#if anyone was wondering (no) why I reblogged my last post three times

[lucy-mclean]

WHY is the new post editor still incapable of making all the letters in a text small 😭😭

it always fucks up some random letter and we’ve had it for a long time now at this point this shouldn’t be an issue

[irisintheafterglow]

No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you)

summary: after steering him to a successful bounty, zoro can't stop thinking about you. he decides to do something about it. (Part 2 to Parley)

wc: 1.67k

cw/tags: domestic zoro crumbs, idiots in love but they don't know how to express it, canon-typical violence, zoro is so himbo i love him

note: thank you for all the love on my first two zoro posts!!!! i'm so so so happy y'all liked them; this is one of the first times in a while i've actually been super giddy writing a character. i really hope he's not too ooc, i tried to keep his himbo-ness intact. hope you enjoy!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

“Here to try killing me again?”

“Oh,” is all he can sputter out, frozen on the doorstep of the Lady’s manor. The stout, shriveled old woman before him was not who he was looking for. To make matters worse, the flower he’d picked from the hillside on his way up the driveway suddenly seemed like a gargantuan beanstock in his fingers. His face was warming but, for the life of him, he could not figure out why. “You’re not–”

“Nope. They’re in the Farmers’ Market,” she deadpans without hesitation, eyeing him with all the amusement of a PhD candidate reading a children’s book. “The Farmers’ Market I created, by the way.” 

“Right,” he replies shortly, turning abruptly on his heel and letting his eyes widen in pure horror when she can’t see his face. He tosses the flower into a nearby planter, well aware that she can still see his every move. After several misguided attempts to navigate back to your isolated piece of land in the East Blue, he approached the ornately decorated door with a little more excitement than he expected. Having the Lady whom he’d tried to kill a few weeks prior be the one to open the door was another funny twist of irony that caused him an odd feeling of embarrassment, like he’d dropped you off after a date ten minutes past your curfew. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Tell me, pirate hunter,” she called to his back patronizingly. “Why grace us again with your oh-so-menacing presence?” 

“I’m wondering the exact same thing,” he mutters, irritated at his failed attempt to find you on the first try. 

“When you find them, tell them to pick up more sweet potatoes. I thought we had enough for dinner, but we could use a few more now that you’re here,” the Lady instructs him and her words take a few seconds to register in his mind. But, by the time he’s turned around to ask her what she meant, the door is already shut and he’s too proud to knock again. 

As if the mortification on your porch wasn’t enough, it’s nearly impossible to find you in the milling swarms of people in town. The people part naturally for him as he passes, sneaking anxious glances at the three swords on his hip. Whispers of his occupation and intentions float around his ears but he pays them no mind, determined to spot you. Again, he wasn’t sure what he was doing there in the first place; but, no matter what anyone else said, he did know one thing. By some unexpected turn of Fate, he missed you. 

“Shopping for produce while you hunt? I didn’t know you could multitask.” The teasing lilt of your voice appears behind him and he can’t help smirking. You’d found him before he found you, even though it was his job to find people. “Word to the wise: the vendors will upcharge you because they know you’re not from the island.” 

“What if you’re there with me?” When he finally turns to face you, his eyes flick to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder. It’s stuffed with fruits and vegetables, along with a jar of honey from the beekeeper just up the road from your house. 

“They’ll upcharge you more and insist you pay for my stuff,” you reply nonchalantly. “Now that I think of it, maybe we should walk around together.” You brush past him and re-enter the bustling square like he was the last thing on your mind, when really he was the only thing for the past week. You’re certain he’d follow behind you and your theory is confirmed when his voice comes from over your right shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he observes, easily slipping into place next to you as if it was natural to be by your side. With the sword-clad bounty hunter next to you, it was much easier to navigate the market without bumping every resident of the island. 

“Mhmm, I told you I liked it,” you say absentmindedly, stopping at a stand and picking up a vibrantly colored fruit from the stack. Observing it for bruises and finding none, you signal the seller that you’d like to buy the piece in your hand. His farm-worn hand stretches out to you and you fish around in your bag briefly for coins. But, before you can place the money in his hand, Zoro’s fingers are already dropping an unnecessarily large quantity into the shocked farmer’s palm. You gape at him and his unchangingly blank expression, shaking your head in disbelief when he glances at you, eyes shining arrogantly. “Where’d you get all that money and why did you do that?” 

“Bounties,” he answers plainly, “and ‘cause I wanted to. Next stand?” You’re still slightly frozen from pure surprise, but he shrugs carefreely and tilts his head toward the rest of the vendors.

“Feel like enlightening me on why you’re here again?” It’s the fourth or fifth stand he’s accompanied you to and, at this point, you were just window-shopping. Since he joined you on your errand, you hadn’t spent any more money; before you could pay any of the sellers, they were already thanking you profusely for your generosity with a pile of shining coins in their hands. Zoro proved to be a very patient companion, respectfully giving his opinions on which piece of produce looked bigger or more appetizing. With most of the required items on your shopping list successfully in your bag, you find yourself drifting over to the stalls of mundane things like pretty flowers and colorful crystals. 

“There’s a Marine defector turned intelligence smuggler hiding somewhere in the area. Thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.” You turn over a piece of aventurine in your fingers, admiring it from different angles in the sunlight. Your breath hitches slightly when Zoro’s face dips down next to yours, watching the crystal from the same angle. 

“What’s the other bird?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Visiting you,” he replies without hesitation, plucking the crystal from your fingers and tossing more coins at the vendor. You don’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth and you swear his smirk gets more self-assured as he drops the rock into your bag. At a point when you aren’t looking, he swings your bag onto a broad shoulder as easily as if it was a piece of paper. “Also, we need sweet potatoes.” Your eyebrows raise in amusement at his slip. 

“We?” You have to fight down another giggle when his face becomes slightly pinker, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. “Since when were we anything?”

“Your boss said she needed more sweet potatoes. Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

“I wasn’t aware that you went to go see her.”

“I wasn’t either, and then she opened the door instead of you,” he admits and you chuckle at his expression of distaste. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have–get behind me.” Before he can finish his thought, his arm shoots out in front of you, effectively halting you a split second before a knife darts across your vision, embedding itself into the wooden post next to you. The surrounding market-goers break into chaotic panic and you have no choice but to press your back against Zoro’s to prevent getting swept away. Emerging from the crowd, a lethal-looking group of fighters encircle you two and your hand finds the hilt of your saber. 

“Pirates?”

“No. Bounty hunters.”

“Friends of yours?” You eye the group warily as the marketplace empties, people running into the nearest building they could find to spectate the upcoming battle. 

“I’d call them ‘occupational competition’ on a good day.”

“Ah, great,” you huff sarcastically. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Exist,” he deadpans and you hum in assent. 

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you mutter and you start to pull your blade from its sheath, anticipating the fight ahead of you.

“Don’t.” The single word halts your movements and your stomach drops in fear of what he’s sensing.

“What?”

“Let me handle this,” he says in a low tone that makes your skin break into goosebumps. “Can you hold the bag while I deal with them?”

“You sure?”

“Yep. This won’t take long,” he says irritatedly, scowling at the rival hunters that interrupted his day.

“Alright. I’m gonna go get sweet potatoes, then.”

“Third one down on the left. I’ll meet you over there,” he promises before moving faster than you can comprehend, whirling and downing the two attackers in front of you without even drawing his swords. They howl in pain when you stab your blade into their feet for good measure before leisurely making your way further down the street. As you walk, Zoro clears the path for you, mercilessly incapacitating every enemy with ease. By the time you find the sweet potato stall, there’s only one persistent fighter still giving the swordsman problems. You don’t feel any ounce of fear, however, as you pick through the salvageable gourds while the clashing of swords rings out behind you. Eventually, the street quiets and Zoro returns to your side as if nothing happened at all. “Good?”

“I’m fine,” you say truthfully, running your thumb over the bruise of an otherwise good potato. “You think this one’s still okay?” After peering at it and deeming it safe, he nods.  

“Yeah, it should be fine. If anything, you can just cut off the ugly spot.” There’s a splattering of red just under his eye when you meet his gaze. Your fingers unconsciously come up to wipe the speck of blood from his cheek and his skin feels just as electric as the first time you touched him. 

“Cool. I’m done shopping then, so we can go back home.”

“We?”

“You’re staying for dinner. It isn’t a request,” you command lightheartedly and smile when his steps fall into line next to yours. 

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[aleksanderscult]

My unpopular opinion for today? The Darkling was terrible at manipulating people

And that mostly comes from the author's incompetence on the matter.

Back in 2016-2017 on Tumblr she was asked which SoC character finds difficult to write and she replied "Kaz. Because he's clever and cunning".

So for her, writing manipulative characters is difficult and actually explains the reason why the Darkling's "efforts" seemed comedic in S&B.

I still remember how posts from 2020-2021 expressed bafflement about where did the Darkling actually manipulated Alina in S&B.

His first, full conversation with her? He lied to her three times and tried to figure her out. What her views are, what does she know about him, has her judgement been clouded by other people's opinions of him, how she feels about her supposed destiny. Apparently she failed in each one of them and the Darkling decided to withhold information since he didn't find her trustworthy. It was too early and she was too immature.

I've written about this scene here but I MUST put this reblog here as well because it's ✨gold✨

So for anyone who believes he should tell her the truth from the very beginning uhh....have you ever been to a job with a hierarchy?

(You can also read a very good meta about their first conversation here from @theweeklydiscourse)

His additional conversations with her? They lasted only ten minutes (maximum) and he mostly tried to soothe her fears and assure her that since she'll have the Stag she won't have to worry about the strength of her power. So, me, the reader, am I supposed to think "That walk that he took with her and lasted for five minutes was so suspicious"?. Ahh...ok.

That first kiss? Boy wasn't it awkward.

It was like I watched two high school kids being kissed for the first time💀

I'm sorry but if that was manipulating then he didn't succeed at making the reader say "Now that seems shady" but wonder "What the fuck was that?". The same thing Alina wondered apparently.

If he wanted to manipulate Alina, why didn't he stay longer with her? Why didn't he spend more time with her? The guy was missing for days from the Little Palace doing his duties and even Alina said that she didn't see him much. So where was the manipulation?

To the first, awkward kiss where he lost control for the first time?

To their Winter fete make out where he almost lost his pants?

(Homeboy couldn't even control his own feelings apparently)

Leigh describes him as "manipulative" but we have no context.

So basically it's like "Source? Trust me bro".

We only have a couple of characters accuse him of manipulation but no scenes to base the argument.

His attempts, in comparison to other truly manipulating characters in fiction (like Varys, Tom Riddle, Petyr Baelish, Tyrion Lannister, the Joker), seem honestly pathetic.

When the author doesn't know how to write such things then her "manipulative" characters and their attempts seem cartoonish, cringe and childish. There's no real danger to make the reader feel like there's something wrong. His scenes with her in the Little Palace only included attempts from his part to calm down her worries and their kisses only made the reader say "Oh he fell for her!" (Which is kind of funny because this is exactly what happened).

The only instance where he was manipulative and good at it was at the orphanage scene where he lied about the Grisha children and his plans with them in order to draw Alina out.

Besides that? Nada.

And it's actually strange to me when people call him "so manipulating" and it makes me think "Have you truly not read other manipulative characters from other authors to compare?"

Because, personally, I have and the Darkling seems like an idiot in comparison.

And this is not me trying to water down the Darkling but say how Leigh Bardugo is so incompetent in writing manipulative characters and try to present him as a "master" of it.

Because he was not.

(P.S. the fact that Leigh once said "I don't want my bad guys to carry a label saying "I'm evil" because I think the real bad guys are much more tactful in their attempts" is actually laughable considering how she gave her bad guy a label when she called him "the Darkling", gave him black clothes and a fearful reputation from the very first chapter. That man really didn't stand a chance from the beginning lmao)

[epickiya722]

I do not know if it was you, or another blogger that made a character analysis of Gojo that made me like the character and discover more about him through the manga.

While I never read the manga before or watched the anime, I had been exposed to it by my friends and some BNHA bloggers. Back then, I found Gojo to be overhyped (discount Kakashi) while liking the animation(?) style, bit still no interest.

BNHA and its Endeavour Redemption arc in the doing was tiring me to the point that I stopped reading it and manga altogether. For mayne six months or so, until now, at least. I randomly found your blog last week , and it got me a new hyper fixation 😃. You got me to start reading JJK (Megan cos playing also helps).

I bought Number 0 and Number 1 of the mangas. Only to remember midway in Number 0 that Walmart Kakashi will be snapped in two like a Kit Kat🥲. I saw that leak in one of the BNHA blogs, and I didn't mind it back then since I wasn't in the fandom, but Lord, now it sucks.

Anyways, all this long rant to say that I like reading your posts.

Gojo, rest in pain, I guess?

Probably was someone else, I don't write much analysis posts about Gojo. I think once or twice I did, I can't recall. Probably reblogged one though you saw!

I don't know, they're really just two different characters to me. Also... I was never really an active reader or watcher of Naruto like that (just very familiar) so when I first saw Gojo, Kakashi didn't register to me at all.

Like, I did not get similar vibes at all. And it actually annoys me that people will be like "He copied Kakashi's flow"! Kakashi ain't the only white haired, face covering character out there with magical eyes, y'all stop. 😆

Even funnier when, by this point, Gojo has probably been unmasked more than he has been wearing something on his face and switches up what he puts on his face. Kakashi been wearing the same mask for...? Also, didn't it take years for Kakashi's whole face to be shown or something? Took like seven episodes for Gojo to show that face.

**

I always been a fan of Megan's music and then when I found out she was into anime I was like "YYYYYEEEEEAAAAH". She cosplayed as Miruko one Halloween and it made my year. I am a former believer that Miruko would vibe to her music.

Just seeing other Black women being unapologetic fans of anime (or anything) does wonders for me and I hate it when people act as if it's such a foreign idea to understand. Honey, we can have interests, too, like everyone else. It's normal.

**

I always try to be careful about spoilers for anything I'm into. Like, I can talk about a chapter that happened two years ago, but I'll still mark as a spoiler because I know some people don't read Mangas or even if they do haven't caught up to that specific part.

That actually what set me off when Usher cosplayed as Gojo because he literally put "rest in peace, Gojo" or something along those lines and the amount of people who weren't even aware of 236... like bro, come on.

I knew it just had to be a marketing tactic because I know damn well Usher ain't seen JJK a day in his life and how convenient it is he comes out with that cosplay around the time when "Daddy's Home" becomes a fairly popular song used in Gojo's edits. I can't go watching one video on YouTube without hearing that song play when Gojo pops up. And even if he has... WHY WOULD YOU TAG IT LIKE THAT?!

Oh, but Megan definitely doesn't know any of the characters she be cosplaying, alright... okay... 🙄

I'm just going off on a whole tangent here, I apologize for that. I've been sick for like three days and just woke up from a nap. 😅

**

Also, thank you! Glad you enjoy my posts!! Anytime anyone says they like reading my posts, I still get shocked. They're really are just random thoughts I been having and really I'm still learning grasping the characters and story myself. And this is just for any. I don't even for them to get read, let alone for anyone to actually agree with me. I guess because, at the end of the day, I really just needed to throw a thought out there before I lose it or keep rethinking about it over and over.

[luminae-system]

(Danny, as almost always, speaking)

Venty ramble-ish post of the day under the cut as promised in the update (ended up a long post, sorry)

If anyone wants a quick summary, there is a tldr bolded and green at the bottom! Would love some advice if anyone is nice enough to share their experiences and stuff.

Tw: General negative thinking, obsessive/repetitive thinking, ocd-like tendencies, lots of self-doubt, system doubt/self denial, brief neglect(? Descriptions, brief abuse mention (tell us if we missed something else)

I've been thinking of System Origins (xyz-genic) lately. Something about messy thoughts and obsessive patterns and stuff, our psychiatrist calls it "cow chewing" or something like that (since January, our memory has been shit, sorry).

So. I'm afraid to label us as traumagenic because like, as I mentioned in the notes of a reblog this week, we never went through traditional abuse, we had food and education and shelter and all that good stuff.

Maybe mom was down in the dumps herself, and dad was always away on a buissness trip, not to mention mom having to deal with three kids at the same time... so we never really got enough love and attention. We were loved ofc, and I am grateful for all mom did for us.

But like... her best wasn't enough in many ways, that's why we're in therapy since like 11 and always go off the deep end whenever we try to go long periods without a session (monthly sessions seems to be the stretch/limit). And well, we have more diagnoses than fingers in one hand already, wonderful! So funny! Amazing! /sarcasm

So, anyways, back to the topic. We never really lacked anything, were never abused, and the emotional neglect wasn't thaaat bad and totally not on propose. So... was it enough to form a traumagenic CDD system? Are we really disordered?

I do have emotional amnesia in the rare times we've managed to get someone else to be the main fronter, and we do have some ptsd symptoms but like... we do have a separate ptsd diagnosis bc of my ex-bf (another story/post, bad bad guy) and the childhood ptsd-like symptoms are nowhere in the same level as when we first got the diagnosis of the other ptsd.

And looking at posible diagnosis, Partial DID (pdid) is so so so close to what we experience! That's like, us! Main frontstuck host with other headmates acting as 'advisors' and less fronting and more passive influence and co-conciousness (even if we are monoconcious, it's a bit weird, don't wanna think too hard about it)

But like... I didn't start having "multiple people in my head" until like I was 14. Or atleast being conscious of it I guess. That's way past the age threshold for identity consolidation and thus traumagenic system formation...

So are we "disordered enough" to qualify as a disordered/CDD system? Would we make a mockery of "real" disordered systems to self-diagnose that?

I've been thinking of sharing with our current psychologist. The last one dismissed my concerns and said I was being a hypochondriac (god, it's always that excuse! Even with our physical health, which, yes, another post/story).

I'm scared of being wrong. What if I really am just talking to myself and making a sorta tulpamancy thing on accident? Ofc nothing wrong with that, but it would change our system dynamics a lot.

On the flipside, if we really are a traumagenic system... now what? I doubt there are any specialized psychologists for systems in our town... so yeah. Not sure what we would do after a hypothetical informal/formal diagnosis by our psychologist and/or psychiatrist.

Gosh. This is... a lot. And I tried to be brief. Sorry, and if anyone did read it all, thank you so much for caring about us! (Or being curious I guess lol). I'd love some advice

So, tldr: No abuse, only some emotional neglect on accident. Is it trauma enough for traumagenic? We disordered enough for a diagnosis? What if yes? What if not?

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

Bonus info for anyone(s) who want to give us advice (thank you!!!!)

System of 3

One front-stuck host and two "advisors"

Daena is a sorta reformed persecutor and sorta trauma holder?

Aelius is our protector (he is taking a long nap/trip somewhere in the brain, miss him)

Danny (me) and Daena are two sides of the same coin, share a lot of traits and stuff even if personality is different, basically like a median system.

Aelius is fully separate from us gals

Dissociation has been very common since we were a very young kid, especially derealization, though depersonalization did happen a lot too. Therapy has helped a lot in terms of grounding

Not much in terms of Amnesia I think? Like, maybe I'm not aware of something, but we do remember our childhood well enough to tell anecdotes and funny stories

We do have emotional amnesia tho, mostly with taking care of the body and household chores (remembering something but like, I did not do that. The memory spawned by itself???)

Uhhh ask for more details if needed!!!

[boyfhees]

IMPORTANT ! | NAVI ( in case you want a link to all my reposts )

so after much consideration, even though it has only been one day since the whole ordeal, i've decided that i wouldn't be writing anymore. i may regret this decision later but for now, i don't. if you want to read my rant and the reason why, it's under the cut, if not, just reblog this post.

first of all, i'd be lying if i said i didn't think about deactivating. the past almost two years have been amazing, but with everything that has been going on in my life right now, i've often found myself thinking about leaving this platform. except, i didn't because i was scared. i love writing, i have always, i don't think that's going to change. it's genuinely one of the things i've been doing ever since i was kid and haven't found it a hassle or chore. i didn't want to stop writing, actually. then i had my friends here, those 4.3k people who supported me, it was a lot to let go.

i think what happened yesterday gave me an out. now that i've lost everything— you know, my writings, majority of my moots, and everything else— i don't think there's a point trying to recover all that. maybe it's just because i'm not over what happened and lost all the motivation to continue and maybe, i'll regret my decision later, as i said; but for now, i think i'm doing the right thing. now, i may come back tomorrow saying i was in my emo phase when i posted this and stuff because i'm too attached to this place, so don't mind me.

i cried a lot last night, i haven't talked to my brother ever since yesterday, i don't like how this thing is ruining my relationships even though it's his fault. i have works and ideas and i wish would see the light some day, and i'd possibly make a grand return after my college entrances with new fics and shit if i'm in the mood. but till then, this is the goodbye.

i'll stay here, i'll log in once or twice a week or something to spam my side blog and idk repost? because hell, i'm not leaving without putting up some of my proudest works. i'm so salty about this situation. i'll drop by to talk to my moots, reblogs my favourite fits and everything. there's this thing i've been working on for three months now and it's almost near the end so i might drop it too, as my last post, perhaps?

if you want to keep in touch, my discord is cael.#0329, my twitter is @/slaynez_, i'm not giving instagram since i'm not really active but if you want, dm me.

thank you for past almost two years, it has been a wonderful time. i wished this would last longer, at least till by birthday, but some things are bound to happen. thank you for reading my silly little works, thank you for the massive support. let's wait for me to possibly come back soon, i guess.

ps. i'm still lurking on this site like a ghost you know, looking for my works and everything since i said i'll be putting them up again so don't you fucking dare steal them, i will come for you bloodline. my kpop blog is @chiyuv if anyone wants to know

[gay-jesus-probably]

OF ALL THE WAYS YOU COULD'VE ENDED THE 9/11 REBLOG I WAS NOT EXPECTING "We're Canadian" ??!!::";??¿ WHY WAS YOUR TEACHER OBSESSED WITH IT THEN

I HAVE NO IDEA. Like, I was understanding at first in the unofficial 9/11 unit, it began with the novel study of the book, and even though I found it a bit weird that there was a book about a pair of fictional 9/11 survivors, it wasn't so bad. It was definitely interesting to read a disaster survival book where all the action happened at the start of the disaster, and half the book was just going down a whole lot of stairs; from what I remember, there really wasn't a focus on patriotism, and there was some interesting stuff of the kid abruptly faced with his own mortality, and the specific terror of being stuck in a life threatening situation with your child. And definitely some exploration of survivors guilt near the end, as the kid was friends with a classmate whose dad was a firefighter, and passed his friends dad going up the stairs while they was going down. And sure it was a little weird that the teacher cried a little at the start about how we were her last class that had any memory of 9/11, but y'know it was a big tragedy and American media has been dedicated to making sure people who experienced it can never heal from the trauma, especially focusing on not letting anyone forget it happened. So I can understand why someone might get a bit emotional when confronted with the reality that the passage of time meant that she was never going to teach students that actually remembered it.

After we did the novel study we watched the documentary, and I was like yeah okay, this still makes sense, we read a fictional novel about this real event, now we're getting some visual context and looking at the real disaster. And then after that we watched the Nic Cage 9/11 movie, and I started thinking man we sure are spending awhile on this topic, I'm not really sure if this still counts as a novel study given how far we've wandered away from the actual novel. And then we were given a 'creative writing project' to write OBITUARIES, specifically for people we invented who died in 9/11, and then I was really wondering what in the fresh baked fuck was going on. But again, the justification was there, because we did ask the teacher what the fuck she was thinking, and she explained that knowing what an obituary is and how to write one is unfortunately useful knowledge, and it's probably for the best if we know how to do it long before we're ever going to need to. Very fucking strange and kind of insensitive, but there's some logic to the whole thing so I guess this train is still on the tracks.

...But then we had to take the fake person from our obituaries and follow it up with writing a eulogy for them, and then deliver our fake eulogies in front of class, to give us more public speaking practice??? With part of the grading rubric being how well we sold the act of being the grief-stricken parent of our fictional 9/11 victim? And that was about the point that I realized no, this train hopped the tracks a long time ago, and we've somehow kept on rolling anyways.

All of this fucking nonsense was in direct contrast to our Social Studies teacher, who frequently joked about how post 9/11 paranoia and aggressive airport security standards ruined his life, because some fucking asshole tried to blow up a plane a few months after 9/11 by hiding explosives in his shoes, and that asshole happened to have the exact same first and last name as my social studies teacher. So literally every single time my teacher had to fly somewhere, it would begin with him arriving at airport security, immediately being arrested on charges of having a name, and spending several hours sitting in a holding cell while they quadruple checked that no, the Shoe Bomber has not somehow been quietly pardoned of his three consecutive life sentences, he has not escaped from maximum security prison without anybody hearing about it, this is literally just Some Guy, and it's not actually illegal to be named Richard Reid.

[elliesflower]

hello all you lovely beautiful wonderful amazing incredible show-stopping spectacular never-been-done-before people who follow me,

i’d like to share something a lil personal with you all, if that’s alright. tw for mental health talk below

i have loved the last of us since i first played it back in 2014. i was absolutely enamored by the story, the characters, the overwhelming, conflicting feelings of joy and pain i felt while playing, all of it. i absorbed every little bit of knowledge i could about the games, about the lore—i was so happy to have a little world i could escape to when nothing felt right in my life. while it has always been a constant joy in my life, it has been my main hyperfixation for the last three years now.

i used to write for a few different fandoms, and i only fairly recently built up the courage to share my writings with you all, in this community. the overwhelming amount of kind messages and comments i have received have been more than i could have ever dreamed possible. you all make this such an amazing part of my life and for that i am so grateful—that you enjoy my writing, that you want me to continue writing them, and that you are excited for me to put out new works. i struggle a lot with imposter syndrome, and i often feel like i am not putting my best foot forward, but i still appreciate it more than you all will ever understand, that people take the time out of their day to read my works and actually enjoy them.

when i first started writing for this fandom, in late october of last year, i was at the absolute lowest point in my life. i was hospitalized, briefly, before being put into an iop program to treat my mental health. shortly after i got out of the hospital is when i began writing i saw you in a dream. it was my perfect little dream world, in which i could escape to my silly little alternate reality, awkwardly flirting with ellie and feeling this immense amount of joy that only writing could bring me. i didn’t expect anyone but my best friend to read my stuff, honestly, so every single like/reblog/kudo/comment i received literally made me tear up. i couldn’t believe my eyes, as the number of notes grew, from 1, to 20, to 100, to over 700 on one of my little blurbs. still, to this day, i know i have said it a million times before, and literally probably twice already in this lil ramble but i am so so so grateful and appreciative of each and every person who has interacted with any of my works, and to the friends i have made along the way.

i am saying all this because i feel like i owe you all a little explanation. i know im a little flaky on my promises, which is not very cool of me :( i try my best to write as much as i can, but i only recently returned to work after my program, and it’s been really hard on me, mentally. and i’m not saying this for any kind of pity at all, i swear!!!! (i’m a big girl, really!!) ((well, that’s debatable, but i like to think i am!!!). i just want to explain why i have slowed down on the frequency of my writing, and posting. as someone with both adhd and autism, i struggle with a lot of basic everyday tasks already, so adding work back into the mix has been chaotic, to say the least.

ANYWAYS, TLDR; this is kinda just…a big, long, roundabout way of saying i unfortunately will not be posting the next chapter of i saw you in a dream tonight, per say, but it is in the works, and THAT is a promise :)

i love you all, so so so so much. thank you for being here. and for reading this far, if you made it through my rambling. <3

[hurricanek8art]

So a lot of people have seen my Star Wars posts the last couple of weeks. I only have a handful of followers and I'm still pretty new to all of this, and it's been fun and kinda mind blowing. I would love to talk about Star Wars or other nerdy stuff more than anything right now, but... I have something I have to get off my chest.

My dog Lucy died this afternoon.

It was sudden, like this developed at some point in the three months since she was at the vet last, and there was nothing we could do. I can't bring myself to really talk about it. I don't think I ever will be able to. It's too much. Because Lucy was my everything.

I'm not posting this because I'm looking for sympathy or prayer. I mean I'll take it if you're comfortable giving it, but that's all really complicated stuff, y'know? Not everybody has a great relationship with grief or religion—heck I don't always have an easy relationship with either of them sometimes, but I'm working on it. I'm not digging for commiseration or "poor sweet baby"s or anything. I just... don't have many people to talk to in my life. And this is gonna be really hard for me going forward. Not that anyone needs me to tell them that, everyone who's been where I am knows this. I'm not ready to grieve. I've grieved half my life, really, for different reasons, different people. It's... complicated. I'm complicated. So I'm going to do what I learned how to do to cope with my grief as a child. I'm going to tell you a story.

It's a story about love and unexpected journeys. Of finding who you are through someone else. Of a girl and her dog, who found each other and were who the other needed in just the right moment. I want to tell you a story because if even one person reads this, just reads it, doesn't even reblog or like or anything, the story is carried on. And the story lives forever. And in a way, Lucy lives forever. Because she already does in my heart, and she always will. So I'm going to tell the world our story not because I'm looking for followers or likes or sympathy or whatever. I'm telling it because I want at least one person to know even a fraction of how much I love her. If you don't or can't read this because it's too much, too close, too anything, I understand more than anyone that it can be overwhelming or painful. But if you do read this rambly ode that I wrote last night in sort of a haze... I thank you, for carrying the story on.

I met Lucy when I was thirteen. My family had been looking into training a service dog for me for a few months. We thought that it would help with my autism, alongside the PTSD I was dealing with in the aftermath of my father's death a little less than a year before. Because we already had one wonderful lab mix, the local training organizations had turned our applications down, citing that it would be too complicated to integrate the dogs. A friend of our family who did occupational therapy through animals suggested we find a dog and train it ourselves, with her help and help from people she knew, so off to the local shelters we went. This trip was our third try, and it was the same shelter we found our lab in—third try's the charm, right? And it was.

My mom wanted me to look at the puppies down a different row of kennels. Easier to train when they're younger, and she has a fondness for labs. But I walked down the righthand row, waving and smiling and wincing at the noise as excited dogs barked, wanting to see why new people were there, and I saw her. She was in the middle of the row of kennels. She never barked, but her big brown eyes were bright. I knelt down to say hello because she was the only one not barking in my face, and she leaned against the chain link to get closer for me to scratch, still looking at me with those beautiful eyes. I didn't realize it in that moment, but that was the moment she moved straight into my heart. I wanted to at least visit with her in the introduction room. Yes, the puppies were cute, but I had a feeling this time, y'know?

When they brought her into the room, I was sitting on the floor. She about dragged the shelter volunteers across the room, making a beeline for me. Sniffing all over. No licking—she's never been a licker. That's alright. We played a little, my mom and brother watching kinda surprised because this dog didn't want to look anywhere but me. She sniffed curiously around the room a few times, sure, but otherwise, she was right there. Stayed right there. And then she did this.

I was a goner. Because I found my dog.

___

They told us they thought she was a dalmatian mix, estimated to be about one and a half, which was amazing because we did the math later and realized she was likely born around my birthday in December. Asked me what I wanted to name her. I was on a Narnia hyperfixation at that point. Lucy, because she was so sweet and curious. Later the name evolved into an homage to Lucille Ball, because she was wacky and goofy and fun. I don't care where the name came from. She was Lucy and she was my dog. We had to introduce her to our other dog the next day, at the dog park. It went fantastic. All she wanted to do was romp and play, and our other dog went from acting her age of 8 and sorta arthritic to a happy two year old again. Surprisingly, the shelter worker handed us the leash and said "she's yours for the weekend, we'll talk on Monday". Trial run I guess. I was fine. I was ready.

It was Friday, April 13th, 2012. My brother likes to make jokes that the date should've been a clue that she'd be a handful, but I don't care. A Friday the 13th was one of the best days of my life. Even if it didn't feel like it at the time.

(I swear she and our lab got along, that one is just one of the few pictures I have of them together at the moment 🤣 I have so many pictures, but I can't go through them yet. These are just the ones I feel comfortable sharing right now.)

___

She was not a dalmatian mix. We figured that out that night when we put her up in my room to sleep. I was too buzzed with excitement, so I was in the living room when I heard it. This bay from my room. Not a bark, a full on hound bay. I remember looking at my mother in shock, and she just shook her head, eyes wide. "That is not a dalmatian."

It turned out there was an foxhound breeding/hunting place a few miles out in the boonies from us. They don't actually fox hunt, it's more of a horse-riding club where you go out riding with a whole flipping herd of foxhounds, English and American, to exercise the dogs. The shelter had found her about a month before running around in the woods, no collar, no chip, nothing. We don't know if that really is where she was lost from, or how long she was a stray. No one from there came looking for her if she was theirs. She had some scars on her face, thin scratches you could only really see when you squished the loose skin on her face. I loved squishing her face so much. Lucy had pretty clearly never been raised around non-working dogs. Or humans. Or anything, really. The world of the suburbs was new and confusing to her, but she knew how to chase, and run, and scent-track. Never had a problem with wild animals trying to get into our yard again at that house. Lucy was here to protect her new people.

(I should be clear that there was nothing in this tree. No squirrels or anything. I think this photo really captures some of her essence, though 🤣)

Service dog training went out of the window pretty quickly. My mother, who'd had dogs for decades, had never adopted a dog as old as her before, and Lucy was a lot. Hyperactive, intense prey drive, stubborn and hardheaded and loud, oh my gosh she was so loud. And settling into a new routine after losing her husband while trying to raise two autistic kids, while we all dealt with PTSD, was a lot. She got overwhelmed and kinda shut down after a while. My brother didn't know how to train dogs either, so he shut down, too. I don't blame them at all, we were all grieving and they came back around eventually, but I was thirteen years old with a dog I had no idea how to train, and I felt alone. I was grieving and scared, and for a while I was terrified that it wasn't going to work out. Every time our family adopts an animal, we swear right then—that animal is a part of our family, no matter what. But it was so much, and we were dealing with so much.

But then Lucy would look at me with those big brown eyes. And I'd feel okay. Because she was my dog. And I was her person. And I wasn't going to give up. So I squared my shoulders, I went over everything I knew from what my mother had taught me over the years, and I trained my dog.

(this was from 2016, and it's the day I knew she and my brother actually did get along, despite all the headaches and banged-up knees from her not dodging around him quite in time that she caused)

Things have never been easy. But we got through it. We moved out of my childhood home, a little over a year after returning from everything that happened with my father. (It was a saga I really don't know how to share) My PTSD and trauma stuff got worse, and my now-regular panic attacks really got started, and I dropped out of therapy like an idiot, but through it all she was there, always, always. When it felt like no one else was. When it felt like I was drowning. I never got suicidal thoughts until the pandemic hit, and have never been anywhere near wanting to even think about following through on them, but even when I was in really dark places, no matter what, Lucy was there, listening to me with her big floppy peanut butter colored ears and her big brown eyes and her freckly-looking spots. Lucy saved me from fully spiraling into a grief-filled, depressed fog I wouldn't be able to find a way out of more times than I can count. As far as I'm concerned, she saved my life. She was never cuddly—I think she tolerated my attempts at affection more than anything sometimes, but that was okay. I'm pretty touch-averse when it comes to humans and hugs and stuff. Dogs, no, humans, yes. I understood, and I knew when she'd had enough and when to step away, and I did my best to respect that. She was fine with being independant, with just being near me. And I realized I was fine with it too. Because she was there. And I was there for her.

(She heard me open a snack container in the first pic; behind that bush was one of her favorite spots in the summer even though it drove me crazy when I couldn't find her 🤣)

Over the past few years, it felt like we'd really settled into where we were supposed to be. She never slowed down with age. She just... matured, I think? Especially after our lab mixed died in 2016 and it was just her and us humans. Realized she didn't have to constantly chase the next smell, be on the lookout for the next squirrel or bird or rabbit. When I took her out for our hours of hanging out on the back porch in the sunshine, as soon as the weather would turn warm, she went from constantly running around the yard to taking breaks to hang around my chair. Laying near me, sometimes even next to me. A few times she laid her head on my feet, or next to them, or against my legs when I was sitting on the ground. I almost cried every time because it made me happy she was so comfortable with that. (Scratch that, I did cry) My favorite was when we were out there in the evenings, and she'd fall asleep as it got dark, deep enough to snore. She felt safe enough to do that, comfortable enough, content enough to let herself fall that deep asleep, because she knew we were there to protect her, be there for her. Because I was there. And if you've never heard a hound howl in their sleep because they were dreaming about chasing things, you've missed out, it's possibly one of the funniest sounds you'll ever hear, and I got to hear it on a nightly basis. I heard it last night. Even when it kept me awake sometimes as her snores rattled the windows, I have treasured that weird yodel-y sound as it fluttered through her flappy lips.

Those summer days will be in my heart forever. And when the weather would turn cold, and my seasonal depression would get bad, I felt better because she'd let herself become a couch potato with time, and realized "Hey, I can sleep on Kate's bed when she's not on it! Score!" She was content, at last, after years of us working so hard to find a balance. That's what I've held onto all this time, what I'll hold onto in the coming months, years, decades. That she's content, and happy, and she knows that she is loved more than anything in this world.

I've grown and changed with her. It's been eleven and a half years, we had to have. I've lost family and gained family. Drifted apart from friends like an idiot when I should've held on. Sometimes I don't know if the person I've become is who I want to be, or need to be, but when I'm with her, it's fine. Because I was who she needed. I became an adult. I found new interests and hobbies; I found writing, I re-found art, I found music and making friendship bracelets and a little bit of sewing recently, though I'm bad at it. I found historical subjects, mythologies and folklore, stories I never knew existed, that fascinate me. I found Lord of the Rings and Captain Marvel and Paramore and Taylor Swift with her. I still don't always know who I am, but I found myself. And every bit of that, Lucy was next to me, watching me as I discovered it, listening to me sing to her and ramble on about whatever I was doing on the days we sat out on the porch or in my room, just us, and I needed someone to talk to. She was always a good listener.

I'm still struggling with my mental health, everyone in my family is. And I know the next few months are going to be hard. But every bit of my life with her, I've been happy, even when it got hard. Because Lucy was my dog, and I was her human, and we were Kate and Lucy. My only regret is how long it took us to find our balance, find out how to coexist when we were so different but the same at the start. I will always regret how long it took, even if I was a confused child for half of it, but I never gave up. I couldn't. Because she never gave up on me, even when I had no idea what I was doing. Anything else—the grief, the frustration, the fear—I regret none of it. I never will.

Because through it all, I had Lucy. And Lucy had me. And now, if you've read all this, as I rambled my way through our story, trying not to cry and laughing at some of the memories, maybe you know her a little bit too. Everything on the internet is forever, right? Well, now our story is forever. Lucy is forever.

And she will be in my heart forever, too. I love you, Lucy. My Goose, my Goober, my Goofus, my Lucy-Goosey Mongoose, my "no, no, stop that, please stop eating stuff you find in the yard!". I love your squishy face and your droopy lips and your floppy ears. I love your loud barks and your window-rattling snores and your incredibly weird sleeping positions. I love your big brown eyes and your goofy grin and your misunderstanding of the word 'gimme five' regularly leading to you enthusiastically smacking me in the face with your big ol' paws. I love how I had to show you how to chew apple slices with your back teeth because you'd never had one before, and how you'd mooch for a carrot that was supposed to go to the horses only to spit it out three seconds later and then immediately try mooching for another. I loved teaching you to boop me with your nose when it was clear you weren't comfortable with kisses as a way to show affection, despite the numerous times you almost broke my nose. I love you. I love you. I love you. You have been part of me since April 12, 2012. You always will be part of me. One of the best parts.

And now you're forever.

[targentis]

- What's your favorite character arc?

- What's your favorite details you noticed about the game?

- What's your favorite character design?

- Do you have any hcs/things you'd like about less popular characters ( the church staff, students like Raphael or Caspar, random npc )

- Idk if you particularly care about shipping, but do you have any rarepair? ( Ok, tbh that one is because of your Rodrigue fic because it was delightful. And because I saw you liked Ferdinand/Dimitri- )

- Do you have any hcs around the characters family? ( This one might also be because of your Rodrigue fic- )

- ALSO is there any platonic dynamic, especially less popular, that you care about?

- Group dynamic too! I'm pretty sure your favorite is the blue lions, but is there anything particular you enjoy/notice about the houses? ( including the Church staff! And it can consider recruits too, as well as either pre or post time-skip )

- This one is a bit cheessy but is there any song you associate with three houses in some way?

( Sorry I know it looks a bit like an interview, feel free to only answer the question you want! And I might not like/reblog your answer bc I'm shy but I'll garantee you that I will have read it! Thanks you if you decided to answer :) )

wowa sure i’ll answer all these why not HDSNDJSN

gotta say dimitri has my favorite character arc 💪💪💥💥💥💥🔥🔥🔥👆👆👆 they literally gave him a trauma recovery arc and it wasn’t even bad. we love the psychotic rep in this game 💪💪💪💪 the healing 💥💥💥💥💥💥 the sexy also 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

THE FACT THAT YOU CAN JUST. WALK AROUND ON BATTLE MAPS TO EXPLORE THEM. I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS, THEY DIDN’T HAVE TO DO ALL THAT, AND YET…

oogh. this is a Hard One. all the character design in this game slaps so hard. i’ll probably have to say post timeskip Edelgard takes the cake for me though because like…that headdress…the gravitas of the whole getup…never seen anything like it before

I LOVE CORNELIA 💥💥💥💥💥💥 i know i already talked about my trans headcanon for her but like genuinely…..she is so fascinating to me…what is trans Agarthan culture like…one must wonder…

LMAO the Rodrigue fic was a commission but i am a Rodriguela supporter forever 🫡🫡🫡 other than that yeah i like Diminand (but i’m a Cymitri truther and Yes this counts as a rarepair to me), Ashelix, whatever Ferdinand and Felix is called but Specifically as exes…i think that’s it off the top of my head. i also ship Cornelia with Valter from Sacred Stones but that’s a whole nother can of worms

OUUUU tbh i think All of my family hcs came out in that one Felix fic that everyone sleeps on HDBSBDJS i just i just i love thinking about Glenn……..and what would happen if Felix just went to therapy ONCE……… Rodrigue is a good father idc what anyone says

yes i think we were robbed of Claude and Hubert supports and i’ll die on this hill. they would have been such incredible worsties. i also really like Lorenz and Ferdinand as the most insufferable friends on the planet. and Annette and Dimitri have such cute supports that i never hear anyone talk about…faerghus four my ass, Annette is Dimitri’s REAL sibling figure ‼️ speaking of the faerghus four i hate that dynamic. Dedue and Dimitri have thee most beautiful friendship and ppl want me to believe he has a comparable relationship with the snotty rich kids he grew up with? get real. that being said Felix and Sylvain have that Exact lasting childhood bond that everyone seems to want Dimitri to have with the rest of them so. i like those two as besties i have a lot of feelings about that.

its so interesting that the Blue Lions come off as my favorite group dynamic because like…i gotta say they’re probably my least favorite as a group AKDKSNSKSA i LOVE the Black Eagles for this. (i am totally neutral on the Golden Deer. i have like zero opinions on them and i am sorry 😔) specifically though i think what gets me about the Black Eagles is that they have this…communal vibe, i guess? it makes it easy to imagine them all like hanging out with each other even though they all have such STRONG personalities. the Blue Lions…i just get the sense that they’re not all very compatible with each other if that makes sense??? it feels like i’m at an awkward family dinner every time i see them all together. it could just be that i like almost all the BE whereas there are quite a few BL i strongly dislike HHDBWNDN because recruiting my faves makes this less unbearable. also i fucking love the church staff…i especially love how supportive all the professors are of each other, and how Byleth really feels like they have a community around them while working at Garreg Mach… Gatekeeper i love you………

yes i do actually and it’s PVP by Amaranthe. i don’t actually know WHY that song makes me think of this game, the lyrics aren’t really applicable, but i have such a vivid animatic in my head every time i hear it so there you have it.

[dcbbw]

I posted 496 times in 2022

166 posts created (33%)

330 posts reblogged (67%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@citizenscreen

@socalledmixtapelife

@choicesficwriterscreations

@angelasscribbles

@ao719

I tagged 80 of my posts in 2022

#dcbbw writes - 41 posts

#dcbbw answers - 28 posts

#writers of tumblr - 5 posts

#six sentence sunday - 5 posts

#trr fanfiction - 5 posts

#trh fanfiction - 5 posts

#writeblr - 5 posts

#riam - 4 posts

#choicesflashfics - 3 posts

#trr au fanfic - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 36 characters

#dcbbw responds black drake discourse

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

A Trio of Tales

This story is my submission for the @choicesprompts​ exercise, where the prompts are story-starters. I chose to weave three(!) stories that probably don’t interconnect, but that was the goal. At this point, I’m just hoping it all makes sense.

It has come to my attention that @harleybeaumont​ and I share at least one head canon regarding Lucretia Nevrakis, and we both have interactions with the world’s worst aunt in our stories for this exercise, but I believe that is where the similarity ends. If anyone has issues with this story, my DMs are open and I’m a pretty reasonable person most of the time.

THANK YOU to all who read over snippets of this fic and THANK YOU to all who will read it. Your likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated more than you know.

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. (I tried to do a decent edit, but you guys know who you’re dealing with) MS Word Editor gives me 98% error-free.

All characters belong to Pixelberry

Song Inspiration: Hearing Damage, Thom Yorke

Word Count: 4,571

Olivia

The cool wind pushes my hair back as I walk along the familiar path, every step taking me deeper into the past. It’s been years since I’ve been here; everything is different.

Everything is the same.

I’m not paying attention to the present as I walk, I’m too lost in memories of long ago. That’s why I don’t notice the person walking towards me until I hear a familiar voice call my name.

I freeze. It can’t be. What are the odds?

I lift my head as my eyes dart wildly around before finally landing on a face I’d recognize anywhere, even now.

“It’s you.”

I pull my open cardigan tightly across my chest as my left arm reflexively covers my swollen belly. The temperature of my blood drops, rivaling the chilly air. Three feet opposite me, my Aunt Lucretia pulls the hood of her woolen cloak away from her face and hair. Her tall frame is thinner than I remember. Her face, though gaunt, remains unlined. Her eyes are brown flint as they appraise me critically.

My mind races; no one had informed me that she was free. I wonder if she has been released or managed to escape.

“Where are you going, girl?” she demands as if she hasn’t spent the last seven years of her life in a Cordonian prison cell.

I stand straighter, my expression indifferent. “You are on private property. I suggest you leave.”

She smirks at me as she pushes her hands into her coat pockets. “I’m still a Nevrakis. I’m still your blood.”

“When did you get out?” I hear the tremble in my voice, and mentally berate myself for showing fear.

I should have brought Misha with me.

“One week ago. I would have arrived sooner, but I had … business to tend to.”

“You are unwelcome here,” I reply coldly as I resume my walk, sidestepping around her.

She ignores my response and falls into step with me. “You never came to visit me,” she says quietly.

I abruptly halt my steps to look at her incredulously. “You REALLY expected me to VISIT you? You abandoned me as a child, and when you do return, it’s to overthrow the Crown! With me as your pawn!”

“I told you to study your history! You refused to do so. YOU could have stopped everything, but you were too busy chasing after a King who couldn’t be bothered to give a rat’s ass about you! In the end, you had to be a casualty.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes. “I have had to rebuild the Nevrakis name, ALONE! Our history, my parents …” My voice breaks off as a sob fills my throat.

I convince myself it’s hormones.

Silence, except the occasional chirping of birds and rustling of unseen wildlife hidden in the surrounding brush as we continue our trek to the Nevrakis family cemetery. I am going to visit my parents’ unmarked graves, a journey I haven’t made in years.

See the full post

61 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

#4

Late Night Drink

I have no idea what this is (you’ll be hearing that a LOT this year!), so just gonna drop it here and beat feet quicker than Leo running out of Cordonia to return to a cruise ship.

If you read this, I hope you enjoy it. Please excuse any typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or any grammatical errors.

THANK YOU to everyone who saw this in its rough draft stages.

THANK YOU to all who will read, like, comment, and/or reblog. Your feedback is appreciated far more than you will ever know.

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: Lonely After Curfew, Sophia Bel: https://open.spotify.com/track/4ErvUEwmVOhidQ8wKgvHtt?si=202598a670574960

Word Count: 2,954

“Your drink, my lady,” the King’s smooth baritone fills my ears as I accept the black Waterford goblet from him.

My fingertips run along the base of the glass, where fleur-de-lis are etched in crystal relief before I stare dubiously at its contents.

“It’s your favorite, and I promise nothing additional has been added,” Liam assures me as he carries his glass of scotch and soda with him to an armchair with a high back. “I know your trust in me is not what it once was, to say the least.”

I refrain from looking around his rail car which can only be described as opulent. It’s almost as if someone had removed a fully furnished bedroom from the Palace and placed it here.

He settles back, crossing a pant-clad calf over his thigh. There is a slight smile on his lips, but the tapping of his shoe against the carpet tells his nervousness. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

I am an international scandal and a pariah amongst European nobility.

I nod my head curtly. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

He’s a liar.

I decide not to make it easy for Liam. I have questions that deserve answers.

I haven’t forgiven him.

“Why did you wish to see me?” I inquire, my eyes meeting his over the rim of my glass.

His smile drops; his expression fills with concern. “Ahhh, yes. I wanted to check in with you to ensure you are faring well.” His eyes drop in either guilt or shame, I can’t tell. “Or as well as you can be, given your … status at the present.”

My lips purse and I feel heat as my cheeks color. I remember the morning in Fydelia: The beseeching in his eyes as words of apology and half-assed explanations spilled from his lips before he ran away not five minutes later to be by her side.

“Why did you do it?” There is a bite to my tone which catches him unawares. He slowly lowers the goblet from his lips and looks at me sharply.

“Are you accusing me of doing this purposely? I was caught unawares, more so than you or Drake who knew the actual story behind the photographs. You told me about the mysterious communication, why not about that night in Applewood?”

Now I am the one on unsure footing. I sip my drink as he continues.

“Photographs I knew nothing about, related to an incident I was never informed of, are being plastered all over Cordonia … no, the WORLD, of the woman I love. I panicked, my Lady. I’ve grown up surrounded by assassination attempts of various kinds. All I knew in that moment was that you, by some wild stretch, had made at least one enemy. So, I did what I thought best to protect you.”

His voice hasn’t risen, but it has become tight, each word enunciated clearly. I notice his jaw has clenched. I set the goblet on a nearby coaster before rising and making my way to the rail car’s window, pushing velvet drapes aside to stare at white moon and dark water.

“And choosing Madeleine was the best way to protect me? Despite your promises?”

“Whoever is behind this has access to the highest echelons of Court; I felt it behooved me to … play along with public opinion. It was also apparent that this person or persons was adamant the Countess assume the Crown. Which makes her suspect number one in my book. I felt that it was best to have her where I can keep eyes on her at all times.”

“At my expense,” I counter. “Do you have any idea how seeing you with her makes me feel? That you would not only leave me out to dry, but would actually wish to flaunt your decision in my face?”

“I never asked you to join the Tour. You are here at the behest of House Beaumont as their sponsee.”

See the full post

62 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

#3

Walk of Shame

The story below is my submission for #WackyDrabbles (if it isn’t too late). The prompt is “tell me you changed your mind” and will appear in bold.

It is yet another take on the Vegas fling; this is my third time exploring it, but hopefully this story stands out from my previous two attempts.

I’m just tossing this into the void; it has not been read over, so please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors.

To all who will read this story, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated more than you know.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: Heart of Glass (Crabtree Remix), Blondie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_FD21CyxeE

Word Count: 2,000

Parts of this post are lemon-scented

Him

The hotel suite is the same as many others I’ve been in; nothing makes it stand out from any other temporary housing I’ve stayed in except for the view. Despite the late hour, the Las Vegas is lit up brighter than noon-day sun. Flashing lights and colors spill through the balcony window to splash against the walls.

One hand is curled around a tumbler of brown liquor, which I sip slowly. My eyes are fixed on her body as she sits on the bar stool. The floor lamp is a spotlight, illuminating her every move: Her feet, which slipped out of her Christian Louboutin stilettos ever so tantalizingly; the sexy smirk curving a corner of her mouth as she slides fishnet stockings down her smooth legs.

She stands, giving me a pirouette before winking flirtatiously; her hips undulate while her palms run down the front of her pinstriped pencil skirt. I swallow visibly, my Adam apple bobbing as her clothing falls to the floor; she isn’t wearing any underwear.

My cock, already at half-mast, rises majestically at the sight.

Her shoulders roll as she unbuttons her white silk blouse; she shrugs out of it, her eyes locked on mine; I see my lust and desire reflected in hers.

“Christ,” I mutter as I swallow more alcohol.

I’m not drunk. Yet.

I have an irrational desire to see her bachelorette party through: Watching her hold hands with the man she chose as they accept congratulations and good wishes. His palms splayed across her hips as they dance to music only they can hear. Watching him fetch her drinks and her feeding him fried foods.  

It’s her wedding day I’ll need to erase from my memory.

She’s now naked and straddling my lap. My only concession to her invitation for one last night together besides obviously taking her up on the offer, was to unbutton my shirt, kick off my shoes, and pour myself a drink.

I’m afraid to do much more; she has me under a spell I don’t want to break free from.

But I have to ask.

My head tilts back against the tufted armchair. “What does this mean?” I whisper.

Her fingertips are quick and light as they flutter against and touch fabric and flesh. Her eyes flicker to meet mine. “I can’t let things between us end without you knowing that you aren’t second best. I don’t ever want you to think you weren’t good enough.”

I draw a perverse satisfaction knowing I’ll be fucking his fiancée. She wears his ring, but I have her. For now, at least. I feel the cool air of the air conditioning blow across my newly exposed skin, and I see goosebumps erupt along her arms; her nipples stiffen. I tilt my glass, splashing her areola with my drink. My head dips; my tongue licks brown droplets from her breast. Her moan fills my ears and my cock strains against my underwear.

“Where’s your bed?” I growl against her earlobe.

The bedroom is dark, curtains drawn against the lone floor to ceiling window. But neither of us need light; our movements have always been guided by instinct and chemistry. Our warm bodies wrap together as we roll across cool sheets; our tongues tangle, our breaths mingle. The pads of her fingers press into my shoulders, and it is my turn to cradle her hips in my hands.

I overpower her, trapping her body beneath mine while I pin her arms above her head; one hand easily holds her wrists together while my lips and tongue suckle a trail down the column of her neck. She’s wearing pearls; my teeth tug at them, pulling them from their tether. Smooth, cream-colored gemstones roll off her body to nestle amongst the sheets.

The scent of her arousal draws me further south along her body, my lips tasting scented skin until I reach her center. I release her wrists to spread her lips apart. My mouth closes over her clit as I slide fingers inside her. Her walls are soft, tight, slick. We both moan.

I need to feel her. I don’t want to, not so soon, but it’s been too long since I have felt her wrapped around my cock. My body shifts and I raise myself slightly; one hand grasps the base of my shaft, and I rub it along her slit. Her hips rub impatiently against mine and I slide myself into her. A groan falls from lips as I do; it feels as if I am falling into satin pillows. Her walls fold around me, imprisoning me in a most exquisite fashion.

See the full post

66 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

#2

Black Drake Discourse

I am writing this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aussiegurl1234/686447532178538496?source=share

Unlike the OP, who feels that not one WOC who commented on the original ask was a “constructive commenter”, I am going to tag her so she can read first-hand why this person at least has an issue with changing Drake Walker’s race/ethnicity.

I stated that the author has essentially put Drake in blackface, which has a horribly racist history within the black community.

Blackface is used to denigrate people of African descent; it is an assertion of power and control and perpetuates long-held stereotypical beliefs.

Why did I say that?

Let’s look at Drake’s background (and let me state that I feel Drake got the shit end of the PB stick):

·         His father was killed

·         His mother abandoned him

·         His sister is a runaway and (was) a single mom

·         He lives off the Crown/State (welfare, foster home)

·         HE was shot

·         Numbs feelings/emotions with a mood-altering substance (as a woman with 20 years of recovery from drug and alcohol addiction, yes I believe alcohol is a drug)

And OP makes him black. I’m going with black because even if she states that he’s biracial, his skin is black. He will be viewed as black.

These circumstances are problematic for any race but are rampant within the black community.

Then, OP only makes him black with a (Lily) white MC, which again is a source of contention within the black community. Some black men feel that being with a white woman is a status symbol of sorts, and dating/marrying one tells the world he’s “made it.”

As a black female writer of fanfic whose LI is Asian Liam and MC is black  (clutch your pearls), I don’t have an issue with Drake being in an interracial relationship, but to make him black to put him with a white MC? WHY do you have to change his ethnicity? Why perpetuate negative black stereotypes?

I have put the TRR gang in all types of AUs and changed their sexualities and tweaked their backgrounds to suit my story, but I have never thought to change their race, or hair/eye color, or stand out traits that make them … them.

I thought I was stating my opinion within the ask thread respectfully, but was told I had an “attitude”, which again is another stereotype: the angry black woman. But when OP answers with: “Because I can” and “Why are only Liam and MC customizable? Drake should be customizable too!

Well, that screams privilege and entitlement to me.

The homophobia: You don’t have to like ANY ship, but to call Driam horrid and that you don't CONDONE them (not you don't suport it, you don't condone it), and want to stand on perceived canon assumptions there, but be okay (and expect others to be as well) with changing a core canon trait of a character (his race) comes across as double-standard and hypocrisy.

PS- it's LGBTQIA+

 And OP, please know that I thought about you yesterday, worried about your well-being and how you were faring after such fallout but decided to give you a day to process and decompress. I will be reaching out to you later this week because I would like to hear your thoughts and reasonings on the matter.

I promise to bring an open mind and my listening ears. I hope you would do the same.

Okay, it is now 3:30am and I need to be back up at 6am to go make the doughnuts (I really don’t make doughnuts for a living). Unsure if this post makes any sense (seriously, woke up for other reasons and came across the Long Post in my feed and inboxes), but hopefully MY reasons for responding to the ask are valid, respectful, and make sense to more than just me.

Or maybe it’s just a Robin problem?

Tagging:  @sirbeepsalot @jared2612 @ao719 @burnsoslow @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink @mom2000aggie @cmestrella @iaminlovewithtrr @liamrhysstalker2020 @ladyangel70 @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet  @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @phoenixrising308 @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @foreverethereal123 @janezillow @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @lady-calypso @emkay512 @jovialyouthmusic @21-wishes @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @bbrandy2002 @aussiegurl1234

71 notes - Posted June 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Acquittal

This story has taken almost two years to complete and has gone through several revisions and edits; I can only hope that this final product makes sense, isn’t too boring or wordy, and that folks enjoy it.

The premise is simple: What if Maxwell is MC’s husband when Barthelemy invokes the Coventus Noblis? It’s a slap in the face regardless of who your chosen LI is, but it’s got to hit differently when it’s your father declaring you incompetent and kidnapping your child.

Also, I head canon Maxwell differently than most, and especially PB; I don’t see him as the Court Jester, but rather the guy who uses humor and feigns ignorance to deflect attention away from himself, particularly when he was younger and chubbier. He’d rather make you laugh than be laughed at.

THANK YOU to all who read over pieces and parts of this fic.

THANK YOU to all who will read it; your comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated far more than you know.

Please forgive any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical mistakes. Word Editor only gave me 92% this time around.

All characters belong to Pixelberry. (Rebecca McKenzie is from PB’s Most Wanted)

Song Inspiration: Way Down We Go, Kaleo

Word Count: 4,895

The prisoner sits on the side of the unmade cot, his hair wet; a damp towel is slung loosely about his waist. His feet are pushed into worn bedroom slippers. With a sigh, he rises stiffly from sheets and mattress, slowly making his way to the mirror; he frowns at his reflection. The hot water and steam have done little to mask the fact he slept poorly the night before.

And the nights before that.

He picks up a comb and begins to pull from front to back, the teeth leaving behind lines throughout his thick brown locks. The silence is a tad too tense to be soothing as he awaits his visitor. His head lifts almost eagerly at the soft shuffling of her house slippers against the stone floor.

There is a clanking of keys before she rolls the breakfast trolley into the cell; she nods gratefully to the guard. Her smell seeps into the dank prison, filling his nostrils with aromas of sleep, neroli, and rosewater. He inhales greedily as their eyes meet in the mirror, but it’s her mouth that he focuses on; the plump pink of her lips currently curved upward in a soft smile. He flashes her his signature grin in return before asking, “Annabelle?” in a hopeful voice.

His wife begins lifting silver cloches before preparing mugs of coffee. “Brought to me last night, just as we were promised. She has a bad case of croup, and a slight fever. I gave her some of the elixir the doctor prescribed, and she’s been asleep since.”

Worry fills his sapphire-blue eyes. “How bad? How long has she been sick?” His body turns so he is facing the Duchess of Valtoria; his lower back presses against the metal basin, a narrow hip jutted to the left. He outstretches his arms, fingers beckoning his wife to him.

Riley leaves the cart to step into Maxwell’s waiting embrace. “Shush,” she soothes. “She’ll be fine. I promise.”

Maxwell shifts uncomfortably at the thought of his baby daughter being ill, at being powerless in the situation … but he recovers quickly. “Well, you haven’t broken a promise yet,” he quips.

Riley kisses him deeply yet briefly, her tongue rolling against his before pulling away to pour them both cups of coffee. “And I never will,” she vows.

Barthelemy Beaumont sat behind his mahogany desk, the lamplight dispelling only a few of the study’s shadows brought on by dusk; his steely gray eyes glared at his visitor in disdain. Unperturbed, the visitor returned the gaze with unwavering eyes. With a sinister smirk, the elder Beaumont pushed his chair closer to the bureau and placed the heels of his hands on polished wood before steepling his fingers.

“You didn’t disappoint,” he observed. “I knew someone would show up, pleading that jackass’ case.”

“You took away his child. You broke up his family. You went too far, too quickly.”

“I am King Regent, in addition to being his parent. He put hands on me in violence; that is treason, and punishable by death.”

The visitor raised an eyebrow as a sardonic giggle escaped their throat. “He kicked.your.ass. and the entire country knows it.” A pause. “How’s your nose?” Sarcasm infused their tone.

Barthelemy’s face hardened; when he spoke, his tone was cold. “He BROKE IT! It’s still healing. And you’d best remember that you need me and show both restraint and respect when addressing me.”

The visitor’s hand slipped inside their pocket. “I’m here to neither grovel nor apologize. I am here for the child and to demand the release of Duke Beaumont.” The hand came back into view; it held a pistol. “Or you die tonight. Your choice.”

The meal between the couple is quiet; Maxwell isn’t hungry, but Riley convinces him to drink some coffee, and nibble on toast and fruit. His blue eyes, filled with questions and uncertainty, search her brown ones. She frowns slightly.

“What?” she asks as she pulls her fingers through her chestnut-colored mane.

She knows the question he’s going to ask, and she doesn’t have a definitive answer.

“What’s going to happen today?” His voice is soft, yet firm. He has neither fear nor remorse for his actions.

See the full post

75 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[windvexer]

I have so many questions regarding your dieties post. How does a god say no to you? What does that look like, how does it happen? Is it a dream, a vision, a meditation? I'm obviously having a hard time conceptualizing humans being in contact with gods. How did you know you were bound to the goat footed God? (And also do you mean the devil?). And how did Hestia and Apollo come to you? How did you know it was them? Is it like talking to ghosts?

Thank you for your time. I'm just very confused lol

Hi :) Lots of valid questions here. I will say that a lot of my communication and contact came after prolonged periods of heavy investment/practice into divination and psychism. These are learned skills that anyone can pick up and practice.

This post tries to explain how I experience psychism: How I Sense And Perceive Spirits: The Browser Analogy

To me personally and specifically, here is what happened:

When working with the Hekate figurine, it was about the vibes. She never "spoke" to me on any level. I just got the vibe that she wasn't super comfortable with me. Like you know when you walk into a room and you see someone and you can just tell they don't want you to be there?

I mean yeah, we pick that up through body language and stuff. But for me, that information is imparted to me through emotional feeling. Physical feelings within my body connected to emotions.

When I walk into a room and somebody doesn't want me there, my reaction isn't, "oh, he shifted his left foot 1cm to the left and glanced down." In fact, I might not really register these behaviors in any analyzed way. Instead, I just get a weird cold sense in my tummy and I feel better when I move away.

That is what I mean by the vibes. I just felt it, in a physical emotional way. She didn't particularly care to be around me.

Odin was a very different story. So, the Goat-Footed God is a figure shrouded in mystery. In Soft Polytheism style, I've often wondered if he's actually a named god of lore. Like maybe he's actually Cernunnos, or Pan, or -- Odin!

My god does have many similarities to Odin, and one day I got deep into this rabbit hole like hey, maybe he REALLY IS Odin, I should explore this more!!

That night, I dreamed. I try to remember my dreams as a normal course of action. I dreamed that Odin and some other Nordic gods (I didn't talk to any of them) came up to me while I was doing something unrelated on a space ship.

Odin smiled at me and shook his head in a sort of friendly way, but also in a closed-off way. The sort of smile you give to lone person standing with a sign at an airport who gets really excited when you walk through the door: "Sorry, it's not me you're waiting for - I hope I didn't confuse you."

Early this year (several months ago, for you people in the future) our house was under renovation that lasted almost three months. Well, this causes conflict in the home. There were constant arguments between my partner and his father (the three of us live together).

I was pretty much up-in-arms about the situation as my partner was under immense stress. At that time, I saw someone reblog a post about Hestia. It had that feeling for me. Hestia, hearth, bread-baking - it stuck in my mind like a little thorn.

I see a hundred posts about gods a day I'm sure, and none of them ever make me really curious about the god. People reblog all day long about Artemis and Apollo and while I enjoy the content and learning, I never feel that pinprick: ah, Artemis, moon and archery, I can't get her out of my mind-

But I felt that way about Hestia. Now I'm not a proper pagan - I don't research gods or do reconstructed/historical practices or anything like that. So why Hestia would come to me was beyond me.

Then I felt the nudge, you know. I might be wrong about the exact specifics - this was a brief encounter almost a year ago - but the nudge is like this:

Have you ever had a thought you don't want to think about, and your mind kind of flexes like a fist squeezing closed, and the thought is blotted out? And if you're quick enough and good enough at battling your own thoughts, that flex can come before the thought ever fully flourishes, like just the hint comes - and the emotions start seeping through for a fraction of a second - and your mind yanks its own reins. And the thought is closed off (until it comes again, as it always will).

So I feel a nudge, that nudge of a thought coming through. And I watch my own mind a lot, I like to know what it's up to. I feel the nudge and my mind starts to say no, and the bit of emotion seeps through, and I think - ah. This is a goddess trying to contact me.

How did I know it was a goddess? When you see someone in a dream that looks nothing like your friend, doing something your friend would never do, how do you know it's your friend? "I just knew it was John, it was strange."

I knew it was a goddess in the same way. I don't know how I knew. I just did.

Then, I remembered Hestia sticking in my mind like dry dough to a pan. I was very pleased with myself that I put it together immediately. I lit a candle for her and she taught me some things, and for a while I made bread in her honor.

I know now I'm bound to the Goat-Footed God after about a decade of experience, input from very helpful friends, and readings from a couple extremely talented practitioners (@thespellweavingspirit is one of them, and sometimes does sell readings). The entire tale is too long and personal to recount (yes, sometimes I do privacy!)

I met Apollo while I was under the influence of entheogens and lying in the dirt. The Eucalyptus trees were lovely and fluttering. The sun was bright, and as I became one with the world, the great star shone through my whole body, and I saw its indweller. I see why people like him. It was a magnificent experience.

[fizzingwizard]

Credit where credit is due: I was thrilled to see this in my activity tab yesterday:

Tumblr makes so many tweaks and changes almost daily that it'd be impractical to roll this out for all of them. But for anything that might confuse or take users by surprise, I think using this more often would be great. It's so common on this site for me to open up Tumblr and find something just utterly different, and unless I think of wading through the Changes on Tumblr blog (which can be an ordeal if you didn't notice the change the day it was implemented) I'm just left to my own devices to guess why.

Now that that's over with.

I AM MISSING POSTS ON DESKTOP NOW. Before I thought it was just mobile. It seemed that on mobile, when lost of posts appeared while I was out or sleeping, Tumblr just wouldn't show the to me until I had reached the end of my dash, scrolled back up, refreshed, and scrolled through my dash again.

I did it for experimental purposes - to prove it was really happening - which is is - but I do NOT want to keep combing through my dash two or three times looking for stragglers. If it was just one or two posts, Idk, I guess I'd chalk it up to something with those posts or my connectivity. But it's been like ten missing posts a day. And that's my lowball number!! I'm doing my best to account for the possibility that I just didn't notice them on my first scroll. But that definitely doesn't explain all of them.

I figured it was to do with my data - because I normally have a long dash only when I'm on my commute to work, when it's been hours since I've last looked at tumblr, and all the chatty folk across the world who are awake while I'm asleep have been busy bees. So maybe it's too much for my data, plus I'm always on the train when I look at Tumblr and I lose connection every time we make a stop, lol.

But that can't be the case IF IT'S ALSO HAPPENING ON DESKTOP!!

I'm not a train right now! I'm at my apartment! My connection to the internet is the best it ever gets! It is wifi, but it isn't giving me any trouble on aaaany other website. Even Tumblr - when my wifi gets spotty, the picture become gradients, videos buffer forever, and I get shake my fist at the way loading ads is prioritized over loading you know the content I actually want to see.

Right now though my wifi is crystal clear, and Tumblr is working perfectly - except it's eating random posts!! Yes, I'm sure - once again there were too many for me to have just not noticed them all. My dash is long in the morning, but not TOO long. I deliberately follow only a handful of active users so that my dash doesn't overwhelm me.

Now that I think of it, I wonder if that's what's behind this? Maybe (I have no idea) it's common for people on tumblr to follow soooo many people it's impossible they'll keep up with all the posts on their dash anyway, so Tumblr just doesn't want to bother making sure everything shows up?? I don't know, I just know that that does NOT work for me. I use Tumblr because I want to see content posted or reblogged by people I follow. Also, being a very small blog myself, I don't like the idea that on the rare occasions I post something I actually care if other people see, that post might not even show up for anyone.

No idea if this is a bug or something purposeful but it's definitely happening. To me, anyway. Although, if it's happening to others as well, it makes sense they don't know because who scrolls through their dash TWICE?? The initial way I figured it out was because I saw a post I liked and forgot to Like it, so I scrolled again to find it... and found more than I was expecting :/

[viscountessevie]

I’m sorry and some of your tumblr mutuals are dealing with insanity the last couple days. I wonder if it’s one person who is aggressively going after three of you simultaneously. I wish people would leave our corner of the fandom in peace.

Thank you two for your support and messages. That being said, I do not want to dismiss my last anon’s experience and feelings.

[@ My First Anon: You most likely didn't mean it maliciously but doesn't negate the fact that it was used. I want to let you know that using the word "aggressive" is not the right choice of words given the negative connotation it has and being a part of the history of language used against Black people tied to it.]

I am very conscious of my last anon's fandom experience because I understand where they are coming from because of what I went through with S2. I constantly had and saw non-Desi fans - hell even some Desi fans themselves - talking over me and my fellow Desi friends/fans' experiences and feelings over how the Sharmas were portrayed as well as Kate's portrayal (and lack of screentime) as well as how she was fetishised all through S2 and even now post-S2.

In direct responses to my two anons above: it doesn't matter if they are trolling because this is still their lived experience in the fandom and I am not going to negate or invalidate that. I will still respond in kind and listen to their POV with care and consideration.

As for leaving our side of the fandom alone (and I'll talk about my friends getting anons in bit), I've always been open about race conversations on this blog and so if I have said anything out of turn that wasn't related to my personal experience with S2 and seeing how Simone was mistreated as a fellow Indian person, then I take full responsibility for that. So I personally don't want to be left alone in terms of these discussions because I want to learn from what I've said and done, do better to improve and provide a safer space for anyone who comes on this blog, especially in this case, Black fans of the show.

~

That being said, while I understand on some level where my previous anon was coming from, sending my friends leading and loaded asks is not okay at all. I'm not sure if it's the same person or their friends doing it on their behalf. These asks especially this one is not cool:

Stalking Chloe’s Twitter

Who does this? Why would you go stalk someone and find their Twitter to dig up "dirt" and insult them like this? That's extremely creepy. Especially since this someone was not involved in this discussion at all and all she did was like a post that was in support of Black fans and their community!

While I understand this anon’s sentiment but like Chloe said in her reply, it was confusing and came out of left field. 

Another friend got asks as well, they are busy with their work irl hence taking their time to answer so I’m giving them the space to do so before commenting on all of it directly. However, there was one ask they got which confused us. It was essentially gatekeeping them from interacting with any post that mentioned the Black characters on the show,,, which was odd to say the least because how are non-black fans supposed to support and hype up their favourite characters who happen to be black? Not to mention we still want to reblog and share content created by Black fans of the show. So that ask felt like a slippery slope to me.

In summary, about these asks sent to my mutuals: All I ask is my friends be left out of this discussion as they only liked a post, which again was in support of Black fans and keeping this dialogue open for them. However, *I* made my choice to defend my friend and then that discourse escalated to bringing up while important - but still unrelated to the original discourse at hand - conversations about race. *I* made the choice to open my blog up to that and am still keeping the dialogue going. On the other hand, my friends did not make this choice so please just keep directing your asks at me. 

After all this is said and done, my offer to continue these conversations in my asks (off anon is better since it is private and I'll know who I'm talking to directly) or in DM (it's faster), still stands. This blog and space will always be and continue to be a safe space for any of my Black mutuals/followers/anons and anyone else from any background who wish to make this blog a safe space for them.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 95]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43

Just got back from vacation and got to do some stuff, but also tired. Let’s see how long I last.

Chapter 44 (Thomas)

Loraine had called Thomas down to the stables in the morning to talk about a concern that had cropped up with their grain stores. They’d found mold in one of the grain bins which had, of course, soiled everything stored there. Luckily, it ended up being one of the smaller grain bins, but it still provided some concern for getting through the winter. As it was, they would be able to make it through, but a lot less comfortably.

Thomas mostly trusted the three who ran animal husbandry on the castle’s lands to deal with it, but he still provided his opinion when asked.

The meeting had taken a few hours. When he’d come down to the stables, the sun had been shining. It had still been cold, but not as freezing the last few days, though he was under no illusion that winter was anywhere near over. A point which was emphasized when he stepped out of Loraine’s office and glanced out of a window only to see what appeared to be a blizzard happening outside.

Great. He wasn’t exactly enthused about walking back to the castle in that. Wanting to delay the trip as long as possible, he turned away from the window and walked towards the other end of the stable.

He grabbed an apple along the way, intending to feed it to Mr. Apples while convincing himself to make the jaunt back up to the castle. To his surprise, Mr. Apple’s head didn’t pop into the hall upon hearing someone enter his domain (aka the hall outside of his stall). This was odd as Mr. Apples was a territorial bastard who was always sure to be prepared to confront anyone who came within range or eat an apple if the person invading his space happened to be one of the few he wouldn’t attempt to bite on sight. Yet, no white nose popped into sight.

When Thomas approached the stall, he figured out why. There was someone in the stall, but unlike most instances of someone being in a stall with Mr. Apples, the person was not being bitten, spit at, or anything else. Instead, Mr. Apples was standing there calm as day as Virgil ran a brush over his flank.

Thomas stared at them for a moment. He found himself wondering if Mr. Apples had died and someone had replaced him with another white horse, so the royal family didn’t get upset, like one might replace a child’s dead goldfish if it dies while they’re away.

However, then, Mr. Apples realized Thomas was there. The disdain in his expression upon catching sight of Thomas told him this was no imposter. He apparently by some miracle had just found another person he liked. Which… did pose an issue for Thomas.

Virgil had calmed down around Thomas a bit ever since Thomas had found the boy hiding in the castle, but he wasn’t sure how Virgil would feel about being confronted by Thomas’s presence without warning. In the past, he’d been rather jumpy. If Thomas startled a person Mr. Apples liked in front of Mr. Apples, the tentative peace between Thomas and the horse would surely be over.

He debated simply walking away like Mr. Apples’ expression was insisting, but before he could, Virgil glanced up at him. Thankfully, he didn’t jump. He looked at Thomas for a second, seeming a bit unsure. They hadn’t been alone since he’d stopped being completely terrified of Thomas’s existence after all, but eventually Virgil settled on saying, “Uh, hello your majesty.”

“Hello Virgil,” Thomas replied with a small smile. “You can just call me Thomas if you’d like.”

Virgil didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Thomas dropped it for now.

“Mr. Apples seems to like you,” he said.

“He’s a good horse,” Virgil said, patting Mr. Apples’ side. Mr. Apples sent Thomas a smug look. Well, this… was a very familiar conversation, Thomas thought, his heart squeezing just a bit.

Having learned long ago not to bother arguing his case, Thomas just said, “He doesn’t like many people.”

“Logan said that,” Virgil said.

“Where is Logan?” Thomas asked, curious. Usually, Virgil wasn’t too far from him or Patton, but Thomas hadn’t seen a sign of them in the stable.

“He’s studying in his library,” Virgil said, “but I wanted to come to the stable since the weather was slightly nicer.”

“And Patton?”

“He had a meeting with your advisor.”

“Makes sense,” Thomas said. He was glad Virgil was apparently comfortable enough now to go places without one of the other boys. He reluctantly supposed he had Mr. Apples to thank for that. “I brought him and apple. Would you like to feed it to him?”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

Thomas smiled and handed an apple slice over the stall gate to Virgil. He fed it to Mr. Apples. Once the horse was finished with that slice, Thomas handed him another.

“Don’t you want to feed some to him?” Virgil asked.

“He’ll enjoy it much more from you,” Thomas replied.

Virgil frowned, but Mr. Apples threw his head in agreement. Virgil ended up feeding the rest of the apple to the horse.

“Would you like to walk back to the castle with me?” Thomas asked once the horse was busy chowing down on his last slice.

“Sure,” Virgil replied. Thomas smiled at him and helped him put away the brush and other supplies he’d been using on Mr. Apples.

Everything went smoothly until he and Virgil moved to leave the stable. The second that Virgil’s eyes saw the weather conditions outside he paused. Thomas did have to admit that he also wasn’t a fan of what was going on outside. The castle was only a dark blob in the distance when the snow was falling that fast.

Yet, there was something different about Virgil’s expression. It didn’t just seem like reluctance to get cold and wet. Thomas had unfortunately seen Virgil terrified a few times before and it was definitely fear flashing in his eyes right now.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked softly. Virgil jumped at his voice, but for once Thomas didn’t think he had himself to blame for that.

“I…” Virgil hesitated. “I’m just going to stay here for a while.”

Thomas looked at him and then at the snow outside. “You don’t like the snow, I assume?”

Virgil curled one arm around his waist, gripping the opposite wrist. He shrugged a shoulder. “Bad experience.”

“Oh,” Thomas said, “I see.” The child was looking away from Thomas as well as from the snow outside. His eyes were fixed on a bale of hay. “I guess we’ll just stay out here for a bit.”

Virgil’s eyes shot back to him. “You don’t have to stay,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Thomas shrugged. “I didn’t really want to go out in that anyway.”

Virgil bit his lip. “You’re king,” he said. “You have important things to do. You don’t need to sit out in a horse stable with me because of my issues.”

“You’ll be amazed how much time I’ve spent sitting in a horse stable in my life, king or not,” Thomas said with a rueful smile.

Virgil still seemed unsure. “You don’t have to,” he said. There was no way Thomas was going to leave a child who was afraid of snowstorms alone in a horse stable during one even if he wouldn’t technically be alone with all of the workers about.

“It’s fine,” said Thomas. “I’m sure the stable hands would be willing to share some of the tea in their breakroom with us. We’ll wait for a bit and then see if the storm decides to let up later.”

“If you’re sure,” Virgil said.

“I am,” Thomas said with a smile before leading him towards the staff breakroom and away from the sight of the snow falling outside.

  Chapter 45 (Virgil)

The king led Virgil to a small room in the center of the stables. Two people were sitting in the room talking and playing cards when they entered. They looked up at their entrance, but didn’t spare them a second glance, going back to playing their game. This both made sense because the king should be able to go wherever he wanted without question and didn’t make sense because Virgil had assumed most people working for the castle would jump into asking if the king needed anything when he entered a room.

Instead, the king walked over to a small counter at the side of the room.

If Virgil did not know he was the king, he probably wouldn’t have been able to guess right now. He’d clearly dressed to be in a horse stable today. There was no crown or any jewelry really in sight except for a necklace. His clothing was perhaps of better quality than most who worked in a stable would wear every day, but not by a large margin. He could have just been a stable manager or something if Virgil did not know better.

He glanced back at Virgil once he’d grabbed a few clean cups. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” Virgil said.

“Have you tried hot apple cider before?” the king asked.

Virgil shook his head.

“Well, it looks like they have some cider being kept warm here,” he said touching a small barrel that was sitting on the counter. There was a slight glow to the barrel that Virgil recognized as a heating enchantment.

“Sure,” Virgil said. “I like apples.”

The king smiled and turned to pour out a glass of the drink through a spigot on the side of the barrel. He offered it to Virgil. The king was serving Virgil a drink. That was… really weird. He was a weird king.

Virgil took the cup. It was warm from the hot drink inside of it, and Virgil felt some of the tension that had been in his shoulders since he’d seen the amount of snow outside release as his fingers warmed up.

“It has more spices than things like apple juice,” the king said. “Mostly cinnamon, but also things like cloves, ginger, and nutmeg.”

Virgil didn’t really know what any of those things tasted like off of the top of his head other than cinnamon and, of course, apples. He took a cautious sip anyway.

“Like it?” the king asked, a smile growing on his face quickly in response to whatever face Virgil was making.

Virgil nodded vigorously.

“Good,” the king said with a chuckle. He turned to get another glass of the apple cider for himself. “Let’s sit,” he said motioning with his head to a couch. It was the only free seating available other than one extra chair at the table where the two stable hands were playing cards.

Virgil did as he was told, walking over to the couch, and taking a seat. It was an old, but comfortable couch. Most of the things in this room seemed pretty old, though all in good condition. It made sense that they wouldn’t want to have a bunch of new furniture when people were just using it to take a break between cleaning horse stalls.

It was a nice little room all the same and warmer than the rest of the building. The two stable hands had slung their light coats over the backs of their chairs, and the king took his coat off before sitting. Virgil kept his on.

There were a few hooks where it looked like the workers kept their heavier winter coats for when they left the stable as well as some bags and a couple of paintings.

“That one looks like Mr. Apples,” Virgil pointed out.

The king glanced at the painting. “It is Mr. Apples actually,” he told Virgil. He smiled a bit. “He was absolutely impossible to keep still for it. He went back and forth between trying to bite the artist to trying to show off for his owner. I’m pretty sure the artist made his eyes red if you look close enough just to express his displeasure somehow.”

“Logan?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, no,” said the king. “That was when my husband was alive.”

Virgil immediately internally cringed. Externally he said a quick “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said the king. “He’s not a taboo topic to me.”

Virgil searched his face, but he really didn’t seem mad. There was maybe a bit of sadness around his expression, but he wasn’t angry.

“Logan always seems upset when he mentions him.”

“He’s mentioned him to you?” the king asked, sounding surprised.

“A few times,” Virgil said. “He said the hairpiece he let me borrow that one time was his favorite and, when he realized I didn’t like the snow, he tried to convince me it wasn’t all bad by telling me how they used to play in the snow when he was little.

“Logan doesn’t usually talk about him much,” the king said. “He was just a child when he died. It hit him very hard.”

Virgil had noticed that himself.

“It’s good he’s talking about him at least a bit.” The king mused, taking a sip of his drink. “He was the son of a stable hand here, actually.”

“You married a stable hand’s son?” Virgil asked and something about his tone made the king laugh.

“I did,” he confirmed. “We met when we were teenagers about your age. His father had come to work at the castle, and they lived in one of the houses out back. There weren’t many kids in the castle at the time and we both liked the gardens and the orchard, so we ended up friends.”

This knowledge just reaffirmed to Virgil that the king was an odd king. From what little Virgil knew of princes, they were not supposed to befriend the children of stable hands they met in the gardens and kings were certainly not supposed to marry them. Then again, Logan was also a prince and he had befriended an assassin he found in his bedroom. In fact, now that he thought about it, Patton was now a royal advisor in training, but even he was just the son of a chef.

Perhaps the royalty of Prijaznia were just like that. He was once again glad he hadn’t managed to kill the king.

He’d been glad for a while now. At first it had been because he’d gotten to know Logan and knew killing his dad would have made him sad. Now, though, he thought it was a good thing he didn’t kill the king because the king didn’t deserve to die from what Virgil had seen. He was nice.

He even got up and got Virgil more of the apple cider when he finished his first cup of it. He continued to sit with him and talk to him about different things like what Virgil, Logan, and Patton had been doing in the past few days.

Eventually, the king went to go check if the weather was any better, leaving Virgil to finish his third glass of cider.

“It’s snowing less hard now,” the king told him when he got back, “but it’s still snowing. It’s also going to start to get dark soon. Do you want to try to go back?”

Virgil didn’t really. He didn’t want to be outside when it was snowing at all, but he also really wanted to be back at the castle before it was night. He’d much prefer to sleep in a bed or even in his closet than somewhere in the stable.

“Yeah, we can try to go back,” Virgil replied.

“Alright,” the king said. He grabbed his coat off the couch from where he’d set it. Virgil had also taken off his coat eventually, so he grabbed his as well. Once they were both dressed, they walked back to the stable door.

Virgil hesitated when he saw the snow. It was better than it had been earlier, but it still was falling fairly hard. He shifted nervously. That was going to be cold.

At least now he could see the castle clearly, so he didn’t have to worry about getting lost in the snow and dying… probably.

“Here,” said the king. He reached for Virgil slowly and Virgil tensed but allowed it. The king took off the hood Virgil had put up and readjusted the cloth hat under it, so it was over his ears before putting the hood back up. He pulled on some strings that Virgil hadn’t realized until right then were designed to tighten the hood so it wouldn’t fall off his head in the wind. Then, the king took off the scarf around his own neck and wrapped it twice around Virgil’s head, so it covered his mouth and nose. The only exposed area of his face was now his eyes.

“Now that will help you get the least amount of snow on you as possible,” the king said.

“Thanks,” Virgil said. It came out a little muffled.

He smiled at him. “Do you,” he asked, sounding a bit awkward, “want to hold my hand?”

He didn’t particularly. He’d held hands with Logan and Patton before, but that was different. This was the king. Then again… he looked out at the snow. He really didn’t want to risk getting lost in the snow and he was less likely to get lost in the snow if he was holding onto someone, especially someone who knew his way around the castle grounds very well.

Biting his lip behind the borrowed scarf, he decided he’d already taken way too many liberties when it came to the king. He shook his head no. “No, thank you.”

“Alright,” said the king. “Offer is open if you change your mind. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded, grimacing as he stepped out into the cold, the king at his side. Even with the nice winter coat from Logan and the king’s scarf, it was still noticeably cold. Still, he was not cold enough to justify the icy chill that went down his spine and the way his lungs felt frozen solid causing him to pant trying to take in air. It shouldn’t be this way. He’d been in much colder weather for much longer and with a lot less.

“Are you alright?” the king asked when Virgil couldn’t help but slow down to a stop, shivering.

Virgil looked up at him. Unlike Virgil’s face, he had no scarf to protect him from the weather, but he didn’t seem concerned about that. He seemed much more concerned about Virgil. His reddening face was pinched, and he didn’t look like a man as powerful as a king. He looked like… well, he looked like a concerned father, like Logan’s father.

“Can…” Virgil choked out. He held out his hand.

“Of course,” he said. “Like I said, the offer is open.” He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around Virgil’s. Virgil immediately felt the warmth of them, though it may have been more in his head. There were two pairs of thick gloves between their skin.

Logan’s dad led him by the hand all the way back to the castle.

  Chapter 46 (Patton)

Patton hadn’t been aware until Virgil came along what exactly Mr. Deknis did in the winter. Most of his staff had gone home or had winter tasks unrelated to gardening to do, but Mr. Deknis and a few choice members of his staff still apparently did a lot despite not being able to plant anything.

He frequently invited Virgil to join in on these tasks, and Virgil often accepted. Patton wasn’t sure why he seemed to enjoy things like deep cleaning gardening tools and checking over equipment, but he did, so Patton was glad.

“Alright, that’s enough of that for today,” Mr. Deknis said once Virgil finished brushing off the paste that had been applied to remove rust from a hoe.

“Are you sure?” Virgil asked. “I have more time to work. Even if you need to go, I can still work on something. Unless you don’t want me messing with things without supervision…”

“I’m not telling you to leave, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a half-smile. “I just thought you might want to help me out with something else today.”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” Virgil agreed, sounding just a touch excited.

“Let’s put all of this away,” Mr. Deknis said.

Virgil and Patton helped him put things away, though Patton felt more like a hindrance as both Mr. Deknis and Virgil seemed to know exactly where everything in the room went whereas Patton wasn’t sure about some things.

Patton didn’t always come with Virgil when he was helping Mr. Deknis. Sometimes Logan would come instead, and Virgil had been coming alone with increasing frequency over the last month or so.

He seemed to like it. He always seemed to look forward to spending time with Mr. Deknis and not only because Mr. Deknis often bribed him with snacks of dried or pickled fruits and vegetables.

Once the tools and cleaning equipment were stored away, Mr. Deknis led them down the hall. Mr. Deknis had an entire hall to himself on the first floor of the castle which included his bedroom as well as places to dry and can things.

Where he was leading them now was a small study next to his bedroom. Patton had never been there before and by the way Virgil was curiously looking around, neither had he. It was a cute little area with a small desk and a bookshelf full of books that seemed to all be on plants.

“I’m starting to think about what I want to grow in the gardens next year,” Mr. Deknis explained as they crammed into the small office. He pointed to a large piece of paper on his desk.  “This is the plan at the moment, though it’s nowhere near finalized.”

He pointed at an empty square sketched on the large paper. “I was thinking I wanted to plant something new here, but I don’t know what. It’s just a small patch between the vegetable and flower garden. It’s sort of by the one three teared fountain. I usually use that patch for newer plants, so it could be a vegetable or a flower. I was thinking you could help me pick out something to put there.”

Virgil looked up at him, eyes wide.

Mr. Deknis smiled at him. “Would you like to?”

“I…” Virgil said. “I wouldn’t have any idea what to put.”

“Well, I have a few different books of plants you can flip through,” he said. “Any idea what kind of plant you’d like to grow?”

Virgil shrugged.

“I’ll just give you a few for now,” Mr. Deknis said, selecting three different books. “If you can’t find anything you like, just let me know and I’ll give you another book. There are plenty of different types of things to grow. This is just a start.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, eyes staring down at the field of flowers drawn on the cover of the book on the top of the stack in his arms.

They spent the afternoon on the floor of Mr. Deknis’ living room. The gardener made them some lavender tea and let them eat some candied walnuts and then retreated to an armchair to read his own book about plants.

Patton and Virgil laid on the floor flipping through the different books. Virgil still wasn’t very good at reading, so Patton would read the descriptions of the plants that caught his eye to him. One of the books was about different vegetables and one was about herbs, which of course, did catch Virgil’s attention a bit because of his love for edible things. Yet the pictures of flowers seemed to interest him the most.

They ended up eventually looking only in the flower book. A while after that, it became clear that he preferred flowers in the orchid family verses composite flowers because he liked the shape of their petals better. So, then they focused more on looking at the different types of orchids that existed.

“There are a lot more types of orchids than I knew there were,” Patton said.

“It’s the second largest family of flowers,” Mr. Deknis told them from his chair. “There’s a lot of different kinds, over 28,000 species at least. Vanilla comes from an orchid plant. If there are none in that book you especially want, I could get a book specifically on orchids.”

Virgil, having already flipped through the book multiple times looking at the orchids in it, looked up at him with a bit of excitement in his eyes. “I would like that,” he said. “Yes, please.”

Mr. Deknis’ eyes softened on him, and he got to his feet. “I’ll go see what I have in the office.”

“Getting to grow something in the garden is exciting,” Patton said once Mr. Deknis left.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed. “It is.”

It was very nice of Mr. Deknis too, Patton thought. He didn’t have to offer to let Virgil plant something, in fact, him happening to have an empty patch in his plans was probably a little bit of a fib, but it was a nice one.

Virgil liked plants, and it would give him something to look forward to over the winter and then something to do in the spring and summer. Honestly, Patton couldn’t wait to see him experience the castle in the spring. He’d already loved it in the fall, let alone when things started to grow. Patton had a feeling he’d be spending a lot more time outside this summer.

Mr. Deknis came back with a good-sized book filled with pictures of flowers. “Why don’t you take this with you for tonight,” he suggested. “It’s almost dinner time. We can talk about it more when you come to help me again on Saturday.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, taking the book. “I will see you Saturday then.”

“See you Saturday, Virgil,” he said with a smile.

  Chapter 47 (Logan)

Logan and Virgil had gotten into the habit of having reading lessons in the afternoons 3 times a week. They would sit in the small library near the royal wing for an hour or two and do different things. Logan had started with just teaching him letters, but he’d memorized those long ago at this point. Now, Logan would spend most of the time having him read simpler books out loud and correcting any mistakes he made along the way. Improvement was surprisingly fast, though in truth, Logan hadn’t had any measure for how long it would take a teenager to learn to read and Virgil was quite dedicated.

 Usually, their lessons ended with Logan reading a more complicated book while letting him follow along. The last week, they had been reading the library book Virgil had chosen for himself, Into the Mist. It was an interesting book to read to Virgil, though Logan was unsure if it would be as interesting if he were to read it on his own. In truth, it was a good, but rather ordinary fantasy book. Virgil, however, seemed incredibly fascinated by it. He had never heard a high fantasy story before in his life and he was constantly comparing and contrasting things in the book to things he understood in real life as well as asking Logan about them.

 It also became clear that Virgil did not quite understand real life fully. He attributed the same amount of awe to hearing the ocean being described as he did to the main character’s climb up the sky to a cloud city in hopes of saving his love interest’s life. In fact, he seemed more in awe of Logan’s explanation of the ocean since it actually existed. Logan had a sudden intense urge to plan a trip to see an ocean at some point in the future. Lamir was a costal country and its castle sat on top of a cliff that overlooked the sea.

 It would be easy enough to take a trip to their ally’s country at some point.

“So, cloud mites don’t exist?” Virgil confirmed yet again.

“No,” Logan said. “They don’t. In fact, their existence would go against all magical laws since they are sentient without being alive.”

“But crabs do?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Crabs do not go against the natural order of things,” Logan said.

“But why?” Virgil asked.

“I… don’t understand the question.”

“They don’t have the right number of legs.”

“W-what do you mean by that?” Logan asked, confused.

“Animals can only have an even number of legs on either side.”

“No,” Logan said. Virgil nodded vigorously. “What about beetles? Those have 6 legs. Three on each side.”

“But beetles are bug,” Virgil pointed out.

“Bugs are animals,” Logan argued.

“No, they’re not.”

His face was so serious, and he was so sure, that it was funny. “Bugs are animals,” Logan said.

Virgil seemed confused by this. “But they have 6 legs.”

Logan couldn’t help but laughing at that. “Virgil, what do you think and animal is?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Virgil said, pouting slightly at being laughed at. Logan leaned over to bump their shoulder together which seemed to pacify him. “Cows. Birds. Frogs.”

“I think we need to get you a tutor. You are missing some fundamental building blocks in your education.”

 He huffed, peering at the book.

“It’s no fault of your own,” Logan assured. “You are not born with information like that. People were just negligent in teaching you these things.”

Virgil nodded. “That actually reminds me of something.”

“Mmm?” Logan asked.

“There’s something I need to teach you.”

“And what would that be?” Logan asked.

“Survival instincts.”

“What?”

Virgil slammed his hand down on Logan’s desk. “You have no survival instincts,” he declared. “I bet you don’t even know what hemlock tastes like.”

“Isn’t that poisonous.”

“Yes,” Virgil said.

“Then of course I don’t know what it tastes like.”

“Exactly! That’s the problem.”

 “I don’t need to know what poison tastes like, Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes, you do,” Virgil argued. “It’s an important skill.”

“I think your view of what constitutes as an ‘important skill may be skewed,” Logan said.

“You’re a prince,” Virgil said. “Knowing about poisons is an important skill for you.”

“It’s really not though.”

“You’re at war,” Virgil reminded, “and they already tried to assassinate your father. Do you think they’re not going to send someone else when your father is alive at winter’s end and they’ve heard no word from their assassin? Do you think if they realize you’re not easily manipulatable, they won’t come for you too?”

 “Well, I mean…” Logan said. “You do have a point there.”

“And you need to learn how to climb things and catch things.”

“Why do I need to know how to catch things?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Virgil said. “In case someone throws a knife at you.”

Wait. When had they had that conversation?

“And while we’re on the topic of knives, you need to know how to use a knife effectively.”

“I know how to use a knife,” Logan climbed even though he knew he didn’t know how to use a knife in the way Virgil was talking about.

 Virgil, despite having no concept of taxonomic classification, was no fool. “Chopping things for potions doesn’t count,” Virgil said. “I’m talking stabbing lessons. For you and Patton, though to be honest, Patton has an advantage already over you when it comes to using weapons.”

“Why does he…” Logan thought. “Because he managed to get a hit on you with a cookie sheet one time?”

“His reflexes are better,” Virgil said, “as well as his ability to use his environment to his advantage. You’re always completely oblivious about what’s going on around you.”

“Excuse me. I am incredibly observant,” said Logan.

 “How many chairs are in the dinning room we walked through to get here two hours ago?” Virgil asked.

Logan thought for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

“Exactly! You walk by them every day and you don’t even know how many chairs there are in that room.”

“I have no idea what that has to do with anything.”

“How would you know if someone tampered with the chairs if you don’t know how many of them there are or their positions.”

“Tamper with the chairs?” Logan asked. “What are you talking about? I filter out unnecessary information. That doesn’t mean I’m not observant.”

 “Yes, it does,” Virgil said. “Plus, half the time you don’t even know where I am when you know I’m in the same room as you,” Virgil said.

“Well, that’s because you climb on top of things and hide in walls!” Logan said. “That’s hardly fair.”

“You mean I’m quiet and good at hiding like… an assassin might be.”

Logan pursed his lips. Virgil tilted his head and smiled at him. “I am plenty observant,” Logan insisted once again.

“Prove it,” Virgil said.

“And how should I do that?” Logan asked. “Beyond simply memorizing the furniture arrangements?”

Virgil shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll get an opportunity soon.”

  Chapter 48 (Thomas)

Thomas was leaving his office when he ran into his son. Or more accurately, his son almost ran into him. “Is everything alright?” Thomas asked.

“I…” Logan said. His hand came out to grasp Thomas’s shirt sleeve, odd behavior for him at least at this age. He used to do such things when he was very small. “Yes,” he said anyway. “Everything is perfectly fine.” He glanced behind himself down the hall.

Thomas looked at him and then looked down the hallway, concerned by his strange behavior. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Logan said, but he wasn’t letting go of Thomas’s shirt.

 “You seem a bit anxious, Logan,” Thomas said.

“I am not,” Logan denied, releasing his shirt. Thomas caught a glimpse of something moving above their heads. The hallway Thomas’s office was in had large pillars along the outer wall that really no one should be able to scale despite there technically being grooves in them. Yet, there Virgil clung to the chapiter of one of them. Even more bewildering, he was gripping a pouch of some kind in his teeth.

The met eyes briefly. Virgil tilted his head at Thomas. Then, he removed one hand from the pillar. How was he up there? He made a motion with his hand that seemed to be telling Thomas to step back.

 Thomas looked back at his son. Logan hadn’t noticed Virgil, too busy glancing behind him and not looking up. Thomas looked back up at Virgil and took a big step back. The moment he did, Virgil grabbed the bottom of the pouch with his free hand and let go with his teeth. The pouch flipped upside down dropping its contents right onto Logan’s head.

Logan gave a high-pitched shriek that Thomas didn’t think he’d ever heard from him before. “Virgil!” he yelled, now absolutely soaked.

“Learn to look up,” Virgil said seriously, still clinging to the pillar.

“I hate you,” Logan replied.

 “Don’t say things you don’t mean in anger,” Thomas reminded. He was a bit worried Virgil may overreact to Logan saying things like that to him, though he seemed perfectly calm at the moment.

Logan scowled at Thomas. “You’re on his side?! He just dumped water on my head!”

“He needs to be trained to be more observant!” Virgil said.

Logan turned his scowl to Virgil. “Come down here, you intolerable creature! I’m done with your so called training!”

“And what would you do if I did come down?” Virgil said arching an eyebrow, wholly unconcerned. “Quote facts about animals at me?”

 Thomas was unsure what about that comment angered Logan, but it apparently did.

“You little…”

“Boys,” Thomas interrupted. “What’s going on here?”

They both immediately started speaking at once, doing their best to talk over each other. Thomas didn’t catch much of either rants except something about ‘training’ and Virgil ‘stalking the halls’ and an exploding muffin.

“Okay, okay,” Thomas putting a hand up to tell both of them to be quiet. “One at a time. Virgil first.”

“Really?” Logan asked.

“Logan,” Thomas scolded.

He mumbled something under his breath, but he did quiet down.

“Virgil,” Thomas started again. “What’s going on?”

 “I’m training him,” Virgil said.

“Training him?” Thomas asked. “Training him for what?”

“For life,” Virgil answered. “He isn’t observant enough.”

“Ah,” Thomas said, still fairly confused. “And how are you training him?”

“Right now, we’re doing situational awareness training,” Virgil said.

“And how does that translate to you dumping water on his head?” Thomas asked.

“He wouldn’t have gotten water on his head if he’d noticed me,” Virgil answered, seriously. Thomas tried not to laugh at the look on his face.

“That is, perhaps true,” Thomas said. “However, dumping water on people’s heads is not nice. Perhaps there is a nicer way to do this training?”

 “People trying to kill them won’t be nice,” Virgil said.

“No one is trying to kill Logan,” Thomas said.

Virgil just pursed his lips. “Maybe,” Virgil said. “Not yet.”

Thomas was unsure where this fear had come from. Perhaps he had heard about the successful assassination of Lamir’s late queen. Thomas hadn’t exactly publicized the fact that the queen had been killed and not simply died when he’d returned, but he had told certain people including Logan and Patton. It was possible one of them had let it slip and Virgil had freaked out about it.

“Well,” Thomas said. “It still isn’t nice to ruin someone’s day over a threat that doesn’t exist yet.”

 Virgil just huffed at him. He was being surprisingly petulant which actually made Thomas smile just a tad. He’d not even been able to imagine this side of him a month ago. “Why don’t you come down here,” Thomas suggested. “We can talk through the issue and come to a compromise.”

Virgil stared down at him with skeptical eyes.

“Perhaps with tea and cookies?” Thomas suggested.

Virgil tilted his head and slid down the pillar until his feet touched the floor. “What kind of cookies?” he asked.

“We’ll have to see what Helen has made lately,” Thomas said. He turned to Logan and frowned. “You should probably change before you get sick being wet and in the cold.”

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Logan nodded and shivered a little bit and rubbed his own arms. Despite the castle being warm, it was no fun to be completely soaked during the winter. Thomas wasn’t even sure if Virgil would have thought to not use freezing cold water. Even with heating elements, the water in the castle could be very cold if you didn’t wait for a bit for it to warm up. Thomas didn’t think Virgil would have thought too far ahead in this so called training.

“I’ll take Virgil down to the kitchen and get some tea and cookies for all of us,” Thomas told Logan.

 He gave his son a look trying to communicate ‘I’ll talk to him.’ Logan pursed his lips, but nodded, seeming to receive the message. “Why don’t we meet you in the royal dining room, so the conversation is more private?” It would be a much calmer environment than the main dining hall or the kitchens.

“Sure,” Logan agreed, turning to walk off in the direction of the royal wing. The poor thing was huddled in on himself and cold.

Thomas looked over at Virgil and smiled at him softly as Logan left. “Let’s go see what cookies Helen has ready,” he suggested.

  Chapter 49 (Virgil)

“So,” King Thomas said as they walked through the halls towards the kitchens. The path to the kitchens from pretty much anywhere in the castle was familiar to Virgil now. Food was abundant in this place and there were no restrictions on Virgil eating it. There were no restrictions on anyone in the castle eating it, unless you counted Patton’s mother insisting people eat a more varied diet than only cookies. Personally, while Virgil did like cookies, he had no complaints over that matter. “You and Logan seem to be having a disagreement,” Thomas continued.

“I’m right,” Virgil insisted, and he was.

 However, explaining why Virgil was right to the king was a bit difficult when Virgil was hiding why he knew Logan developing survival instincts was important. It was clear that Virgil did not get his point across correctly because the king laughed slightly.

“Everyone believes they are right during a disagreement,” Thomas said. “I’m sure Logan has his own ideas about who is correct.”

Virgil frowned at him. “I am.”

“Perhaps you are both right,” the king suggested.

“But…”

“You cannot dump water on people’s heads in the castle hallways, Virgil,” the king scolded, but it was a gentle scolding and Virgil forced himself to not climb the wall and disappear. He had a point to make. “Especially not in the winter.”

 “He’s the prince,” Virgil argued. “He needs to know how to protect himself in case of danger.”

“That is true,” Thomas conceded. “You are probably correct that we should be making sure the royal family is well protected and can protect themselves. We have been safe for a long time, but there is always a risk.” He seemed contemplative for a moment. “However,” he continued. “The way you are going about it is not correct in my opinion. Clearly, it is not in Logan’s opinion as well.”

“But…”

“You risk making more problems than solving with your strategy,” the king said.

 “Like what?” Virgil asked.

“Well,” Thomas said. “Getting someone wet when it’s cold is never a good idea even inside a castle.” Virgil… could agree with that. “You also could accidently ruin something important by getting water on it if you don’t give warning. Even if you are doing something besides pouring water on his head, if you continue to do things to ‘train’ Logan in the same vein, he is likely to become more paranoid than vigilant.”

“What’s the difference?” Virgil asked.

“Being vigilant means you are prepared for danger around every corner. Being paranoid means you are expecting danger around every corner.”

 “There doesn’t seem like there’s much of a difference,” Virgil said.

“There is,” said the king, as they pushed through a set of double doors. “Take any of the royal guards,” he gestured subtly at the two people guarding the room to the hall they’d just come from. “If a guard is constantly worried that every little sound is a danger and every new person is an enemy, they will waste all of their energy and time chasing down stray rodents and interrogating maids that decided to walk a different path to their destinations. When real danger does appear, they may be too worn out or distracted to react.”

 “However, if the guards are calm and instead of instantly overreacting to every small thing, they make a note of it in case it ends up being something they need to react to later, then they will be prepared to act if there are any actual threats.”

Virgil bit his tongue to stop from mentioning that he’d managed to sneak by the guards to the royal wing the first night he was here. A boy with a cookie sheet had done more against him that King Thomas’s guards.

“That’s why I make sure everyone who works for the castle, especially the guards have not only time off to sleep and eat, but time off for leisure where they are not expected to be hypervigilant.”

 “All people need to have a time and place to feel safe, even the ones whose jobs it is to keep others safe. Logan’s job is not the same as the guards who keep the people in this castle physically safe, but he is training to be king. He needs time to perform his duties and to relax between them. Harassing him all day with survival training is not going to help him.”

“People don’t need to feel safe,” Virgil argued. “They need to be safe.”

The king stopped walking and turned to him. Virgil couldn’t help but cringe a bit as the king studied him.

 “You haven’t had a chance to feel safe very often in your life, have you?” the king asked.

Virgil shrugged, looking away.

“What would make you feel safe?” Thomas asked.

“Logan being safe,” Virgil said.

“Logan is safe, Virgil,” the king tried to argue.

Virgil scowled. “I don’t trust your guards. Even the best guard won’t be able to help if Logan gets trapped alone with someone. He needs to learn self-defense.”

“Well, I’m already planning to up security in the castle when spring comes. Would me asking if he’d be willing to do self-defense training with someone help?”

[youkah]

There's another post I reblogged a bit ago similarly talking about this but it got me thinking about another point to add onto it, coming from the perspective of someone trying to help

Like, not to make it about other people around you, but I used to do this, I would self isolate, convincing myself that everyone hated me and I wasn't worthy of love, and no one would ever show love to me- like, why would they? Why would they anyway? It's not like I deserved it, or that anyone even had the capacity to care for me, right?

What I didn't realize is that by pushing away people's compassion and love to me is I signaled to them that I didn't care. It's not true, I did care, but looking back on it now that I'm stable it's no wonder people thought that. They would go out of their way to make a huge point about how much I meant to them, how much they valued my presence, how much they wanted me to be happy, and all I could do in response was wallow in self pity, rejecting their words and repeating how worthless I am, and it just... really wasn't fair to them, you know?

Like, as an example of this, I went to the hospital in the end of my first semester of senior year, and I missed the last three weeks. When I had come back, my high school friend group at the time had Christmas gifts, letters and cards, and were so happy that I was out and back at school. They went above and beyond but for some reason I took it as being out of pity. And that hurt for no reason.

The thing is, people do reach out from a place of pity, that's true, but even then I don't think it's necessarily bad. I don't think everyone who reaches out that doesn't know what to say or says unhelpful advice/words is malicious, I think there still is compassion behind those words. I like to think of it now as when you're being comforted by your dad who doesn't quiet understand, but loves you so much and doesn't want you gone, so he lets you just cry on your shoulder while he squeezes you and asks if you want to watch that movie that came out on Netflix and eat your feelings with a tub of ice cream.

I never realized how much this hurt people until I started experiencing it myself. I went so far to show me friends that I love them and that they matter and they're worthy of love, but I was pushed away. And man did it hurt. I know where they're coming from now, but even then, it doesn't make me feel less bad about it. It's not even really in a bitter way, it's more of a sad way- I'm sad that they're pushing me away, but I'm more sad that they're not willing to accept that they are loved.

I think a lot of the reason we convince ourselves that we're unlovable is because we're not loved in a way that we want to be- maybe not by a certain person, maybe we want a romantic partner, maybe we need a parental figure, it doesn't matter. Our want for that specific relationship can sometimes blind us to the people who do love us in the present. But the thing is, it's always good to acknowledge what you do have, and that there's room for more love- infinite love, as I'd like to believe. It's not that we take those relationships for granted, of course, but I think we should start acknowledging even the smallest relationships we do have and recognize that we presently have people who care about us, and some day the relationship we do want will come, you just can't force it.

Nowadays I still talk to those friends from high school, not as often because we're all busy now, but every time they're really excited to hear from me and make it very clear. I think a few years ago I would have thought that was out of pity, but now I know and can accept that it's because they love me a lot and are glad that I'm still in their life, and that I'm choosing to keep them with me. Love is a two way street- if there's oncoming traffic of love and you don't let the green light go, it'll never come to you, and you'll never be able to show your own love either.

Just keep in mind that people love you and it's always important to show and accept that love. I'm a cheesy person who believes love- every type- is the most powerful thing, and I don't think anything will ever change that. So if someone tells you they brighten your day, choose to believe it. I've become much happier once I started choosing to believe people love me, and I'm really glad I made that decision.