread on the general topic of popularity rendering unethical behavior acceptable in modern fandom. I only found out that she was seemingly telling people I abused her because one of her friends made a public comment on the twits about me being abusive—on a QRT of my thread detailing how I'd spent the previous year being abused by my now-ex. Very cool for me, the knowledge that some people saw that I'd been abused and went "oh she deserves it though" doesn't haunt me to this day or anything.

It's been a couple years since it all went down, but I just...I dunno, I feel like it's hard to genuinely improve as a person without even trying to make amends with the person she said those things about? But who knows. I'd be down to talk if she ever wanted to, but she hasn't yet, and I don't assume she will. I'm one of like four people on the planet who cares anyway, so it is what it is.

Summer is a rough time of year for me in general, so I'm struggling a lot recently with feeling like I deserve to even talk to other people at all. Constantly seeing the name of someone who went out of her way to make sure that I'd never feel welcome in a community I've been part of for a quarter century pop up on my dash all the time is not conducive to fighting that feeling.

Not to pity party over here, but I do get it. My older sister, my ex, BB$C—they're charming and creative and supportive, the people that they like generally don't get to see how they can be to the people that they don't. In the rare cases that they do see it, they change the narrative to make that person into something irredeemable, downplaying their own actions (if they admit to them at all) while exaggerating the actions of the person they dislike. These people have friends that genuinely love them, so of course they're going to believe their friend over some sad-sack stranger on a dying blogging platform. It's no fault to these people that they believe their friends.

(Just to clarify, I'm not saying that my ex tried to kill me the way my older sister did, or that BB$C was abusive in the way my ex was; these are diminishing levels of trauma. She and I were never friends, our sole one-on-one interaction was me approaching her on a zine project to make sure she was comfortable with me having created a piece of spot art that seemed to have ripped off her page art; I'd done it without realizing the concept had already been used elsewhere in the project, and didn't want her to assume I was copying her without credit. The irony of this is not lost on me.)

It would just be nice to feel like the truth means anything. I'm an abusive liar because I apparently said that this woman traced a bunch of her work; not only did I not report her, but it also isn't a lie. There are overlays with over a half-dozen screenshots and official renders to prove it. But even when her friends are shown those overlays, which I have done, it doesn't matter. The goal posts move, and suddenly I'm abusive just for caring that she traced at all. Allegedly lying is what made me abusive, but somehow I'm still abusive even if I didn't lie—and she's still the nicest person in the world, even though she did.

I do hope she's better. I hope her friends have helped her to become the kind of person who looks back at what she did with guilt and shame, and that she uses those feelings to improve. But seeing her name pop up over and over, sometimes from people who know what she did and still decided to re-follow her years later anyway, is a little too much for me to handle right now.

[descendant-of-truth]

The thought recently crossed me but since it seems that in everyone's mind, Boruto and Kawaki have switched places, I'm imagining Mitsuki sadly wondering why his sun has suddenly started acting so cold and distant towards him :(

I don't know if you've read the newest chapter or not so I'll put the extra spoilery details and images under a cut, but this is something the manga is already starting to address! They don't say it out loud, but Mitsuki definitely seems to notice a change in his attitude.

My guess is that everyone's working under the impression that Kawaki changed so drastically because his parents were killed, which would be a hard justification for Sarada and Sumire to argue with. I also imagine it makes Kawaki's job a lot easier; he doesn't have to worry about acting like Boruto to keep up the ruse, because he already has a convenient excuse to be out of character.

Going into more detail, though, I really like how they've chosen to highlight the difference between Kawaki and Boruto's dynamic with Mitsuki. People tend to joke about it a bit, but it's true that Mitsuki tends to follow Boruto around wherever he goes - it's a known trait of his.

It's a tad concerning on Mitsuki's end, in my opinion, because it's representative of how he struggles to form his own identity outside of other people... but "creepy" is overselling it. He never forces himself onto Boruto, and just as importantly, Boruto doesn't have a problem with him tagging along everywhere.

I haven't read the manga in its entirety yet so I can only draw examples from the anime, but I feel like it's worth noting that even when he does find Mitsuki's behavior weird, he never actually insults him or tells him to back off.

The most uncomfortable I remember him getting is in this scene on the train, and even then, he kind of just. turns away for a while like he's embarrassed, but keeps talking to Mitsuki like normal.

Which is why Kawaki calling him a creep and a pain is such a huge contrast. Even if he was grieving and vengeful, would Boruto ever be that harsh towards Mitsuki? One of his best friends? Over something that he was never even bothered by before??

I have a feeling that Mitsuki's going to gradually feel more like something's wrong with Kawaki, but the only thing I can see making him believe Sarada about the memory swap is Boruto doing something unmistakably kind for him, like. I dunno, taking a blow for him in battle or something, and having that directly contrasted with Kawaki... not doing that

Because if Boruto, the guy he's trying to kill, is going out of his way to protect him while his "actual" friend is leaving him in the dust, well. that's gonna get some gears turning, don't you think?

There's a lot of ways it could go down at this point, of course, but I for one am really enjoying the setup we've got so far! Can't wait to see how it all develops in future chapters

[rocksanddeadflowers]

Sorry if this starts a new thread but I am thinking so hard about the crew Jonny traveled with to Europe.... On average a voyage like that would take 6-10 weeks, if the weather treated them well. (It could even take longer, in the 1600s it would've been around three months even, but travel advanced a little by the Beauty and the Beast era obviously.) I'd assume the trip took at least two months, if not more, and Jonny was probably there for most of it if, when the ship went down, he was close enough to shore to wash up. (Also, need to talk about how so not fun being washed up from a ship wreck likely is... That boy is gonna be battered and bruised and broken, broken bones and cuts are so likely considering the waves and probable shore being more rocky than sandy, and he could've easily developed hypothermia and/or pneumonia. Just to throw in more angst or hurt comfort stuff with the realism.) Point being, he probably had a chance to get close with some or all of the crew.

Idk what kind of sailors these are, to be specific. I'm kinda ruling out government officials or any type of warship or military vessel, obviously. It was probably a type of merchant ship (meant to transport goods and sometimes passengers), and Jonny just stowed away because he was terrified hated the idea of being caught after killing his dad and stuff. I do think the idea of it being a pirate ship (it was likely during or right after the golden age of piracy when this all happened) is extremely funny, mainly if the crew was very chill. Also, while a merchant ship is more likely to me, a very chill pirate crew might have less qualms about a trans masc murdering twelve year old than a typical merchant ship crew (possibly, at least. Maybe the merchant crew it very cool, maybe the pirates are genuinely assholes instead). Also, pirates probably pose as normal merchants plenty.

Thinking specifically about Jonny knowing he's a boy, but never being allowed to change or express that with his birth parents. Everyone he killed (including his father) could've easily been when he was more femme presenting, so running away, he might now have a better chance as presenting more masculine, and it's kinda helpful to have a new identity when you're on the run from the law. Also, whether it cool pirates or very anti government merchants, the idea of certain crew members knowing this and helping him pass better is just..... gonna tear my heart out. (Picturing he had long hair that he messily chopped away at with a knife, and later on a crew member offering to clean the cut up a bit.... and it does kinda grow out during the trip but Jonny doesn't mind...... idk chewing and tearing at that.)

Just thinking about Jonny developing a close relationship with some of the crew... Feel like some of the crew members might not be the greatest but Jonny gets close with a select few on board. Just thinking about that only for it to be torn away before they reach land. Idk pissing myself off over something I made up in my brain... (its entirely possible for other people to survive the wreck, too, but how likely is it that Jonny knew they survived, or that anyone else knew Jonny did, you know?)

I dunno just going insane. Tagging partners in crime er writing @blazeismyname and @unsat-and-strange for y'alls thoughts

[spacerockwriting]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY

Thank you for the tag @energievie

---

Name: Comet

How do you pronounce your own Tumblr handle in your head? space rock writing like, it's literally just a space rock.

When you look out the window right now what do you see? My cube has no window

What is the most unusual profession someone in your family was in? All???? My dad's job is cutting up trees with a sawmill. My mom's an artist, and my brother works for this place that does stem cell research and stuff.

What hobby were you really into as a kid? I collected barbies, and I collected a lot of bunny stuff because of my bunny hyperfixation

First autofill google result when you type 'How can I...?' on my work laptop, so nah.

If you were the main character in a sitcom, what song would be playing during the opening credits? Maybe Kids From Yesterday, by My Chem.

What's the last movie you watched? Did you enjoy it? What genre is it? Not a movie, but I was watching the documentary series Quiet on Set, since I was a big nickelodeon kid.

What is your favourite movie genre? I dunno my fav genere, since I just like movies. Just not horror because I'm too chicken shit for that.

What movie would you recommend? Hmmm, We need to talk about Kevin is a great film if you're interested in a film where you leave feeling confused and empty, as you have NO emotional connection to the main character. The perks of being a wallflower is a fav movie and book of mine, because it's a good story for those who never really fit in. (both these films have Ezra Miller in them: but in Perk's he just a side character.) Bang Bang You're Dead is a good film, dealing with the point of view of the bullied and retaliation. (And it has Randy Harrison, my queer as folk blondie love) Umm, Tick Tick Boom for the life of Jonathan Larson, someone who was a huge deal in the theater world. It's a musical, as is the 2012 Les Miserable film. Ummm, If you're not that conservvative of a person, I'd suggest South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut as well as Orgazmo. Both are written & directed & starring Matt Stone and Trey Parker, who are absouute film idols of mine. Riding in Vans With Boys which is a fun Jackass-style film about this small band that goes on tour with Blink 182 & Green Day for their pop disaster tour. Umm...I've got a lot of films I can recommend, I was a film major lol. Boy Erased was used in helping to write Gay Wieners.

Do your IRL humans know about your fandom life? If you're a creator, do they know you create? Yeah, most of my friends IRL and a few coworkers know I at least go to comic cons and stuff.

If you could do one activity with your pocket/fandom friends what would it be? Gather them all and we're gonna have a fun night all together.

Tagging:

@transmurderbug @transmickey @stocious @ian-galagher @deathclassic @callivich @mybrainismelted

[nobigsecrets]

I've only seen the video of their scuffle in the woods where and I have to say that bit was good, lol, I'm still giggling at 'Steve killed everyone' 😂 feels like old school McDanno. Dunno about the rest of the episode but L*nkov doesn't exactly do subtle lol. I've noticed that this many seasons into a TV show the dialogue often becomes clunky/constructed because they've run out of original material.

(also Steve has been trying to get Danny to admit he will miss him in words forever, Danny had never said it without prompting, except until the very end :()

All in all it was a great episode and it had several 'old school' McDanno moments (including a Live Lou Reaction with him rolling his eye at how married Steve and Danny are, lol).

In my tags I was referring to the last couple of minutes of the ep, when Danny and Steve are riding the horses back down the mountain. The dialogue they're having feels extremely constructed, like it was tacked on last minute as some ominous foreboding of the finale.

Steve opens the conversation by saying "You know, I've always taken sunsets for granted. Probably 'cause I figured I'd see a million more. But just 'cause you see something every day doesn't make it any less special, huh? In fact, I think those are the things that you're gonna miss the most in the end, you know?"

Even if we knew at this point that Steve was canonically struggling with his PTSD, this remark was completely out of the blue. He hadn't talked about leaving (or retiring) yet. And even considering he maybe had a mild concussion from the fight or whatever, Steve waxing poetic about the sunset is just... weird. It's not at all subtle, it's totally on the nose, totally overdone imo.

Danny (thankfully) doesn't take him seriously and some more lighthearted bantering follows. And then the last bit of dialogue is:

Steve: "Admit it, Danny. You're gonna miss this when it's done."

Danny: "Yeah, maybe, but I would never say it out loud."

(This is my take looking back. I went and searched for the episode review I wrote at the time and had to laugh at how wrong I was, lol. Clear case of wishful thinking I'm afraid.)

[shirogane-oushirou]

[cw mentions of ableism. talking / venting about the sharing vs non-sharing shit (i do not lean towards supporting one "side" over the other); starts out relatively neutral-toned but i start to sound frustrated part way through. i also have a more personal ramble at the very end that has a separate cw list. it's also long... don't feel obligated to read. i just needed to say things and be Done with it.]

man. i'm ready for all of the sharing vs non-sharing back and forths to stop.

to be clear: this isn't some "i'm above this argument" thing. on the contrary; i completely see where both "sides" are coming from! i simply mean it shouldn't be so difficult for a select few shit-stirrers to Get that selfshipping is a personal thing, and we should be able to ship in whatever way makes us most comfortable.

if someone is non-sharing, they should be allowed to create those boundaries without being harassed or called "immature" or "delusional" by sharing people. beyond how supremely ableist that is, nobody has the right to say they can't view their f/os in a certain way, no matter if other people don't understand those feelings.

if someone is sharing, they should be allowed to share their feelings for a character openly with other sharing people without being sent hate from non-sharing people who think they're "loose" or who want to be their f/o's "one and only". shaming people for being open to sharing is fucked from multiple "sexual / romantic purity" and "anti poly-[sexual / romantic / platonic] relationships" angles, and nobody has the right to claim sole and total ownership over a character they did not make.

and yet, every couple of weeks, we get posts from a vocal minority making a huge fuss over "the other side", when it's just a vocal minority FROM that other side ALSO making a fuss. and then those vague posts leave their intended orbit and cause more mis-worded posts and misunderstandings and off-the-cuff bigoted statements, and the cycle starts again.

we should theoretically be able to respect each other while focusing that energy on, oh i dunno, chasing harassers out of the community? getting selfshippers who aren't part of a specific marginalized group to help selfshippers from that group when they're harassed, maybe?? especially when the sharing vs non-sharing Thing very often coincides with bigotry; people who are harassing others tend to not just stop at being petty or mean, they make it personal.

and -- not as important but a nice little bonus -- i would think that working towards a community that's more safe for everyone in it would also "coincidentally" (/s) get rid of the shit-stirrers, whether because they were kicked out or because they realized what they were doing and grew as people.

---

[cw ableism, vague death ideation, non-physical self harm mention]

i was originally gonna put this bit in the tags, but i think i should put it under the cut bc it's a little personal + it got too long.

also, i try to stay in my lane and not discuss details about delusions or how to approach them -- i've only experienced them a couple of times, so i'm not going to claim to know much about them -- so if i've overstepped, PLEASE let me know and i'll edit or remove anything i've misspoken about.

but coming from someone who went too deep into selfshipping in the past and worries about the mental health of people who do: It's None Of Your Business!!

delusions aren't morally "bad" or "wrong". holding deep feelings abt a character isn't inherently delusion-based and also isn't morally "bad" or "wrong". and neither of those is the same as -- speaking from experience (above content warnings come into play here) -- being obsessed with a character to the point that you self-isolate and emotionally self harm because you wish so badly that the character was real and you believe there isn't a point to life if you'll never meet that character... and this is also not inherently delusion-based and ALSO not morally "bad" or "wrong".

these separate things -- delusions, deep feelings, and unhealthy obsession -- CAN intersect but just as often don't. none are immoral, and all are deserving of being approached with compassion and respect, in whatever way is most appropriate.

negative, harmful ACTIONS that some people take in these states are worth bringing up to them when it's safe to do so, depending on the details of their situation, but the states themselves don't have any moral weight. ie, if someone's harassing others for sharing their f/o because they're in a dark, obsessive place, that is a morally negative ACTION, not a morally negative mental state. they need to take responsibility for harm they've CAUSED, not for what they're experiencing internally.

but if you're calling people "immature" or "delusional" as an insult, something tells me you're not really considering that! whether through malice or just a lack of compassion, you don't see worth in how another person approaches this community.

you aren't better for thinking of a character a certain way, and neither is the person you're being ableist towards. if no harm is being done to you or others, you're just being a dick for the sake of being a dick. listen to other people, learn, and do better.

if you think someone is genuinely in a bad mental place because of selfshipping (wrt isolating and self harm), approach them as another human being. meet them where they're at. don't patronize them, don't call them "delusional", treat them like someone who has their own thoughts and values.

they may want help, or they may not, and you have to respect them for their choice no matter what YOU think is right. there is no truly right way to approach someone who's in a dark place, but you can at least avoid saying things that FOR SURE will make them feel talked down to, belittled, or shamed. if they aren't ready now, maybe they will be ready for help in the future, and shutting them down will make them less likely to seek that help.

(i was also going to put THIS in the tags but i should probably put it here: when i say 'learn and change' i mean it as a positive. people have the capacity to learn and grow and become better; if you've said something in all of this that can be read as harmful... consider why it's harmful and why you said it.

you aren't the same person you were a year ago. 5yrs ago. 10yrs ago. you have grown and you will continue to grow. but if you can be more aware of it and grow more purposefully and consciously? all the better.)

[card-queen]

15 Questions Tag

Super duper thanks for the tag @maskedemerald

Rules: Answer the 15 questions as your OC or yourself. Tag up to 15 people.

Tagging: @raichana @kyuponstories @aptericia @the-down-upside-finch & @mister-writes

Teach me more about your characters! Please!

Also, my answers are gonna fudge details because some of these questions are not suited for fantasy projects!

Are you named after anyone?

CAS: Aye, Castowen the Brave. Naming kids after folk heroes is pretty common where I'm from. CONORIC: I cannot answer for my real name... my birth name, but apparently Conoric is the name of a folk hero from the same tales as my brother. SARABONNEY: I should hope not! In the ancient customs of my forefathers, my name translates to 'dead flower' to confuse evil spirits. Everyone's got names that mix good and bad things. HUGHWEN: Not as far as I know. There's only one Hughwen Shelborne. GWYNNEN: I believe a great-grandfather on my mother's side. FRYSZKA: Not that I am aware! I have many names that were sponsored by relatives but to my knowledge, I am the only Fryszka I know of! PENTOS: I cannot see that is any of your business.

When was the last time you cried?

CAS: Not since my mother was still around, Lady keep her. That woman could brings tears from a statue! CONORIC: I cannot recall. (He can) SARABONNEY: A long time ago, probably. I'm not so easy to startle, you know. And besides, why does it matter? HUGHWEN: Oh, I can't tell you that! It's a good story though! GWYNNEN: I don't know if it was the last time... but it certainly is the time I remember the strongest. It was the day I decided that I needed to change things. FRYSZKA: Ooh, I'm afraid quite recently. I can be quite tearful! PENTOS: I do not believe that I... cry. (He is correct)

Do you have kids?

CAS: No, not me. If thing'd gone differently, I'd probably have 2 or 3 by now but... my calling was elsewhere. CONORIC: No. Someday... perhaps. But no. SARABONNEY: Are you joking? I've got my hands full with all my brothers and cousins! I don't think even I could handle any more mites running around needing attention! HUGHWEN: (chokes) I... cannot say for certain. I certainly cannot rule that possibility out, if you understand my meaning. GWYNNEN: Not as yet but... I have my eyes on a certain lady... so perhaps someday..? FRYSZKA: No, but when that time comes I want to have so very many! Especially girls! (she trails off, daydreaming) PENTOS: I cannot imagine anything more repulsive.

Do you use sarcasm?

CAS: Not likely. That kinda talk is liable to land me in some pretty hot water. Not that I need the help, mind you. CONORIC: No, I find it rather tiresome actually. SARABONNEY: I don't... mean to, but... people can be so frustrating. You must understand, I know it's frowned upon and all, but some days being sarcastic is preferable to... the alternatives! HUGHWEN: Does a bird have wings? ;) GWYNNEN: I find that I sound more flippant or sarcastic when faced with challenges and challengers who test my patience. FRYSZKA: Sometimes! If the spirit takes me~ PENTOS: What do you think?

What’s the first thing you notice about others?

CAS: It's hard to put in words... Generally, how they carry themselves. There's a lot to take in about a person when you first meet them. CONORIC: Where they look, if they make eye contact and that sort of thing. People often look towards that which interests them, giving me ample time to study them. SARABONNEY: I think I notice their eyes first. I tend to look there and... I dunno, I guess I just get a feel for people! Especially if they match my gaze! Which isn't all that often actually... HUGHWEN: Oooh, I shouldn't say.... All right, if you insist. I notice where they keep their money... and typically how much of it they carry. GWYNNEN: Their posture, especially their hands. In my line of work, it helps to be ready for any kind of trouble... even from the most unsuspecting of souls. FRYSZKA: They're outfit! You can tell a lot about a person by how they choose to present themselves, you know! PENTOS: Voices. They often draw me out of my thoughts...

What’s your eye colour?

CAS: That kind browny-orange that a lot of Ethelians have, right? CONORIC: They're a kind of dull red, I suppose. SARABONNEY: Oh, they're orange. Do you like them? HUGHWEN: They're orange, wouldn't you say? GWYNNEN: Dark brown. A strong Ethelian colour, or so I'm told. FRYSZKA: They a shade of pinkish red! In my native tongue, it's called 'py' and it's a colour that symbolises life and passion! Beautiful, isn't it? PENTOS: Amber, I suppose you'd call it. I really do not care.

Scary stories or happy endings?

CAS: Happy endings. If a story doesn't end well then what's the point in reading it? CONORIC: It really depends on the story. SARABONNEY: Are those my only choices? That's not very many... if pressed, I suppose I'd have to say 'scary' stories. If it all ends too happy that it just feels... I dunno... fake, I guess. HUGHWEN: Who doesn't love a happy ending? GWYNNEN: Happy endings all around. FRYSZKA: Ooh! Ohh! I have to say both! I love happy endings, especially in romance stories... but I also love being thrilled, scared and sad... especially in romance stories. I think I just romance stories. PENTOS: I prefer text books. I have no time for children's stories...

Any special talents?

CAS: Like all Ethelians worth a penny, 'm a pretty good cook. CONORIC: Nothing to boast of, I'm afraid. SARABONNEY: I know my way around all the plants and flowers in my neck of the woods. And if you've been there, then you don't need me to boast about how impressive that is! HUGHWEN: Coin tricks and gambling, mainly. Although, if you ask some of the women I've know, they might be able to add to that list. ;) GWYNNEN: I count myself as a skilled horseman. FRYSZKA: Well, I don't mean to brag, but I know my way around any marketplace and know all the typical prices of fabrics, jewellery, food and luxury goods off by heart. I'm really quite dependable! PENTOS: I have many. I was raised to be highly efficient. I know all the plant-life that grows naturally on the Eastern continent, I'm fluent in all known languages and some ancients ones (he continues on and on)

Where were you born?

CAS: Walbury, in Ethelia. It's a big town with too much going on. CONORIC: In a manor largely devoid of anything I care to remember. SARABONNEY: The tiny village of Asterwood just off the Bear King Forest. You probably haven't heard of it, it's not on many maps... HUGHWEN: Can't remember. GWYNNEN: In the manor of Canbury in the north of Ethelia. There's no place quite like it. FRYSZKA: You must'nt think ill of it, but I was actually born in Sal Rega, in Santcria. I know that all that place is known for is those poor 'Children of Sal Rega' but honestly, there is more to my home town that just tragedy! PENTOS: Kyros. You'll need permission for anything more specific.

What are your hobbies?

CAS: Woodworking and whittling. I'm pretty handy with a knife. CONORIC: I find reading quite comforting and I've been quite taken with writing down my thoughts of late. SARABONNEY: Oh, I love to cook like any proper Ethelia, but I also like to do pottery and art. I design all my jars and pots myself! (she proudly presents some of the ugliest looking pots & jars known to man). HUGHWEN: Gambling and spending money. The same as any right thinking man, don't you agree? GWYNNEN: I'm afraid I have little time for hobbies these days. My work is my life. FRYSZKA: Just a little pursuit of mine to create perfumes! I haven't made anything yet... I'm, um... studying. (she has, she is not, and the reek). PENTOS: (scoffs) You mean besides filling in asinine surveys? I suppose card games for one would count as a hobby, yes?

Do you have any pets?

CAS: Can't say I ever have had a pet. I'd love one though, a great big scary thing. CONORIC: Not unless you count messenger birds. SARABONNEY: Well... Steen's not exactly a pet, but... I do feed him and take care of him. Steen's more of a helper... he pulls the carts for me when I got to town, but... well, he's the closest thing I've got to a pet. HUGHWEN: Never had time for pets. GWYNNEN: Indeed. My household has always kept dogs. My own dog, Bron, is as eager as puppy despite getting on in his years. FRYSZKA: I have an albino snake that I take with me everywhere, her name is Petrissa! She's so tiny, sometimes I forget where I put her! PENTOS: No.

What sports do you play/have played?

CAS: I used to play a lot of street games when I was a lad but now that I'm grown, the only sport I lay claim to is the sport of Monster hunting and prying squabbling farmers apart. CONORIC: None, I'm afraid. My condition makes me rather... ill-suited for such activities. SARABONNEY: We didn't really have sports growing up... I think we just made up rules for games we only knew the names of! HUGHWEN: There's a Mizani pastime of throwing knifes and darts at targets. It's not gentlemanly to brag, I understand, but I hold a few records in some cities across the sea. GWYNNEN: Horse-racing and jousting. Not the best but by no means the worst either, mark you! FRYSZKA: Ahaha, oh dear no. I was far to inflexible and clumsy for sports. I have always enjoyed watching them though! PENTOS: Sports are a fool's activity.

How tall are you?

CAS: (He checks) So... 175cm... what's that? Like 5'9''? CONORIC: 163cm at last count. SARABONNEY: I'm 161cm, which I know is short but honestly, I can manage just fine! It's not my fault everyone else is taller! (she is of a quite average height and will not hear otherwise :/) HUGHWEN: Guess? ...no? What a shame... I'm 177cm. GWYNNEN: 185cm by my reckoning. Quite tall for an Ethelian or so I've heard. FRYSZKA: Me? I'm just a tiny little 154cm! And I truly love it! PENTOS: I am exactly 195cm, which, I believe, is 6'5''.

Favourite subject in school?

CAS: What makes you think I had a favourite subject? (laughs) I was a rotten brat of a student, never paid attention to a thing! CONORIC: History, I gather. I was rather reclusive in my studies. SARABONNEY: I'll tell you now, I wish I was reading. Would've made my life a whole lot easier... but no, I believe I was most interested in art and cooking. HUGHWEN: Oh, I found learning about chemistry quite fascinating. Do that surprise you? GWYNNEN: History and law. The two go hand-in-hand, I feel, and have shaped a lot of what irks me about that way things are today... FRYSZKA: Mathematics! Oh, I love numbers so much! It's so reassuring to have something so unifying across all of the world! PENTOS: (scoffs) All of them. The pursuit of knowledge is not something one can simply put half their heart in.

Dream job?

CAS: Oh, a dream job, is it? I think if all things settled down then I'd like to keep my duties as a Castleguard Captain. Feels good to help others and prepare the next generation too. CONORIC: I really haven't considered what the would even be... SARABONNEY: I'm not sure... I just know that I haven't found it yet. I want to do something that keeps me active, learning and helping others. Suppose that applies to a lot of jobs, doesn't it... HUGHWEN: A rich drunk? That counts as a dream job, wouldn't you agree? GWYNNEN: I once held lofty ambitions of being a county judge... a way to enact change and make life better for everyone... Ah, but these days I think I would settle for the job of beloved husband and father. FRYSZKA: Oh, you know what I would truly love? I would love to own a dress shop by the sea! PENTOS: Botanist. Thus, my studies.