#not anything recent just reflecting on past incidents

[arctic-hands]

I need a NOAA radio

[moondirti]

10. RESILIENCE

CHAPTER TEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter nine / chapter eleven ⇀

summary: miguel gives you something to work for

explicit (18+) | 5.1k words warnings: enemies (with benefits) to lovers, SMUT, fingering, praise kinks, edging, miguel is a tease, training arcs, using sex as encouragement, strict mentor miguel, angst, blood and injury notes: this is just five thousand words of banter and filth. am i sorry?

You’ve never been one to reminisce. 

Nostalgia, déjà vu – to pull a sweet memory often feels like trying to fish a lightbulb out from the traps of your jaw. Impossible, not unless the glass shatters to cut your gums and you’re left with the bitter aftertaste of tungsten. There’s a barrier preventing it, somewhere in your mind, built to divide your life into two clean segments. Before and after.

The woman you were before the incident at Alchemax had plenty to look forward to. She spent her time shooting way beyond her ground to ever consider slowing down, lured by aspirations far more tempting than the comfortable life she led. Had she stopped to smell the flowers, to appreciate the way lavender lotion felt on her skin or the past not yet marked with blood, you believe things could have gone differently. That too is hard to consider.

The girl you are now is ripe with rot, softening in the places touched by radiation, crystallising in others. To bring anything – a voice, a face, any memory ­­– back from your previous life would mean spoiling it, so you keep it all banked behind that wall. And of course, from the year past, there’s hardly anything new to recall with a smile.

Had you been anyone else, you suppose this could’ve been one of those rare times.

Because the gym is unchanged, exactly as you left it. Realistically, it’s only been a week, and to expect any major upheaval would be counting on a tragedy like the one that befell your Earth. Yet­–

Somehow, you believed that coming back could paint it in a new light. Like the ground would collapse where you took him, and the mirrors would crack, all to expose an element you’d failed to consider. One to help you take comfort in the fact, despite your reckless tryst, you’re still here. Returned – which means that all your worst worries were needless, and that this is just a gym, and you are just a person. Perhaps, if you were to pace around that gaping realisation, then your anxiety would give away to thrill.

Would’ve. Could’ve.

It still looks like the roots of your most recent mistake, though. Your tummy knots with it, tangled in that dermal tissue. You’re overcome with the urge to run, in an almost exact mirror of the last you were here. The air brims with promise; not the well-heeled kind, but a twisted sort that makes it hard to breathe. You’re afraid that, whatever happens today, things will only get more complicated. You won’t handle it well if it does.

You’ve never been one to reminisce. This morning, it is all you can do.

When eventually it gets too much to bear, you search for something else while you wait. You’d come early, right out of your third shower of the weekend, to counter the warning he’d given you.

(‘Don’t be late.’)

Shivering, you zip your jacket before arranging your things on the entryway bench. You avoid your reflection on the mirror-lined wall, turning to face the machinery instead. They aren’t conventional, you notice – though a shelf holds an array of dumbbells, they run up to twice the average weights found elsewhere. There’s a frame resembling a medieval torture device; two hand pull mechanisms on either side, both of which are attached to a tower of barbells. To try pulling both up simultaneously would rip an unenhanced human apart, you think. It certainly would come close in doing so to you.

Of the bunch, your least favourite has to be the leg press sent from hell. That’s what you assume it is, at least. In truth, you can’t exactly tell. With a plate large enough to cover your entire lower half, wedged underneath approximately forty thick slabs of solid steel, the pressure alone would be enough to crush you.

You remain firmly within the confines of the hand-to-hand combat mat. Safe, if not somewhat weird for your foul misuse of it in the past. 

But your unease is heavy enough to diffuse into your fingertips now. Your knuckles shake with it, and you must do something lest you start clawing away at your palms.

Stretching, maybe.

Yeah. Stretching would be good.

You start with what you know. The familiarity is agreeable enough to lose yourself to it. Five minutes pass; you’re bent into a low lunge. Ten, and you’re forcing your knees to touch the floor in a butterfly spread. Fifteen is when your tendons start to tremble with a warm ache, when you finally feel loose enough to relent and take a quick rest.

It turns out to be fortunate timing. The door swings upon not a moment later, the atmosphere sinking to accommodate the gravity of his presence. You catch his shadow from the top of your peripheral, hanging upside down as it appears from your point of view – laying on your back with your head slightly tipped.

You can’t see his face, and therefore have nothing to occupy yourself with. In its absence, you’re forced to consider the uncomfortable parallel your position draws forth. The only thing missing are his thick thighs, straddling your chest with subdued strength.

Swallowing, you flip around to settle on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows to take a good look at him. Last night, eyes hot and cloudy with tears, you refused to do yourself the favour in fear that his allure would only exacerbate things. You begin to understand the sentiment when your gaze locks to his.

“Morning.”

“You’re late,” You attempt to joke, grimacing at the awkward timing. The beam on which your relationship stands is precarious, possibly even more so than when you’d been plain-cut enemies. Everything is painted in grey, and it’s near impossible to discern where one boundary branches and the other ends. The confidence with which you once divulged in your humour is lost within the midst – your best bet is to cling to whatever instinct feels right.

Miguel nods, eyebrows raising in tandem to his languid shrug. There’s an almost playful beat to the way he walks, lined perfectly with the perimeter of the mat. You take note of his chosen apparel – his spider suit, perfectly complete save for the mask. A swell akin to disappointment rises within you.

“That expectation is solely reserved for you, fortunately.”

“I see. I suppose heroes have much better things to do, then.”

“Fate of the multiverse,” He waves his wrist, like the barb is easily dismissed. With what you’ve gathered about the man, you’re aware that’s far from the truth. “I still have things to tend to, beyond your containment.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” With the way he’s pursued you – relentless, a panther trapped in a box with an immaterial mouse as its meal – you’d have thought he’d delegated all other responsibilities to his trusted teammates in order to make time for it all. “Coming back from a mission?”

He traipses closer, blinking slowly in the affirmative. Unconsciously, you wiggle away.

“Successful, I take it?” You prod. “That an oddity for you, O’Hara?”

“The opposite.” He mutters, assessing your resting stance with mild intrigue. Your neck throbs with the angle it takes to peer up at him, again prompting a reminder of your last combat session. To quell it, you shift to sit on your knees.

Then, you imagine how your adjustment must look. Worse, likely. Wanton.

(Caveats seem to exist in abundance with him. There is always a but to your actions, a perspective to consider lest you want another misunderstanding.)

“My case being the exception?”

“As it continues to be.”

“I’m here though,”

“You are.” He pauses, inflection softening, as though the argument were fresh news. You half anticipate praise – a recognition of the effort it took for you to return. You’d spent your sleep after coming down that rooftop in a half-conscious state, reaching beyond your feverish dreams to grasp at whatever motivation you had left. You find, the longer he goes without mentioning it, the greater it begins to wane. Like a dying star, sputtering the last dregs of its fuel.

“Early too, I should mention.” You simper. For most intended purposes, it’s a crack at him, a push for the levity today so desperately needs. Yet another, lower part of you already mouths the response you wish to hear.

Good job.   

He doesn’t give it to you. “Which brings me to the topic today’s lesson,”

“As a precaution, I should tell you that any of the equipment will likely kill me.” You disclose, if only to brush off the disillusionment, pointing in particular to the leg press. 

“We’re not just there yet.”

“Then…”

“You want to know why you failed to pin me down when I asked you to?” He crouches, levelling to a degree closer to your eye-line. Still taller, you note. You steel yourself against shrinking back.

“Because you threw me off.”

“No.” His jaw ticks. “If you had kept with your attack, then you would’ve managed.”

You haven’t given yourself the opportunity to consider the reality of your clumsy attempt. The conversation lulls to make room for your contemplation. You’d thrown yourself onto him ­– like a glorified backpack – and were too wrapped up in your own panic that you hadn’t noticed his. With hindsight, though, it’s clear as day. He’s right, you could’ve managed. “But I faltered.”

“Exactly.” He echoes. “You didn’t stand your ground, which gave me the opening.”

It occurs to you that he doesn’t know the scope of your supposed error. It had really been the effect of his borderline aphrodisiacal cologne, potent and a dangerous addition to the vertigo that came with being jostled around. You consider pointing it out, a desperate last bid to disprove the very true argument he’s making, until he interrupts:

“Face down, forearms and toes on the floor.”

Your heart clenches with a febrile panic, blood piping hot through your veins at the same rate that your brain detangles the command behind his words. Either you’re debauched beyond reason, or it registers as filthy because he meant it to be. And where you’d usually rely on context, the murky limits of your relationship makes it hard to comprehend. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and decide that the former is the more plausible option.

(Or you can’t admit to yourself how badly you want the latter to be true.)

Either way, you do as Miguel says.

Once across the ground again, you’re able to better process the direction he’s taking you in. A plank: he’s asking you to do a plank. Ironically, you dread it more than you would’ve done the alternative.

You keep your pelvis to the mat, not yet exercising your core strength. He carries on.

“You lack resilience. Not only are you unable to withstand struggle, you don’t think to recover when you eventually fall.” The barbed observations hurt, striking you where you’re tender. It’s the part of you that’s always dissected everything he does into small, digestible pieces, but has failed to realise that he might’ve been doing the same in turn. “The first mark of a hero is their resilience. For you, that means pitting what you want to do against what you need to do.”

Another strike. You’d poked fun at his philosophical approach before, but it’s starting to make sense. Perhaps that fact alone should scare you.

Perhaps it does.

(What you want versus what you need.

Is that what you owe the world, then? Self-sacrifice – some bloody atonement – like you haven’t already bitten tooth and nail in guilt?)

“So, you’re going to make me plank?” You snap.

“I’m going to make you hold a plank. I won’t define a duration; you’ll just have to keep on until I tell you to stop.”

“O’Hara, not to question the metaphor you’ve got going on, but what could I possibly want from that?” 

“I’ve only witnessed you work hard for one thing.” He explains. It takes on a different tone than the one he’s been using thus far, though. Gentler, well-versed in the ways of a veterinary placating a feral cat. He’s treading lightly, you can tell that much, but for what you’re not sure. Because you’re close to walking out again, or because he’s about to broach unmarked territory. Whatever it is, it reads as condescending. Your muscles start to tense, like a taut elastic ready to snap, and your critique sharpens for what he’ll suggest next. “I won’t assume, and with what it can do as a form of encouragement, it’s important that you agree.”

“Spit it out.”

He doesn’t know you; you tell yourself. You’ve given him a lot of your worst, and maybe he can decipher a few truths from that, but he does not know you. You repeat the mantra over and over like a soothing balm, attempting to tamp your frantic confusion at this whole ordeal. 

“I’ll touch you. Return the favour, goad you along – but only for as long as you’re able to hold it. Drop, and I’ll stop. Pick yourself back up, I’ll continue.”

Oh.

Oh.

“When I feel as though you’ve met today’s goal, you can cum.”

And then he goes quiet. Deathly still, pouring his scrutiny into your wide eyes like he can read every thought that fires within you. But he wouldn’t be, because there are none. You don’t think. Can’t. It’s absolutely the last thing you could’ve predicted, a declaration so far removed from your worst-case-scenario that it sends you reeling beyond your flesh. You’re watching yourself in third person, a voyeur to the blubbering spectacle of Wraith – blanched and warm and entirely empty-headed. It’s unfathomable, disconcerting. 

Then, to make matters worse, you laugh.

In a manner completely unbecoming of the seriousness you’d opted to take this whole thing with, you laugh.

A crowing, boisterous sound of relief that crackles through your chest like lightning. You have to heave huge gulps of air in between to be able to respond. “You’re serious,”  

A dark eyebrow raises, the corner of his mouth curling with it. He must find it funny too, and for that you’re thankful. The mere notion injects a molten buzz into your gut. “Yes.”

“So… What – you’re insinuating a mentorship… with benefits situation?”

“No.” He shakes his head, like the title is any more ridiculous than the fact. “I’m giving you the option. You can’t trust your encouragement alone, so take it as something to look forward to. Something to work for. With it, you’ll be able to tell when you’re on the right track.”

“You’re going to Pavlov me into becoming a hero.”

He blinks. You meant it as a joke, though he seems to be taking it into account.

“If you don’t-”

“I want to.”

It’s said so quickly that you regret not faking a moment of deliberation. Really, though, there are only three things that occur to you:

Your contrition following last time was solely based on your fear of having overstepped.

The bottomless itch in you demanding some sort of recognition for your efforts remains unaddressed.

And him. It’s such an abstract reason that you can’t exactly name its contribution to your answer. Just that it’s him who’s asking; patchouli infused, broad-shouldered and stubborn Miguel O’Hara. The same man who you’d bet your life on wanting nothing to do with you, whose claw marks still scar the flesh above your wrist, whose venom still undoubtedly lingers in your system – making itself familiar with the chambers of your heart, that which you yourself can’t map. The very same man you can imagine being a father to adoring little children, because despite all the evidence to your feud, he’s also the same man who answered your curiosity about the 2099 space station with patience. Who’d cradled your neck between that rubble and refrains from calling you Wraith since you expressed your distaste for it.

Who felt so heavy on your tongue, pulsing and so fucking thick you wake up some mornings to the phantom feel of it stretching your lips.

Desire begins to gnaw up your bones. Changing your mind now would be the most blatant betrayal of oneself.

(What was it you promised earlier; to cling to whatever instinct feels right?)

“Extend your legs then.” He doesn’t let you dwell on it. “That means hips off the floor.”   

You adjust yourself into a proper plank position. Or, less than proper. Miguel takes several issues with it, rising from his crouch.

“Your elbows are too wide apart.” His foot nudges your arm until you bring it parallel to the other, straight beneath your shoulders. “Evenly distribute your weight to your forearms and toes. Everywhere else should be rigid.”

“Like this?” You turn to assess his expression. Already your lungs clench in exhaustion – this isn’t as fun as you thought it’d be.

“Of course not. Stop trying to look at me. Face down, you’ll hurt your neck like that.” The air swooshes and you assume he’s crouched back down, near your middle. A large hand grazes your belly. It tickles. “Contract it.”

You try to, but the slightest movement causes him to come in contact with you again. It’s over your jacket, just the barest of touches, yet it’s enough to make your form go weak. Your legs almost give out.

“Sorry– Just…” You huff a nervous laugh, adjusting yourself the second his warmth pulls away.

“Not just your abdomen, but your glutes too. You should feel like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Full body tension.” You tune in to every syllable, triggered into every command like a well-rigged machine. “Yeah, that’s it.”

The acknowledgement makes you preen. It must affect your stance too, because he promptly clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Most importantly, you don’t want this.”

And he finds the small of your back – right where your ass curves upward – to guide you back down, completely straight. His hand doesn’t leave you afterward, either, warm enough that you can make out the contours of it through body heat alone. Somehow, it stirs you even more.

Your groan is so pained that you hope it’s from exhaustion and not pining. “How much longer?”

“Really?” He deadpans.

“I feel like I’m going to collapse.” Your hips dip.

“I haven’t started the timer yet.”

His fingers slide along your pelvis, tracing it around the curve of your waist, down to where you’re sinking. Then, he lifts you back into place – anchored right above your pubic region. His press now is firmer, nudging into your flesh with the pads of his fingertips, and you can’t help the nauseous thrill arising where they do. They brush beneath your baggy top, skimming the precarious edge where your pants’ hem dives to skin.

You feel like the pages of an old book, flipped through an array of different scenes.

The first and most blatant is the discomfort that starts seizing control of you. Miguel insists you haven’t begun, but your unfit body is already suffering from positioning alone. Contracting your muscles proves harder by the moment, fragility skipping along the tissue until you’re convinced of the temptation to just let go. Your feet are unbalanced, and the unforgiving ground does a number on your elbows. The thin sheen of sweat beading across your hairline can only aggravate your suffocation, not cool you down as needed.

What’s harder to focus on – for all its monopoly on your mind – is how intentional his caress is. Every shift of his hand is practised, hovering right around where you need him but never doing anything about it. If he hadn’t admitted his course of action, then you would have tricked yourself into calling it professionalism. But while you can’t see him, his smirk is almost palpable – like humidity that makes a temporary home in your lungs – and you’re confident enough in it that you’re able to name him a tease. He’s teasing you.

The amalgamation of it all sends you into overdrive. You’ve only begun and you’re already yelling.  

“The timer!”

“You’re making it worse for yourself, you know.” He says, though moves to fiddle with his watch. 

“You’re a little shit, y’know.” But he’s right. Talking amplifies the fatigue.

“I’ll add that to the list. Right next to cocky bastard.”

“Don… Don’t forget sadist–”

“Hm,”

And, as if to emphasise its inapplicability, he cups you.

From behind. Dips his fingers in the space between your thighs, winds them to the front of your groyne, and palms your clothed cunt. 

Your skin prickles. 

“Fuck!”

Static envelops your arms as they phase right through the floor – momentum stopped only by your chin, which remains corporeal. If it weren’t for your tongue, which slips to wedge itself between your teeth, then you’re sure your jaw would have shattered on impact. Ichor floods your mouth, sharp, like butter melted on a penny. You groan, rolling around to rapidly blink up at the ceiling, purging the stars speckling your vision. 

Miguel just looks at you, expectant. His biceps flex when they cross over his chest. 

“That was four seconds.” 

“Oh, pleath. Thpare me the lecture,” Upon sitting up, you spit the blood out to your empty side. Your limbs have already reverted back to their natural state. “Not that you care, but it still counts as a personal record.”

“Go figure.” He mutters, helping you back into place. He doesn’t have to correct your posture this time. “Back to zero.” 

Silence follows the beep of his watch. 

Really, it’s more of a mental hush. You force your mind to scour all preoccupations to the backlog, cleansing the forefront of it to steam-pressed sterility. What had caught you off guard was your lacking focus on the physical; if you had been aware of the smallest movements coming from behind, then perhaps his touch wouldn’t have prompted you to phase out. You hadn’t even noticed his gloves retracting into his suit. 

Your tongue is still sore with incisor shaped indents, and you vow not to repeat the mistake that caused it. 

So, you focus on what’s happening rather than what could. Baby steps, one second after the next, waddling until you find a gait that suits your rhythm. When anything but your abdomen aches, you readjust. Your shoulder joints aren’t supposed to tense like that – you can almost hear him say – so you work on fixing it. If your toes begin to hurt, then clench your calves. Dig your nails into a fist, it helps take away from everything else. 

The air conditioning unit hums evenly from all around you. The echoes of other spider-people outside filter in with it. The combat mat has a vinyl surface that zips when you scratch it. The material of his suit smooths tacitly across your jacket. Your breath is as consistent as you allow it to be, stunted when you exhale. 

Your sweat is itchy as it dries to your lip. Your ribs pound where they fractured a while ago. Sinew wears down the longer you continue to flex it. He flicks the trim of your leggings, stroking the valley of your spine. Your palms split as your nails plough further into them, marked with crescent-shaped beads of red. 

Varicoloured motes float by your nose. Somewhere, hitchhiking on your train of thought, there’s a confusion. No stream of sunlight exists to highlight them. They shouldn’t be here at all. 

But then Miguel slips in, ironing over your cotton panties. Your whole body knits together, bracing like a compressed spring. There’s nothing you can do without making him stop, no jump or grand feat that promises release. You can’t even see the finish line, the marker an uncapturable notion, a rainbow moving away at your same speed. So, instead, you revel in how unwavering he is. 

His hand strokes over the line of your ass, about to push downward to where you need him most, before deciding against it.  

To pinch a cheek. 

He… pinches the swell of fat, right where your rear curves to your hamstrings.

It’s rough enough that you’re sure you’ll bruise. 

“Nmmgf–” You sulk. “Don… Y– T-tease.” 

“Se te olvidó. Squeeze your glutes.”

The sarcastic yes sir dies in your throat. Your face is aflame – from the work out, his ministrations, the revelation that when he reaches your cunt, he’ll be greeted with a humiliating mess. Your thighs are spread apart, yet your underwear still slides over your core, jostled by his intrusion and too slick to provide any real friction. 

That is, until he nips the fabric to bunch up between your lips. It stresses over your clit, biting down on the fattening pressure there. Pleasure tremors up your nerves, unsure of its validity under such an unfamiliar sensation. Your subsequent moan is almost miserable in contrast.

“P-Ple… O’H-ra.” To punctuate your plea, you purse your bottom as hard as you can. A physical signal, a question – is this good? Is it not enough? But all that manages to do is worsen your lust. Adding to the fire tenfold, potent as a gallon of petrol. You try to remain steadfast in the face of it all – this calamity, bombs upturning battlefield soil, to keep yourself in the position he’s asked of you.

But fuck if it isn’t punishing. 

“Mierda– that’s it.” He curses. You’re at the point where it’s enough praise to urge you along. “You’re soaked.” 

You hadn’t noticed his index and middle digits, finally fondling over your hole. Fabric still separates you, bunched tight right over the weeping thing, but as you hold out, he moves it to the side. It snaps away like he’s vocally ordered it to stay that way, his whims laws of physics in their own right, and you use that skewed rationale to supply the basis to your obedience. You couldn’t have done this alone – in no universe, of the hundreds you’ve visited, have you ever thought of it. You’d purchased gym memberships for their showers and walked right past the purpose. In your own world, you’d wasted your limited free time in strangers’ beds.

There’s always been a deficit of purpose in your life. For a brief moment, you’d found it in the stars. Now, with Miguel, you’re granted every ounce you might’ve missed in between, if only to experience what it would be like to unravel by his touch. 

And he leads you to it like he’s been trained in your precise anatomy. Blunt fingers implant onto your electric centre – that bundle of nerves overfed by the edging – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike wrecked sobs. Your eyes cloud with desperation, foggy tears budding at your lashes and flowering down your sweat-slicked cheeks. His thumb responds, thrumming along your opening to test its elasticity. Upon deeming you ready, it dives to plug you shut. 

It’s delicious. You’re beyond delirious. He’s got a grip on you in every way; spiritually, his philosophy for today echoing as your only tether to reality. Mentally, with his stupid fucking lesson and this god-forsaken plank. Physically, strong arm literally hooked into your cunt and coaxing new slick with every quirk of his fingers. 

Which press down with a vengeance now, bearing on a trillion little synapses that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Everything is screwed in, bolted to the same position he asked for – you don’t dare let go. Not as your heart stutters out of beat, finding the pace he dictates instead, flicking over your clit unhinged. Not when the digit that fingers your clinch twirls in place, searching for the lewd sounds it can create. Or with the following squelch, your lungs flaring – embarrassed – at every consecutive one thereafter.

He’s talking, whispering, goading you along. You can’t hear any of it. Either dirty talk or reprimand, it’s lost amidst your self-doubt. 

Because truthfully, you can’t persevere through this much longer. The tunnel continues to unroll before you, the light at the end waning dimmer and dimmer. How wonderfully poetic, you brood; your whole spider-hood spent chasing salvation, navigating through one purgatory to the next, only to lose sight of your little prelude to heaven. 

You want this – so much so that the word begins to blur with need, and Miguel’s lesson gains more relevance. You want this so bad that you’d worship every atom, every callus of his, from cuticle to elbow. 

(Resilience. Resilience. Resilience.) 

What you want and what you need. 

Which is which, again? 

You can let yourself go now, suffer through a shameful orgasm by collapsing to the floor and holding his wrist still to fuck yourself onto. It isn’t so much about that anymore, though – that pure sexual gratification, the most basic of requirements. 

It’s about the thing you’ve been wishing for the whole morning. Approval, the cue that you earned it, filtered through his encouragement alone. Not the physicality that manifests as a screeching voice inside your head, but his own – unadulterated, smoke-charred, the slightest of accents scorching its edges. And whether you like it or not, you can only gain it by enduring this test.

(He walked into this gym with the assumption that you’d want your way, and need his. 

Funny, how things turn out. It’s completely the opposite.

Perhaps he does not know you at all.) 

But he sees you. 

Watches the rigidity of your muscles, how they stiffen further given your newfound resolve. Observes as you smear bloody palms onto your wrists, and sniff back the cries you’ve let rip thus far. Your heels straighten out, ninety degrees to the arch, your head ducking to ensure your torso is as straight as can be. You hardly feel the pain anymore. 

And you see him. 

Or – the vague shape of his hand, tucked beneath your leggings. It’s dark, shadowed by the overhead fluorescents, but the bump is big enough for you to pinpoint when exactly he makes his decision. It halts, breaks away a smidge, and comes back with a renewed vigour.

“Can I!” 

“Go.” He permisses. 

(And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before matter meets antimatter, where magnets lose their function and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, mass converting entirely to energy. When you roll into a ball of fear–)

You wind impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in ripples, but as one metre-high wave, floodgates open to the mat beneath you.

(–and your best to embrace a quick death.)

Miguel aids you down to lay on your back. When he lifts his wrist to check the set stopwatch, his hand glistens with your juices. You're compelled to wipe it off, raptured by humility like he isn’t the one that just fingered you into oblivion.

“Two minutes.” He says. “Good.”

“That… that was only one-twenty seconds?” 

“Talk about a personal record.”  You huff. “Shut up.”

chapter eleven

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[theseawakes]

Glimpse of Past (Marc Spector x teen!reader

summary: Marc emphatize with you when you showed up at his door and shared your past.

warnings: child abuse, death (mentioned) (lmk if I missed anything)

request: "Could I request a moonknight x teen reader (platonic) where reader usually helps them with finding people or finding information, kind of like “guy in chair”. And they often spend late nights helping Steven, Jake and Marc not spending a lot of time at home. Maybe Steven questions it but reader kinda shrugs it off. Then one day reader shows up covered in bruises and all of them tries to find out what happened but reader doesn’t want to tell them but then reveals that it was one of reader’s parents. And Marc becomes really protective because of what happened to him when he was a kid. You can decide the ending if you want but I would love to see some Hurt/Comfort."

a/n: I'm sorry I only did it with Marc, I sorta wrote it to take set right after incidents in season 1 with reader not knowing Steven and Jake yet

Marc Spector wasn't the one who worked well with people, but he eventually got a hang of it, thanks to you.

The mercenary never intended to have someone working off-screen for him. You were a threat. You came too close to Marc's secret job for his liking, prying on his night activities and even providing proof. Khonshu was telling Marc to get rid of you, but you butted him first by signing yourself to work with him. Marc couldn't risk someone knowing his night profession, and he didn't wanna kill a child. And judging your ability to be able to uncover the whole Moon Knight thing just reveals that you could be more than useful. So work with him, you did.

Yet earning the certain Spector's trust was hard. There were more than a handful of times when you gotta prove to him that you were, indeed, more than useful for him to fully trust you. Which you consider weird because he was the one who saved you from "getting rid of."

The crescent moon turned into full then turned anew. You found yourself rather at home with Marc than at your actual house. Oftentimes, you spend days with him even if he doesn't go on missions. As much as Marc hated to admit, he does enjoy it too. He enjoys hearing your antics in the comms, he enjoys hearing you read a book of pun jokes and coming home to you spreading out on the couch after a long mission.

You left him with a note that says, "I'll be back soon" once and have never been back ever since. His worry starts to grow as high as those skyscraper buildings. It's been weeks and Marc couldn't find any sign of your existence. Nevertheless, he prayed to anyone listening to him to keep you safe.

You are, in fact, not safe

Your hand trails on the newly made black eye on your face. A wince was shown on your reflection in the mirror.

You never intended to go home. You never wanted to go home. You were going to buy something in a store when you accidentally crashed into one of your father's friends. They immediately took you back to him and he was beyond furious. He locked you in your room for days and only opened the door to feed or beat you.

He had thrown out all your electronic devices; he made sure to cut any way of communication with the outside world so you weren't able to reach Marc. You were glad you left your camera in Marc's place, it was a gift from your late brother, the one you used to spy on Marc.

Your father let you out recently because he needs help to do chores. You still get beatings if you don't do exactly what he says. The newest black eye was obtained from dropping a bottle of beer because your hand hurts from his beatings.

Sighing heavily, you looked outside the bathroom when you heard a knock on the door.

The man sitting on the armchair paid no attention to it, locking his eyes on the TV. He, however, bitterly spat, "Get the door, they're my friends."

"Why don't you get it yourself?" You whispered under your breath, thinking he couldn't hear you. He did.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Your body flinched when you heard his boots making their way to where you are. "You should be glad I let you out that room." A slap. "You ungrateful bastard of a child." Another slap. "You should be glad I even spared your life!" This one almost sends you to the floor, but his hands pull you by your collar and smash your body to the nearest wall. "You took everything from me. My wife, my son, my good and perfect life with them!"

Your body made contact with the cold hard sink before falling to the floor. Groaning in pain, you felt another thing stomping your abdomen several times. After what felt like forever, your father finally stopped. With your final energy, you look at the front door. Seeing as your father and his friends were occupied by the TV, you dashed out of the bathroom and eventually out of the house. They noticed, of course, but you didn't care, all you cared about was running away as far as you can. You run to the only place you had in mind. The last thing you remember was knocking your hand on the familiar dark wooden door.

Marc scanned your sleeping form on the couch, noting the many differences between your usual self before your disappearance and now. Your clothes looked more like it's hanging on your body. Dark spots are circling your eyes with a slight dark blue color on one of them. Your skin is littered with bruises; purple, blue, even yellow. You look so… fragile. Totally different from the last time he saw you.

The time Marc realized you were not coming back or went "missing", he tried to find you by asking people he knows who know you. He tried looking and digging for information on where you live since you never told him. But he found nothing.

When he opened the door and saw you, he was beyond relieved to know that you were still alive. However, his heart dropped the moment he looked into your eyes. The sight was too familiar to him. He swore he caught a glimpse of himself inside those E/C eyes. And that was all he needed to know about your state before carrying your collapsed body to the couch.

The Khonshu Avatar watched as your eyes fluttered open, squinting a few times to adjust the light. Your head turned to see him despite it throbbing terribly. Tears clouded your blurry vision but you could still see Marc moving towards you. Your eyes widened in realization of someone coming towards you. With a jerk, you stand up and immediately back away from the person.

"Y/N?" Marc questioned.

You looked down as your feet kept dragging you away from the man. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I promise! I– it was my fault, I'm sorry, I am. I didn't mean to disobey you, I didn't mean to kill them, I'm sorry, please don't hit me, I didn't mean—"

"Y/N, it's me, it's Marc." Marc tried to cut you but failed as you replayed your muttering again and again and he'd be lying if that didn't shatter his heart. "Bud, it's all fine. You're alright. They can't get you here. You're safe," he made his voice as soft as he could.

His arms gently reach out for your shaking figure. The mercenary is fighting back the tears that started to form in his eyes. Alarms blazed in his head when you tried to hit your head. As if out of instinct, he leaped to engulf you in his arms, preventing you from hurting yourself. He could still hear you mutter through your tears, "stupid me, I shouldn't have– I shouldn't –"

"Shh, stop it, Y/N, please don't hurt yourself. You're alright, I've got you. It's alright. Follow my breathing, okay? In, 1 2 3, hold it, out 1 2 3. Come on, you can do it. Again." You followed Marc's instructions, breathing in and out with him. Marc's hand never stopped circling your back to calm you down and it worked. Once your crying has reduced into small hiccups, you clung onto the back of his shirt as he rocks you back and forth. "There you go, better?"

You moved your head up and down while wiping a single tear. "Yeah," you answered. Looking up at the man, you noticed his eyes were a bit puffy too. Has he been crying? "I'm sorry, Marc."

The dark-haired man patted your head softly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"They died because of me, my mom and my brother." You paused. "She died giving me a chance to live in this cruel world, and he died saving me to continue living in it. I don't need him to remind me every chance he gets that I killed them because I already live with the guilt every day."

The confession you made sent a jab to his heart. He knows how it feels to be in your shoes. He knows it all too well. When he looked inside your eyes he saw a glimpse of his past, and that was all he needed to know what happened. It was exactly what happened to him, and it pained him to acknowledge it. Marc pulled you into another embrace when your tears started spilling out again. Then somehow when he glanced at the top of your head, he saw the hair that belonged to his younger self, which only caused him to pull you closer.

"It wasn't your fault, kid," he replayed what Steven said to him on their trip down memory lane. "It wasn't your fault that they died. It wasn't anyone's."

Marc's words only trigger more tears to come out of your eyes. You tighten your grip around him, allowing yourself to break down in his arms. It wasn't after a few minutes that you had calmed down. "I don't wanna go back there."

"You don't have to. We'll sort things out later. For now, let's tend those bruises, eh?" Marc helped you get to the couch before he went to grab the med kit. When he was about to get back, you jumped off the couch.

"The scarab!" you shouted, now remembering that Marc had gone for the scarab before you were taken back to your house. The pain going through your body made you wince. "What happened to the scarab? Did you find it?"

The Moon God's avatar ignored your question as he hurried to your place to sit you back down and gave you an ice pack for your black eye. He hesitated to answer you for a moment, afraid of what your reactions might occur. "I did. I saved the world. Kinda."

"What!?" There it is, the reaction. You stood up again, ignoring the pain this time. "You saved the world!? How? What did you do? What happened?"

Marc sighed. "Will you sit back down? You're in pain."

"Please, this is nothing more than knowing you saved the world without me." You scoffed, earning a chuckle from Marc.

"Alright, fine, I'll tell you everything. Now sit back down, kid." You lowered yourself to the couch again, watching Marc start to tend your bruises. "It happened in Cairo."

-

taglist: @andromacher @pauldanos-world @atzlena @blustalker

[jaestrz]

Bittersweet- Seo Yul

Established relationship - fluff - angst - mention of blood and kissing!

Some things never really go the way we wanted it to be. The future changes everyone. Except it’ll took a while. God. The grief you went alone was extremely painful without him by your side.

Seo yul. Both of you had a bittersweet end. Or was it really the end of everything? Everyone went separate ways three years ago after that incident. The incident that made you suffer with sweat and tears to this day. You disappeared.

-

The view of a barrier surrounding Jeongjinak caught to your attention. You didn’t know why you were out in the first place. Watching as Jang uk and the crown prince throwing stones trying to get it through the barrier, which it only leads to reflecting back. Yul wasn’t here, but your mind couldn’t stop thinking about the argument you both had a few minutes ago. You haven’t heard anything from Yul but your gut is telling you something is wrong. Should you go check on him? From afar?

“Y/n? Are you okay? If you’re worried about being stuck in here then I can guarantee we get out soo-”

no. You weren’t worried about getting stuck in here. You were worried about something that could go wrong. There was a sharp pain in your chest. “ I’m sorry, I have to go.” Was the only thing you could voiced out before running. Running to Yul while silently hoping he would be alright. The charm you both have. You hated that. You hated how it always scares you if you feel somewhere in your body burning, like a sword through a chest.

This kind of feeling. A mix of terrified and regret in your mind. You regret everything, you wished you had listened to him instead of being stubborn.

You wished it wasn’t a reality to what you are currently seeing with your bare eyes as soon as you stepped inside. Everything around you collapsed. Like the only thing that you could still see was the man you love, lying on the table in a puddle of his own blood with a wound on his chest. A tear of yours poured, your own feet dragged your body to stand beside him. Yun ok tried to touch and clean his wound. “ he lost a lot of blood, if he doesn’t get the enough blood he needs, young master Seo might die.” your breath hitched.

So-i on the other hand was rambling something about threatening to cut out her own blood in order to save Yul. You won’t be needed that because you had already planned it. Even if it means the pain will be two times painful for you. “Love, I really need you to wake up.” You whispered, taking the sharp knife before watching as your blood drip down to the wound. You would be lying if it wasn’t painful.

Your hovered your hand in the air over the wound, feeling the energy working on its own. His chest looked like nothing had happened.

Seeing him moving made you breath in relief. Hissing at your injured hand and wrist. You felt his hand squeezing yours before his eyes slowly flutter open. His touch made you forget about everything that has been going on. It’s like stones getting lift off your shoulders.

“y/n.” you heard him called out your name and your attention quickly went towards Yul. Your clothes was stained with his blood. Yul saw how your other hand was wrapped.

This was the consequence.

-

That was the last time you saw him. Right after the barrier broke, he was taken to Sejukwon and you witnessed Jang uk’s death. That was the last time you got to hold Yul.

You thought that was the end for both of you. Nightmares were your best friend. Anxiety was painful. For three years. Three years you had waited for him. The first time you’ve heard rumours about him, it was recently how he was going to have a planned marriage with a Jinyowon daughter. Bu yeon.

Did he agree? Did he move on that fast? You didn’t know what your relationship with him is all about. Would he still remember you? Or was the past years of being in love with him was just flowing like the sea.

You don’t know what you were even doing. You saw So-i seems to be stalking on something, your eyes follow her vision and you saw someone familiar. Someone that you were longing for. Someone that you miss till death.

Yul.

You ran. You forget about everything else and went to his direction, standing in front of him while he takes his time to recognise who you are under the cloak. That’s before he realised it was you, burying you in his chest as he mutters your name.

“it’s really you… I thought you were gone. You didn’t reply to my letters and i-”

“I suffered a lot without you. The rumours. You were going to marry someone from Jinyowon. I thought you’ve… lost feelings.” His body tensed when you mentioned about the rumours.

It felt like falling in love all over again.

“Now that you’re here in my arms, I don’t think I could love anyone other than you. Love.”

[insertsomthinawesome]

Sorry if this doesn’t make sense but how do you… art? Like from looking at your art, there’s just so many different fandoms and it’s all fantastic!! How do you not stick to one or feel like you *have* to stick to one? Sorry

Aw Friend! No need to apologize! :D You asked your question plenty politely! That's a really interesting question actually, and I'm fascinated to be asked it! Because I actually do know the kinda thing you're talking about! or at least I have experiences that feel like they line up with what you're asking. A lot of its... growing up? I guess? And not in the sense of like. becoming an adult. but the non-stop process of growing and learning more about life. When I was younger, an actual child, I just Did it. I drew whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I didn't question hoping to a new interest or drawing different fandoms. I just did it. But the older you get the more complicated a lot of things get right? 😔 That was true for me.

I actually spent several years terrified, of moving on. Of leaving old fandoms behind. There was one fandom I actually forced myself not to leave for like... 2 years? Because I was afraid of all the projects I wouldn't complete, all the stories I wouldn't tell, all the art i wouldn't make. But honestly that was a horrible decision? It burnt me out of the specific fandom SO BADLY. Its only been around this last year that I've been able to enjoy things around it again without an overhanging shadow of stress.

I was still scared to fandom hop after that incident tho. Despite having gotten burned by caving to my own fears. It wasn't until I got into Trigun that I actually started to get less scared. A friend I met in that fandom, someone who was older than me, told me that... things have a way of coming back around. If you know the song "Everything Stays" From Adventure time? She said it was like that song. You will inevitably get older. But these things won't be gone. And you can always come back to them :) That clicked in my brain... and it took a bit longer, a bit more time of accepting that fact for me to find peace... but honestly? I kinda have now. At least for this moment in time. I wouldn't be surprised if the fear comes back around again, fear is funny and insidious like that. But I have the tools to beat it now :) The other two things I would mention are these: For starters: this might be obvious? But I'm a hobbyist artist. I don't make money off of my art, I don't sell it, I don't need numbers or clout in order to pay my bills. I'm completely free to do my own thing! Ain't nothing wrong with making a living off of your artwork and if that's the path that you want to walk GO FOR IT. But that path does have its own challenges. Because I don't walk that path, I am free to make whatever I want, without worrying about how it might reflect on my finances. The other thing is...

PERFECTIONISM...

THIS, NASTY LITTLE VILE COCKROACH, WILL RUIN YOUR ART LIFE SO BADLY ITS INSANE. It will ruin your NORMAL life super fast too 😔 it is an insidious little shoulder devil telling you, that you will be happier if you just do it the "perfect" way. IT IS SO SO SO SO SO SO WRONG. That is the key to the door of endless procrastination and broken dreams. SFLJSLF to get less metaphorical about it though: If you're always waiting for the perfect moment to make art for a fandom, to leave a fandom, to join a fandom (in this case i just mean "Get into the thing that interests you" when I say "Fandom") or create literally anything, you will be waiting forever. I know because i have been :') And its made it very hard to draw both in my past, and right now this very day.

Truthfully i'm still working on that one??? I've had some epiphanies recently that have helped a lot with my perfectionism... but I haven't tried drawing since having them? (drowning in the new Honkai Star Rail Patch WHEEZE) So uh. Not sure If I'm over that hill yet xD But yeah, if that's one piece of advice i could give you to take seriously, its don't chase perfection, in ANYTHING. Especially art. It will never be enough for you. And if you're doing it for other people, it will never be enough for them. Art is wonderful and messy, and human. And that is okay.

Its taken me a lot of soul diving and thinking and a lot of help from outside influence and kind people for me to figure this stuff out too. So don't feel bad to ask for help kay? We all need help. A lot xD I'm still not like, the king this stuff either. There are a lot of smaller, more niche, fandoms, I want to draw for, but still haven't, because of my own anxiety and embarrassment. There are fandoms I haven't drawn for because I don't feel like i have the adequate amount of information to be, ""allowed"" too (which is totally a fake standard btw, there is no barrier to entry for when you're "allowed" to draw something). I'm working on these problems every day.

Oh actually one last note: People can influence how hard it is for you to draw for a bunch of fandoms too. If you know you'll get made fun of for drawing something, its hard to draw. If you know you'll get praised for drawing something, sometimes that makes it easier to draw. Both of those things can mess you up BAD. Constantly drawing for other people (when its not a deliberate gift) can make you feel really upset and angry, and dissonant with your artwork.

But it can be equally as hard to realize nobody will share your enthusiasm if you don't draw what they like. That's not a judgement against anybody's friendships, we all got our own interests, and nobody can be 100% Invested in everything their friends enjoy. But It can make it a bit more emotionally challenging sometimes. And it can be hard to like?? Emotionally deal with that? in a way it makes art that you know will perform well, either with your friend group or online, like... "Candy". Its tastes good, but it doesn't give you long term energy (ie there's nothing wrong with it, but its not sustainable as your only form of sustenance) Meanwhile making art that is purely self indulgent is like eating a full and healthy meal. It gives you that long term energy of personal satisfaction, and your enjoyment and happiness also doesn't inherently hinge on whether or not other people appreciate it like you do. Obviously there's no issue if what you genuinely want to draw would also do well online/with your friends!

ANYWAYS, yeah, I'm still maturing and learning and growing with a lot of my opinions and perspectives and emotions on this stuff? Its definitely easier said than done, and while from the outside it looks effortless... I understand why you'd be struggling anon. I hope you can figure it out for yourself too! Best of luck :D also i could go on and on and on about this topic for years because alsjdfaksjdflJSDJGSD ooohhhhhhh boy I have learned and witnessed and thought many a thunk.

[haleswallows]

✄ and ♡ for you! I know it says 'pick a fic' but can I just ask about the entire Incident Report series for the favourite line? If not then just do the first one.

Editing process! I work in big word documents. When I'm jumping back in, I'll reread a bit. Fix typos/errors, rephrase things. Very recently, I've started writing out of order. This let's me rearrange scenes. Also, keeps me writing because I'm always working on the part I want to be, not slogging through to get to that beautiful scene in my brain.

Hahaha, we're doing all 6 Incident Reports!

#1

“The Lord of Fear is born from the collective human memory of terror. As long as mankind has feared the unknown, of what lurks in the dark, I have existed.” Bro.

Because I love how irreverent Tim is this entire first summoning. He's like "Bet. This is happening. Wanna help me be a stalker?"

And meanwhile Fright Knight is like "This child does not comply with my understanding of children. I have Concerns."

#2

“So like, spirit. The Ghost of Human Terrors Past and Future can use a phone? How does that work? Did the academy secretary hear the screams of the damned during that call?”

I just love the entire phone call bit.

#3

Impossibly, Fright Knight straightens further. “It is what we do in spite of the fear. For there's the rub, to endure or to concede. Thus, many have fought against me and prevailed regardless of odds.”

Awww Frighty being like "humans are great" while not minutes earlier he was bitchy about Tim being a soft fragile human.

#4

This one is hard to pick for. Not because it isn't good, it's one of my favorites. But it's more of an exploration, not zings or one-liners. But I love this symmetrical moment:

A stranger looks back at Tim from the mirror. Tim doesn’t recognize himself, more ghost than anything else. Everything feels far away.

And

When he looks back to the mirror, Fright Knight stands behind him. Tim doesn’t turn, opting to observe the spirit through the reflection. It’s familiar. It’s different. Everything is so fucked up.

When I was writing, I was thinking of Tim feeling unsteady. He looks and doesn't recognize himself. He looks again, and finds something familiar. I wanted a push/pull of Tim getting to know himself. Fright Knight gives him guidance during that time through confronting fear, but also being a safety net.

#5

“I believe you are familiar with the definition of insanity.”

“Sure, I am. Would you prefer Merriam-Webster or Oxford English?” Tim quips with a smirk. The glare intensifies and he can't help but laugh.

This is one of the funniest things I've ever written. Convince me otherwise. My other choice for #5 would be Fright Knight looking at the photos.

#6

“Uncle Frank Night? Uncle Frank Night?”

“You named him what?” Phantom crows. “Fright Knight, elder spirit, endless fear incarnate. And you named him… Frank?”

“I was sixteen and stressed!” The defense falls flat.

“I can't believe you tried to pass off this,” Dick gestures at Fright Knight with a jab, “as a living relative!”

“Hey, that's not fair –,”

“-- please know, I'm going to call him –,”

“-- Fright Knight has feelings and you're being rude–,”

“-- he's a haunted suit of armor, Tim!”

“-- Frank during court from now on –.”

“-- yeah, Dick, and I've known him longer than you –.”

Actually near impossible to pick for this one. Honorable mentions: Danny's explanation of how he knows Jason, Fridge haunting/food unionizing, Alfred and Fright Knight colluding, Dick continually losing his shit.

[sumire-no-nikki]

Grow Into

It has been a rainy week over here. Only 8 days into February and I feel like I’ve lived four lives already. It has been awfully busy. I’m doing a million things and planning on doing even more. I’m not complaining though. I feel very present and engaged with every project I’m working on. It has been a very productive year so far.

I’m here in my study, lounging on my reading chair and sipping coffee (inexplicably at almost 19:00! don't worry it's decaf!). I feel enveloped by the silence as I reflect on the past couple of days that have been quiet on my end. It’s not out of sadness or anything painful like that. There are just periods of time when I don’t feel like talking to anyone. I've always been this way, I think. My inner world just feels so much more enticing that it doesn’t feel necessary to venture out. I’m thankful that my friends and loved ones understand this. I suppose an extrovert might read this and think, oh how pitiful. But there’s nothing sad about it. I feel very nourished swimming in the lake of my own mind. There’s never anything to explain or justify, and I feel thoroughly fulfilled going about my days and getting things done this way.

At any rate I think I’m coming out of it now. I feel like my internal gauge is reading “ready to socialize again” so I’m crawling out of my personal wonderland to say hello.

I will say that something rather shocking happened to me recently. Shocking, sad in a way, but ultimately triumphant.

To make a long story short, I found out that someone had wronged me, for the millionth time, despite all the reassurances and chances in the world. It was something juvenile enough on its own. And it wasn’t the act itself that was upsetting to me, but the intention and effort to lie about it. This person hurt me with the attempt to misrepresent facts, and in doing so has communicated to me that they don’t think I’m important or worthy of consideration. When it mattered, they would choose to run me over. With every “I’m sorry” and every “I forgive you,” my affection for this person is diluted.

In the past, I took incidents like this very personally. When I wasn’t chosen by a friend group, it was some sort of judgment against me. When my mother compared me to other girls, it was an indication of my shortcomings. I always felt alone. Everyone else had an ally while I was left to starve for someone to fight my corner, to acknowledge my worth and defend it. I saw another person’s inability to value me as my personal responsibility. I thought I had to work hard to earn someone’s attention and investment. And because this is inevitably a fool’s errand, the result was always the same. I renewed my self hatred with every disappointment. I was sure there was something inherently unlovable about me.

But in the moment in which the truth hesitantly came out from this person, I saw very clearly that I had nothing to do with it. That while it was hurtful to me, while it was a blatant disregard of my own wellbeing, there was nothing I could have done to prevent this. No amount of loving harder, understanding better, or caring deeper would have changed the situation. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the other person.

While the conversation was unfolding, I was struck by the growth I noticed in myself. I have myself. I am my greatest ally. Yes, this person hurt me, but it doesn’t matter in the end. I will not be consumed by someone else’s failings. These were the thoughts I had, and I haven’t felt this proud of myself in a long time.

I don’t need their consideration if it’s not something they can provide. You wouldn’t go to the desert for snow after all. And that’s not a judgement against them. They are who they are. They can only be who they are. They make their choices. We’re just all different. And I’m at peace with that because I have all that I need right here. I have me.

I saw myself in that moment, reading someone’s apologies for something they’ve shown to not have any intention of changing or correcting, and felt such possessiveness over my heart and mind. I saw the woman I am and thought, you’re mine. You’re mine and I will take care of you. I smiled even after that shocking confrontation—all the unpleasantness just slid off my back. I held myself. The love I had been looking for all my life was right there. I was enough.

Perhaps this is very elementary to some people. But it meant a lot to hear it come from me. Not as an advice, not from a therapist, not from a self help book. It came from me because I wanted to tell myself that I love the girl I was, the woman I am and will be after all.

I was listening to a political podcast last week and the host brought up the fact that strong people are not those who can maintain an extended period of stability, but those who can go through all manner of changes. There’s a focus on making sure we don’t disrupt our lives as much as possible. We enter adulthood seeking a city to claim as ours, a career to specialize in, a partner to settle down with. A divergence from that path is widely considered as a bad thing, or worse, a failure. But I’m more convinced now than ever that if things don’t go well for me, I’ll be just fine anyway. I’m not worried anymore. I’m shedding the years of anxiety and control, and I’m giving way to a version of myself that’s even more liberated, resilient. I am growing into strength. I will keep on going no matter what. It’s in my nature.

Anyway, here are two books I’ve started reading recently. Water by John Boyle which is a book I bought last year while I was in Bath, and the other one is Nobody, Somebody, Anybody by Kelly McClorey. Both books are on my 24 books for 2024. I realized I hadn’t read one book from the list in January as I was feeling rather spontaneous then, so I’ve got to catch up with the list this month. I also plan to reread The Searcher by Tana French at the end of the month because the sequel novel is coming out first week of March and I want to be prepared. As a Tana French-stan (as the young ones say these days—how do you do fellow kids? lol) I cannot tell you just how excited I am for this new book. I’ve pre-ordered a signed copy and I am shaking with anticipation just typing this. Tana French novels represent a very specific feeling and time in my life, so I always welcome the opportunity to jump back into her written world. This is funny, now that I think about it, because her books are actually pretty damn bleak. Oh well!

Reading has been going in a somewhat slower pace, in comparison to how it was in the last quarter of last year. I’m fine with it so long as I’m on track to complete my annual goal. I do wish I would have more time to just devour more books though. Someone on Reddit calculated how many books they have left to read if they live up to a certain age and read a certain amount of books annually. That mildly alarmed me. I obviously have a handful of decades ahead of me (if everything goes well lol) but to have a concrete number of books you’ve got left to read in your lifetime is such an existential experience. But it’s a bit silly too, honestly, because all sorts of things could happen. You could die tomorrow, you could live longer than expected. You just never know.

Here’s a recent addition to the vinyl collection. It’s the deluxe edition of Billie Marten’s first album on colored vinyl. I have a copy of the first pressing from 2016, and I will say the main differences here is that the first pressing came in a nice sturdy textured cardboard gatefold, and the booklet has more pages and artwork. The packaging just feels more luxurious. It’s on a standard black vinyl and it sounds just fine. The repress on the other hand is an MOV pressing, which means it’s digitally mastered and not by the original label. The audio quality is very clean though, and it comes with deluxe edition tracks. It’s also numbered and limited to only 1000 copies. I plugged in my headphones into the receiver the other day to do an up close listening and it was a delight to listen to. It was like being in an amphitheater. I’m so happy to have this in my collection, relieved I snagged one before the scalpers hoard all the copies and start selling it for $300 a piece lmao. (Ah, vinyl collecting is just god awful nowadays… but that’s a topic for another day.)

Alright, that’s all for now. Here’s a Faye Webster song I’ve been revisiting a lot lately. It makes me want to be in silky pjs and walk around my house with a cup of coffee whenever I listen to this song. It feels like gentle morning sunshine, don’t you think?

I’m going to read now until my eyelids can’t stay open. I’m very cosy here. I hope you’re also keeping cosy wherever you are!

Toodeloo!

[breezybeej]

real fast rapid fire short film assesments:

* Sleepwalker - A mother comforts her child after a sleepwalking incident, the mother then experiences an even worse nightmare. For being 7 minutes long, it does some cool parallel shots of a daughter sleepwalking and her mother going through nearly the same motions and shot angles later. They even had shadows look like hair on the mom to match the daughter's hair. The absence of a ||father was conspicuous and it felt like that played into the idea of the mother's past trauma reflecting in the daughter even though that was never spoken. the "shadow person" darkens a doorway similarly to how a lot of media has a druken abusive father darken doorways.|| Solid acting, the writing was okay, visuals were good except for one part that was kind of... too much? Too far into weird territory. 7/10

* The Monitor - A man is packing up his recently passed relative's things (i think?) and he calls his wifemto check in. After she leaves to shower, he sees ||a man break into the house on|| the baby monitor. ||He tries to warn his wife but then sees the man is actually Himself. Some kinda doppelganger. || The dialogue was, to put it bluntly, not good. The characters had no chemistry and their lines weren't helping. The editing was jarring when cutting between the two people on the phone. It was determined to be in their perspective for every single word said for each character. There was a cool shot when it transitioned to the baby monitor footage. I really didn't get much from this one thematically, it was mostly just a spooky incident. I think i need to watch it again though. 3/10

* Bobby Came Home - The reddit story. It's so obviously the same story beat for beat that i was shocked to see no mention of what this film was adapting. They did fun stuff with lighting but it was *harsh* lighting. Put a filter over that bulb please. They leaned into the comedy side way more than the reddit story which honestly helped. breaking the immersion is necessary for this one. The plot was obvious *without* being overexplained by a voice-over narration. yet they had one anyway 5/10

* Dark Side of the Moon - A gunslinger has a wanted man tied up by his campfire. They discuss innocence and morality before the wanted man ||turns into a werewolf and gets shooted.|| Their discussion *was* neat. The acting was unfortunate because at first i thought they were trying to be hokey but they were not. Also they had a prop with a VERY obviously modern shoulder strap and i couldnt stop giggling when it was on screen. 5/10, once you get "oh they are sincere"

* Leave no Trace - Three campers, two scare the one with a spooky story (the zone in Yosemite where you "can kill someone without consequence because loophole." They didnt even explain it right 🙄) ||The two then get scared in their tent and get got.|| I was disappointed because i wanted so badly for ||the film to be comedy. Have the thing that scares them be the other guy just going to pee or something.Let the people who tried to scare their friends be scared of their own scary story because they are gullible scaredys.|| Dialogue was, once again, just not well written. No one talks like this. 4/10

* The Night Visitor - Man sees a figure outside at night. He goes to bed, a noise wakes him up, figure is inside. He barricades his door, the figure appears behind him. This was like 2 minutes long. There wasnt much plot or characterization, just "what if a guy was in your house." And yeah, that would be fucked up huh. They applied a Damaged Film effect but it was so bad. It was JUST rapid white speckles. None of the smears or lines or anything. It felt so artificial the whole scene. It was the only film that had no dialogue recording issues because there was no dialogue. 3/10

* The Strangle of Ivy - A woman tries so hard to connect with her estranged ex-senator mother (who is scared of the ivy overgrowing her home). ||She learns that her mom killed her sister 30 years ago to keep her senate seat or something.|| I *really* liked what this movie tried to do with Guilt and the Choking Vines. Like this murder kept her pinned to her home and threatened to suffocate her. Daugher tries to help by pruning the vines but they grow back because she didn't "resolve the real problem" you know. This had such a neat idea going but the acting was just so distracting. The main character walked around with the same agape confused expression for most of the film. The sound was so bad for so many scenes like i was legitimately confused by what happened because the sound did not match up. But there WAS still some cool shots and storyline. It was an adaptation of a book so they had to cram A LOT of exposition in. 5/10 anyway though

* Bay for Blood - I can't even summarize this. A plug thinks his clients are his personal friends? He thinks one is in love with him? He drops incel talking points and other such things. He's got a guy who he's torturing in his bedroom and the guy says he deserves it for... making a mess at a party and damaging the dude's eardrums with firework sounds by accident?? idfk. He's the world's most normal plug. There are two shootings (like with a gun) and both of them have zero impact. they don't have a gun sound, no visual, no anything. Just cut to a character bleeding after a tussle. The weight of "being shot" just wasn't there. Also the final third had the most baffling editing choices like a screen flicker in time with the music, a 360 panning shot of people looking at a dead guy and it spins around them for like a full minute. In a short film. 2/10

* The Secret Other - Man comes home for a romantic night with wife after business trip. They dance, kiss, go to fuck and "have a baby." Wifey brings a knife and kills hubby for cheating on her with his secretary. This happens while her own dead body is on the bed. Doppelganger? Ghost? Unclear but i liked the representation of infidelity killing a marriage as infidelity literally killing the couple. A few dialogue issues, the vocal recordings had a hiss to them. Overall 6/10

* The ones across the pond - Woman moves to england and her neighbors kill her after she throws away some shitty cookies they gave her. I'm pretty sure this movie represents British people accurately. There are some stellar individual shots of still scenes that have scary things to notice. Also still scenes with sudden, slow, deliberate movement. It's apparently a cult thing but I saw no hint of "cult" early on. I think they put that in the credits but not in the film. Unlesn the cult was an HOA because then it would all make sense.

* Special bonus short film (it was so fucking long. like 25 minutes?) Shiver - Surreal film of a man reliving memories that you just kind of have to interpret. Pretty sure this was about a man coping with the loss of his wife and daughter by locking himself into only thinking about happy memories (represented by him taking a blue pill to stay in the world where she's still alive, an illusion of reality. Yes. He's bluepilled). This film was way to long. We were constantly leanisg over to each other and whispering "OPEN THE FUCKING ENVELOPE" because they JUST KEPT THROWING DELAYS AT IT. I can appreciate what the film was trying to do but it was so far away from actually getting it done. But the most important part was making Rocket Man integral to the plot.

The film tried to use a solo piano rendition of rocket man as an uplifting defiance of the monster stalking his dreams but it just sounds so fucking goofy. I felt so bad because i wasnt able to catch my laughter so everyone heard a guffaw before i clamped my hands over my mouth. 2/10. You get a point for trying. You did weave a story that I eventually understood but it still failed entirely to engage me. I really do like the idea of exploring "im trapped in a brighter past and it is hurting me to stay here" but not like this. Sorry.

[loveandscience]

sometimes husband just really doesn't make sense and doesn't seem super self-reflective. idk it's really frustrating sometimes, but I'm trying to give him some grace as it's a tough time for him.

He mentioned the other day that his uncle told him he needs heart surgery, and that apparently he'll only get the surgery if it's not open heart. That seemed strange so all I asked was "why?" and he got like really defensive it was unsettling. He started going on about how "the reason should be obvious so I can't explain it to you" and "I didn't ask because I knew why and I'm in the same boat"

which like, ????? Clearly it's not obvious to me or I wouldn't have asked why, I wasn't asking why in a judgmental way and tried to explain that it was coming from a place of concern. That I knew how much he cared about his uncle and it was sad that his uncle would just give up on living over the surgery. Then he started accusing me of not thinking heart surgery is a big deal, and like, couldn't seem to comprehend (and still doesn't when I talked to him today) that No shit I know heart surgery is a big deal; so is choosing to let yourself die.

I really don't get why he saw me asking as an attack, and when I asked him to explain today what was going through his mind (and still seems to be) he went on about like decade-past memories of things he had done wrong in the relationship and thinking that I still saw him negatively sometimes, which like, what the fuck we addressed that in couples therapy ages ago and I've worked to be clear in being supportive... which he acknowledged it wasn't anything recent.

But seriously what the fuck. I told him I wouldn't ask anymore, even though I still didn't understand why asking to understand the reason behind a decision like that was such a big deal and that he could have just said kindly that he didn't want to talk about it or didn't know or something instead of being mean like he has been the past few days. I asked him to tell me how he would like to be supported and all he said is he didn't know and didn't think supportiveness was an action???? I explained to him different ways some people like to be supported (talking, distraction, affection, etc.) and that I can't read his mind and need to be told what he wants. All he said to that was that he liked when his co-workers made fun of him.

It's not just this incident where he's going through the health scare with his uncle though, and I think that is why it's so upsetting that he would lash out at someone just trying to be supportive. Often when I don't understand something right away or am not able to do something, he will just go on about how easy it is for him to do the thing/understand the thing. And when I ask for my needs to be met, he doesn't make effort to love me in a way I feel loved.

He didn't seem interested in going back to therapy, so idk. I'm just sad and wish he would be passionate toward me and kinder toward me. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever have that.

[lilac-cat-draws]

anyone fun facts you have to share about your ocs 👉👈

Oooohh, you don't know how much I've been waiting for someone to finally ask this, I want a reason to ramble about my OCs cuz I love them so goddamn much.

I'll try to talk about a small few cuz I have like written almost 50 OCs so I'll stick to the ones on the previous post I made moments ago

This might be a long one so brace yourself for all the stuff I might ramble about

Also please, feel free to ask more about this stuff. There is so much I'd love to share about these characters I put so much love and care into writing about

Andreas:

Leader of a band of thieves called "Iron Claw" named after his main weapon

At night he's a thief leader but at day he's a bureaucrat

His main goal is to climb to the top of power and gaining as much wealth as possible

Has a fondness for roses as that was his late wife's favourite flower so he has a dedicated rose garden for her

His only family left is his son Trevor

Neil:

Used to live in a poverty stricken area with his father, until one night where he suddenly vanished from his life forcing him to survive on his own

Neil despises what his father has done

Was taken in my Andreas due to his skill in stealing and combat

On his first day with the group he was partnered up with Elliot as they were both recruited in the same day

Andreas gave him a special dagger that can change the form of it's blade depending on what the current wielder wants

He was informed that he is now the new master of the blade as the previous has died of suspicious causes

Neil has issues with his relationships, he had one unsuccessful one in the past but was lucky enough to at least end it on decent terms

Elliot:

They grew up into a cult that worships a long forgotten god and their goal was to revive them into a new form

Elliot was born from unnatural methods

Their mother who was a member volunteered to bare the the child with the help of dark magic, she later died after the birth

They were confined in the same space for years, raised to be a vessel for this god

Elliot's birth resulted in gaining the curse of bearing the old god's powers

Years later they escaped the cult once their powers were fully in form

They can only maintain some control on a small percent of their ability, anything beyond that is considered dangerous to both them and to the others around them

They greatly dislike the smell alcohol as the place where the cult kept them in was under an old tavern which reeked of alcohol

Prefers to not talk a lot so they prefer conversing with people only they are acquainted to

They saw themselves as non binary after being with the group for a while as they were able to have some self reflection

Neil and Elliot became close friends after months of working together

They would have each others backs in the most dire of situations

Vinny:

Vinny is a shape shifting demon and the eldest of the whole group

He joined the group as a form of repayment for Andreas after he saved him from being killed

He is Andreas' right hand man who would provide him with any "confidential" matters that he looks into

His reason for why his main form is a young boy is to look less suspicious in the public eye and that it also matches with his mischievous personality

Vinny only does what benefits him but can feel empathetic on some occasions

He is close acquainted to a woman named Edith

Vinny enjoys messing with Neil with little pranks just to amuse himself

Edith:

I don't have recent drawing of her as she was a very old OC I did and I was planning on redesigning her whole design, know that she is a crow hybrid that wears a plague doctor dress

She runs a pharmacy that used to belong to her late husband

She developed a fear of germs due to an incident where everyone in her family died of an illness

Edith wears a specially tailored outfit to help her comfortably walk outside again

She has knowledge on plants, hunting, and medicine

Hunting is a favourite pass time in her family to the point where it's considered a tradition to her

Edith wore the outfit so much that the towns people who know her forgot what her face looks like

She met Vinny by chance and Vinny's curiosity decided to converse with her and it became a routine for them to regularly meet and talk over some tea

She never questioned Vinny's origins, she's just glad to have some sort of company in her life

Ophelia:

The medic of Iron Claw, she's skilled in her work

Was blacklisted from working in any medical field due to her origins as a snake hybrid and a poisoning incident that she was falsely accused of

She dreamed of working in the medical job for years as she grew up in a community who can't have this sort of treatment, relying on more ineffective methods

After encountering Andreas she joined the group when he offered her the thing she desired

Ophelia was able to mingle with the other members of Iron Claw as she is the most reliable person to go to for medical assistance

[vidyadawn]

I saw a comment on a fanart recently that read "Dan Heng's indifference to Jing Yuan hurts" and it stuck with me so I want to.. think about it more because I think Dan Heng's indifference is significant and necessary - as much as it hurts - and I mean for both of them.

I love that whole storyline of the quintet and the tragedy of it - and Jing Yuan at the center as the only one who kind of remained and who watched his friends shatter and burn in the worst of ways, only to once again, after their last sad reunion, be left behind alone. Blade is at a point of no return, Jingliu is far beyond that point, and Dan Feng is gone. Which leads me to Dan Heng.

One could argue that there are elements Dan Feng that remained or say, compared to the others, Dan Heng being who he is is a comparatively good outcome for Dan Feng. But is it really? His rebirth, botched or otherwise, is just as final as the misery that afflicted the other three. He is gone and he is not coming back. Any memories of the past that Dan Heng could regain or find will never be his and even if he wanted to (which he very much does not) he'll never be Imbibitor Lunae. He doesn't share his memories, experiences, wishes, hopes and arguably not even his temperament. I know Jing Yuan says to him that his visage and temperament remind him of Dan Feng (though I feel like they changed that dialogue later on?), so I assume they were similar in some ways, but just from the vastly different life they led alone he is a completely different person.

I think anyone would feel for Jing Yuan when hearing their story, and as someone involved in it Dan Heng might feel particularly strong about it. But not about him/them. He is in the unique position where he actively has to (wants to) fight the idea that he somehow is Dan Feng, which makes him sensitive to each incident of Jing Yuan noting the similarity and connection. His voice lines reflect that he isn't confused about the fact or uncertain of it either:

My previous life is like a faint shadow — hardly visible yet following me wherever I go. It's hard to describe the feeling, but one thing is for certain — I am nobody's shadow.

and

I have no interest in commenting on the deeds and sins of Imbibitor Lunae. Given the choice, I would like to cast his name aside... Even so, the consequences of his power will be borne by me alone.

also specifically in terms of Jing Yuan he says:

Sometimes the general treats me as a friend from the old days. Unfortunately, I am unable to return the sentiment.

Dan Heng didn't choose to be dismissive of Jing Yuan's potential (?) wish to see his old friend in him, nor is he pointing out that he's not him to be cruel. He simply is stating the truth he's always known that might be difficult for someone in JY's position to accept in their heart. He looks just like Dan Feng and apparently has similar bearing, but asking of him to treat Jing Yuan like a friend is asking him to be a friend to a stranger. Even after hearing of their friendship it's just a tale to him that he holds no personal emotions towards, positive or negative. He is unable to return the friendship because it has never existed for him.

His indifference really drives home that he's not Dan Feng reborn but someone new, someone with a life of his own and a legacy he could probably do without. In turn, I think this indifference is also necessary for Jing Yuan to lay Dan Feng to rest once and for all. If there was a hint of anything still there, I feel like he'd never be able to see Dan Heng as his own person. Personally I'd love to see some kind of (positive) relationship between these two, and if that were to ever happen, Dan Heng's absence of any kind of past feelings from DF's life should be the cornerstone of of it.

[vaesha-draecon]

The Shadows of Madness Chapter 1: Wounded Pride

Thick steam filled the room, making the air heavy with moisture. The perfume of roses permeating the air, a comfort that I have longed to experience again, but can no longer bask in due to my vampirism. Where the water once warmed my flesh, now lies empty. It was merely a luxury to remind me of a time now lost as well as a place for me to think.

I tried thinking back to the events that had transpired these past months. The vampires swarming the cities across the providence wreaking havoc, the Dawnguard’s reformation, and the mysterious events at Dimhollow Crypt where I met Sedric. Though I didn’t return to House Ravenwatch in person, I had sent a letter detailing my findings. I knew that the remaining members would understand my reasons for not returning.

However, as much as I tried to decipher the events to better understand, my thoughts kept drifting back to Sedric. I pulled my knees to my chest in thought. Why did our meeting affect me this much? Maybe it was the most recent news I heard? Rumors circulated among the denizens of Skyrim that a great threat had been vanquished and the Vampire raids had ceased. Perhaps I was worried that he was among the Vampires slain? But why am I worried so much? Sedric was just another Vampire, nothing special.

‘Apparently special enough to affect you…’ came a chilling voice, startling me.

“Not again….” I abruptly sat up, scrambling to get out of the bath.

‘Oh, yes,’ it rasped ‘I have returned’ the voice let out a chuckle as a chill suddenly settled in the room.

“Go away!”

‘Why would I do that?’ I felt a presence behind me ‘you seem to be unbothered by the frequent thoughts of that other Vampire… What’s the harm with me coming by to bring you something more to think about?’ The sensation of someone whispering into my ear was enough to give anyone goosebumps.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you!”

‘Well if not me, then how about someone else?’

I flinched. The raspy voice assaulting my psyche became masculine. I knew who it altered it’s form to. I refused to acknowledge it’s presence. But as I stood in front of a mirror, I caught a glimpse. That is all it needed to ensnare me, I had to free myself from it’s torment. But I was paralyzed as soon as I felt the phantom’s touch embrace me from behind like a lover. I felt it’s chilly fingers grasp my chin, almost as if it was forcing me to look at it’s reflection in the mirror.

‘Look at what you did to me! You killed me! It’s your fault!’

 In a moment of weakness, I relented and met it’s gaze before regaining my strength to squeeze my eyes shut. The phantom released me from it’s grasp with a hiss, but it’s presence lingered behind me.

‘Poor little Vaesha,’ something touched my shoulder, it was the phantom’s “hand” grabbing it ‘how tormented you must be. Just think how Sedric must have felt when the Dawnguard cut him down,’ the phantom Sedric let out a dark chuckle.

“Please stop!”

‘He’s probably a pile of ash now. How sad, the first Vampire you made a connection to, is dead.’ the sensation on my shoulder grew tighter ‘you bring death to everyone. Your sire, your Ravenwatch friends, and now Sedric. You will be alone forever…’

“GO AWAY!” I screamed, grasping my head “You are wrong about everything! Just go away!” I fought back tears “Go away, go away, go away,” 

“Go away…”

***

I found myself on the shore looking at the home of the Volkihar clan looming in the distance, all I remember was needing to get some air after the incident. The chilling wind pulled at my cloak as I stared at the foreboding castle, was the Phantom being truthful? Did Sedric really meet his end by the Dawnguard? Did I lead him to his fate simply by interacting with him?

“No,” I told myself “it can’t be true, the Phantom was just trying to get under my skin,” I let out a sigh and started walking towards the castle.

The rumors of the Dawnguard Raid were true to some extent. As I approached the door, I took notice of the door being ajar, scarred and battered from their battering rams; snow and ice gathered in the entrance, leaving behind snowdrifts. Dread settled in my gut as I traversed the empty halls. I had never been to Castle Volkihar myself, but an uncomfortable silence took the place of the lively chatter that surely filled the halls. The once brightly burning braziers were now extinguished and the grand hall now resembled a tomb rather than a place of gathering. The darkness, coupled with the eerie silence surrounding me was enough to drive anyone mad.

As I eased myself up the stairs within the main hall, I took notice of how thorough the Dawnguard were in their raid, there was no sign that anyone had dwelled here for centuries, minus the cobwebs and musty stench most of the ruins dotting the landscape all share in common.

I didn't know where I was even going. I just wandered aimlessly, searching every room I came across. I just needed answers, a sign that Sedric was still alive. Something to set my mind at ease…

I checked the library, nothing.

I checked what appeared to be an armory, nothing.

I continued to search everywhere, The dungeon where they kept their thralls and a grand chapel that had been converted into a Shrine for the Daedric prince, Molag Bal. I began to lose hope. My last hope was a crumbling corridor across from the mezzanine.

The decaying stone stairs alone showed their age. The damage all around me was done by time, not the Dawnguard. Wherever this corridor lead to, Harkon believed it unimportant to upkeep.

The large doors made a low creak as I pushed them open with my body, just enough to squeeze through, and I was greeted by a vast courtyard; by the dilapidated condition in which the vegetation showed, it hasn’t known the touch of anyone for several centuries.

Wanting to continue my search, I stepped forward. I wasn’t going to rest until I found at least something indicating that Sedric, or just about anyone survived the raid. I needed to put my mind at ease.

Just as I was about to step onto the grass, I was suddenly grabbed and roughly pushed against the exterior wall of the castle, the sound of a metal projectile bouncing off the edge of where I once stood reaching my ears, shattering the ambience of the ruined courtyard. It all happened so fast, that it took me a moment to regain my bearings after being so focused on my task. As I focused on the force that had grabbed me so suddenly, I was welcomed to a familiar sight, it was Sedric!

“Well, this is a surprise,” I said in a voice just above a whisper.

Sedric let out a low groan, mixed with a hiss of pain,

“Now is not the time for your quips,” he let out a pained breath “you were almost reduced to a pile of ash,” he held back another hiss of pain as he freed me from the cage of his arms and took a step back, his free hand moving to cradle his lower abdomen.

I studied him, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was mostly loose, a few strands hanging in his face. His clothes looked worse for wear, scuffed, caked in mud, and carrying the subtle stench of old blood. Where he cradled his hand was dark and stained with blood. His blood.

“Sedric…” I managed to say before my senses picked up the familiar shuffling of armor.

“I know you’re there, vampire!” came a feminine voice filled with nothing but malice “come out and face your fate!”

I took a deep breath, slowly closing my eyes as I quickly calmed my nerves. Turning my back to Sedric I made my way towards our mysterious adversary.

“What are you doing?!” Sedric hissed in a pained whisper, “You’re going to get yourself killed!” he slowly dropped to a knee as his strength to stand faltered.

“Buying time,” was all I said as I slipped on an amulet before stepping out into the open, coming into the sight of our adversary.

“Ah, there you are,” the adversary raised her crossbow, aiming towards me “it’s time for you to die, Vampire!”

“Vampire?” I asked, feigning confusion “I do believe you are mistaken, I am merely a scholar,”

“A scholar? Ha! Don’t make me laugh! I know a Vampire when I see one!” her finger hovered over the trigger.

“I’m telling the truth,” I continued my façade “I heard of this place through idle chatter in a tavern, I am here to study the ancient architecture, honest”

“I’m still not convinced, you are obviously lying to save your pathetic hide, Vampire!”

I let out a heavy sigh, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a neatly folded piece of parchment,

“Here are my credentials if you need further proof, I’m here at the behest of my mentor in High Rock,” I held out the parchment.

The Vampire hunter kept her weapon trained on me expertly with one hand as she snatched the parchment out of my waiting hand. Snapping the wax seal deftly with one finger, quickly unfolding the parchment to read it’s contents.

“Besides, if I was a Vampire, wouldn't my features be a dead give away?” I cocked my head to the side as I studied her face “because, according to my studies, Vampires are said to be paler than snow and fiercely glowing eyes, two features I am obviously lacking,”

A grimace appeared on her face, letting out a grunt of frustration, looking up at me, studying me closely, as if trying to find even a flaw in my glamor. Finally she lowered her weapon, stomping her foot hard onto the ground

“By the Divines, fine!” she shoved the letter back towards me, which I carefully took back and tucked back into my pocket “I believe you,” her frustration was still evident in her tone “but if I were you, I would get out of here and not return until you have some guards with you, this castle is still not safe,” she started glancing around the courtyard “a vampire still lurks and it has proven to be difficult to pin down,”

“Oh, I see,” I replied, I turned to leave “well I now understand why you were so adamant on me being one of those monsters,” I let out a soft sigh “I will write to my mentor then, asking for him to send a battlemage my way,” 

“Indeed,” her reply was short “now, off you go, and don’t let me catch you here again without an escort citizen”

I gave her a swift bow and she turned away from me, most likely heading back to where she had been lying in wait, keeping my ears trained for movement. I swiftly returned to Sedric who had hidden himself behind a large stone planter.

“Come on, we have to get out of here before she gets suspicious!” I moved to help him to his feet, throwing his arm over my shoulder as I began to guide him back inside.

“Ugh… how did you manage to deceive her?” his voice was weak as he bit back his pain.

“Come now, Princess, I can’t tell you all my secrets now,” Sedric ignored my quip and let out another pained breath “Let’s get you to safety first, then I will tell you, we’re not that far from Solitude,”

***

I managed to get Sedric back to Solitude without issue, by the time we reached the great gates, it was a few hours shy of sunrise. The few guards wandering the street were easy to avoid as we stalked through the shadows towards the house I was lodging at thanks to a kind patron who was willing to let me stay there rent free.

I had given Sedric the master bed and I had tended his wounds, albeit with some protests at my attempts to remove his shirt, his excuse being that it was inappropriate and uncouth for me to do so. Eventually he gave up as he didn’t have the energy to keep throwing his tantrum and he let sleep take him while I went to scrounge him up some blood from my personal stores.

Several hours had passed before Sedric started to stir from his slumber. I glanced at the goblet of blood I had on standby on the end table from the chair I occupied on his bedside. He let out a sleepy groan as his eyes began to flutter, then he finally opened his eyes.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” I smirked as his eyes met mine “or should I say, good afternoon?”

“Molag’s balls, are you always this annoying?”

“Only to you,” I reached for the waiting goblet and held it out to him “drink this, the Dawnguard really did a number on you, you will need to regain your strength,” he looked hesitant at first “it’s not poisoned if that is what you think,”

Sedric took the goblet from me and swallowed it’s contents with the speed of a ravenous fledgling. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he handed it back to me.

“I know, it’s not much,” I sighed as I rose from my seat “I’m sure this is like crumbs compared to what you were accustomed to back at the castle,”

“It will suffice,” was all he said before he tried to sit up.

“Don’t you even think about it!” I snapped, turning my gaze on him “you are still in the process of healing! I don’t care if you’re much older than me, you will lay back down like a good little boy and wait until your strength returns!”

Sedric frowned, looking at me with what appeared to be a pout, but he complied to my command and laid back down with a heavy sigh.

“Good boy,” I returned to my seat, watching his figure has he stared at the bedside candle that was hanging on to life by a thread.

“How were you able to trick that Dawnguard soldier?” he asked after several moments in silence. I met his gaze, then glanced down to my amulet. I brushed my fingers along it’s underside, gently lifting it with my index finger.

“With the help of my sire,” I replied “this amulet was his, it’s enchanted to help enhance the camouflage of the vampires of the Cyrodilic strain,” I looked up at him “As I’m sure you know, as long as they have recently fed, they can blend in seamlessly with society, even walk around in the sun without feeling it’s negative effects,” I released my amulet “but only if you keep up on your feedings, and as I’m sure you’re also aware of, keeping up on a consistent feeding is hard if you want to remain hidden from suspicion,”

“I am assuming the reason you have it and not your own unique one is because he was slain?”

“You could say that…” I looked away “but I rather move on from this subject and ask you a few questions,”

“Very well,” Sedric seemed to know that it was unwise to press the matter and ignored my unwillingness to continue speaking of my sire.

“Now then…” I leaned forward “who or what put you in such a frenzy back when we met in Dimhollow,”

Sedric closed his eyes and let out a deep breath,

“Her name is Serana,” he glanced back to the candle just as it’s life came to a close, the bedroom growing dimmer “she was the daughter of Lord Harkon, and she turned on him and brought the Dawnguard right to our doorstep,”

[agustdakasuga]

💌Do you mind if I were to write a series inspired by {Reflection of You} not now maybe sometime in the future?

I am asking in case something were to be similar to yours.💌

hi anon! thank you for writing in and sending this to me.

i took a while to think of an appropriate response to your questions. i don’t want to just baselessly say no to you and wanted to ask some friends for their opinions. because i was wondering, what do you mean by ‘inspired’? the concept of timetravel isn’t mine and i’m sure there are a lot more better, older timetravel AUs on here. and king!yoongi is a concept a lot of people have written based on Daechwita. I mean, Reflection of You was written because of Daechwita. 

to be completely honest, i think what made me a little… hesitant… would be you saying that it would be ‘similar’. i think there’s a fine line between copying and inspiration. and i would never want to make any accusations of another copying my work or anything like that.

i hope you understand where i am coming from and the sentiment i am trying to convey. i understand that you are not plagiarising by copying and pasting word for word. but with two recent incidents of plagiarism with specficially Reflection Of You recently, i’m just a little uncomfortable and cautious.

[divinesolas]

『Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist』

♡ favorites | ❀ 1k | ✮ requested | ♛ ongoing

━ SERIES

Flowers: In a world where the dragons do not dance it's time for Jacaerys Velaryon to choose a wife as the heir to the iron throne. When House Targaryen invites all the eligible ladies in the seven kingdoms to meet the prince, chaos follows. In comes you, a lady from a minor house who makes an impression on a certain prince. ♛❀

━ MINI-SERIES

Plagued by you: Otto doesn't go to Dragonstone you do. And you are faced with a past you never thought you would see again right before the war. Part one Part two Part three ❀✮♡

Sneaking Around: jace and his twin sister have been betrothed since they were young, and as the grow up they start slightly falling for each other. And one night she sneaks into his room and they explore themselves. Part one Part two ✮❀

━ ONE SHOTS

Distain: Jacaerys' disdain for you and your dragonseed friends is no secret but he seems to hold a particularly hatred for you. you have no reason why until he shows his true colors after a near death incident.

Your Reflection: when the thoughts jacaerys has had his whole life finally can no longer be pushed down he seeks comfort in you. ✮

The She-Bear: during his time in winterfell the lady of house mormont arrives to pledge her loyalty to queen rhaenyra and jacaerys grows a little too close to the so called she-bear ✮

First Everything: in desperate need to pass your upcoming math test you go to your best friend for help, your best friend who you just so happen to be in love with. Sometimes feelings just spill out and theres nothing you can do but embrace it and try to navigate through it. ✮

The Rockstar and Me: jace is a really popular upcoming rockstar and is super busy. he dosnt see reader the same way (just as there bestfriend) and kind neglects the reader bc he's really busy. so one night the reader has enough and they decide they need to take a break from there friendship, so they don't talk for a while. ✮

Like a virgin!: youre so sick of being a virgin. So now you’re set on losing your virginity but you’re very nervous, don’t worry your roommate is here to help you and give you some tips. as a “friend”. and maybe just one tip. ✮♡

Unsatisfied?: You had thought your bedroom life with Jacaerys was great. But you overhear a conversation that makes you feel differently. With some help you decide you can make his wildest dreams come true. ✮

ignored: You had been best friends with Jacaerys since you were kids. But when he gets a girlfriend and joins the football team in college your whole life gets turned upside down and he's suddenly ditched you. A year after you are confronted by him and emotions spill to the surface. ✮

Not a one time thing: Friends with benefits with jace turns into more. ✮

Unexpected Surprise: While attempting to gain the support of the vale, jeyne arryn has plans of her own for the prince. ✮

The lady of Volantis: You have been betrothed to Jacaerys for years now and you two have never exactly been close. He does not expect to see you anytime soon after your first couple meetings, but when Lucerys trial is happening you are suddenly in the keep. What are you doing there? Are you to be trusted? ✮♡❀

IJFOMBAW: You overhear a super strange conversation between your long term boyfriend and brother. ✮

Undeniable Desire: You are dragonseed and have become good friends with the prince. You think nothing of it and not expecting your desires to lead to anything but when you speak of what you think of your future his truer colors show.

Distractions: Despite how close the two of you are you're sick of waiting around for Jace no matter how much you like him, so you decide you’re going out on a date! but he doesn't like that. ✮♡

Shots: you’ve been best friends with jacaerys since you were children but due to his recent girlfriend you two have barely spent anytime together. You two are forced back into the same space when you attend cregan starks party and tensions rise. ✮

Through it all, Its still you: it's during the war between blacks and greens and your his betrothed. He goes north and you stay in dragonstone, but then you get taken by the greens. ✮♡

Always Together: Old friends reunite in winterfell due to the upcoming war. ✮

maid: you have been working for them for a long while and jace has had a little crush on her since then ✮

━ HEADCANONS / DRABBLES

Modern Drabble ✮

Sleepless Nights: you can’t sleep and it seems neither can your husband. you find comfort within one another. ✮

Smutty Drabble ✮

Fluff Drabble ✮

Jacaerys x Younger sister!Reader hc's ✮

grief

Jacaerys second wife hc's ✮

Smutty Drabble 2

Smutty Drabble 3

Jacaerys x Targtower daughter hc's

[sasquapossum]

The most important part of being an ally in any context, gender or race or anything else, is that you're not the expert on what other people experience or feel or need. And that's very hard for a lot of people. Sometimes there are even good motives and not-horrible reasons behind it, but the truth remains. You have to listen first and always.

That's what I wrote somewhere else, and I do believe it. Because I have the luxury of writing at greater length here, I'll provide a bit more nuance. What are those not-horrible reasons? Basically, for a lot of people this has become their way of helping. If you've been forced to "be the expert" even though you know you're not, because somebody had to and nobody else was stepping up, it becomes a habit. I've faced this situation many times in my career, as a homeowner, and most especially as a parent. I'm a Guy Who Takes Responsibility. Is that a bad thing? I try to do it - would prefer to do it - without taking control as well, but sometimes that's hard. At least I'm not one of those people who always demands control but still throws responsibility back on others. That is a bad thing, and such people are everywhere. Sometimes they're the very ones complaining about others trying to fill the void they've left.

So yes, it is absolutely crucial for any would-be ally to listen and follow. But maybe, when somebody's not doing a good job of that, at least consider the possibility they're trying, and give them credit for that before you rush to condemn. In particular, while there are many truly bad parents out there, there are many more who just don't know how to let their children need. Even if that hurts you, it's not the same as actual malice.

P.S. No, this is not a reflection on anything that has happened in my own life recently. It's not even a "sub-post" reflecting on some particular person, or incident that I have witnessed. It's just a general observation. It's part of an ongoing project to address the ways in which I often see people talking past each other, each escalating at every step, to no outcome that's good for either.

[moviesessionwithmyhubby]

The yellow bird and The white bird_Part4

Spring has passed, and summer has arrived. The weather is getting hotter each day. The golden bird feels increasingly lazy, not wanting to do anything except lying on the lush green grass and counting the gusts of wind. Today, he counted three gusts of wind! That's the most in the entire week; the past few days didn't even have a single gust of wind. Therefore, the yellow bird is in a very cheerful mood today. He stretches out on the grass and hums a silly tune, "la là lá la," dreaming of a sumptuous dinner with all sorts of worms and grubs. Oh, life is so beautiful. And while deeply lost in these pleasant thoughts, a suddenly loud voice jolts it back to reality, "That's so frustrating!" The yellow bird furrows its brow slightly, lets out a sigh, and thinks to himself, "Here we go again."

The yellow bird slowly opens its eyes and immediately meets the sight of the white bird fluffed up, looking very angry. The yellow bird chuckles and asks, "Who bothered you this time?" The white bird, still upset, turns back to the yellow bird and says, "You're still laughing? I just got picked on!" The yellow bird stops its mocking laughter and seriously inquires, "What happened? Who picked on you? Calm down and tell me."

The white bird recalls the recent incident, "This morning, I encountered the Green Parrot, the Nightingale, and the Flamingo. They were engaged in a very lively discussion, so I flew over to listen. It turns out they were debating a riddle they heard from humans, 'Which came first, the egg or the chicken?' The Green Parrot confidently stated, 'Obviously, the egg came first. Chickens hatch from eggs.' I immediately countered, 'But where did the egg come from? There must have been a chicken before it laid the egg.' The Green Parrot retorted, 'Then where did the chicken come from? Eggs come first, and then they hatch into chickens.' I argued back, 'You don't understand at all. How could eggs suddenly appear on Earth? Someone must have brought them here.' The Green Parrot disagreed, 'You're the one who doesn't get it. How could chickens appear on Earth? Chickens must hatch from eggs.' After that, the Green Parrot and I continued to argue, and in the end, neither of us could determine who was right or wrong. But it's clear that chickens came first. How could there be eggs before chickens? Don't you think that's correct?"

Upon hearing this, the yellow bird could only burst into laughter and said, "So, this is what you meant by being picked on?" The white bird, still annoyed, replied, "Exactly! He didn't listen to me, and he acted as if I were the foolish one."

The yellow bird spoke slowly, "Actually, this question doesn't have a definitive right or wrong answer." The white bird asked in surprise, "How can there be a question without a right or wrong answer? If it's a question, there must be a correct answer and a wrong answer." The yellow bird composedly replied, "There are some issues without clear-cut answers; we can only look at them from various perspectives. For example, like what your friend, the Green Parrot, said – the egg came first. It's possible that millions of years ago, a species that wasn't a chicken laid an egg, and from that egg, the chicken species developed. Or, as you said, perhaps millions of years ago, a chicken-like species existed, but not the exact chicken we see today. Over generations, this species gradually transformed and evolved into the chicken we know. We can't know for sure." The white bird began to calm down and reflect on what the golden bird had just said.

The yellow bird continued, "I remember when I was young, my father and my uncle used to argue loudly. It was a very hot summer, much hotter than now, weeks went by without rain, the trees were dry, and it was rare to find a worm or an earthworm. My father tried his best to find food and store as much as possible, because he said we didn't know how long this drought would last. We should eat sparingly, only enough to avoid exhaustion, not waste, and not eat too much during this time. My uncle had a different perspective. He said this wasn't the first summer we had experienced, every summer was hot and had little rain, yet we survived. If we ate cautiously like my father suggested, sooner or later our family would exhaust itself before anything else. At first, my father disagreed with my uncle and argued back. My father said my uncle couldn't see beyond the present, while my uncle accused my father of only troubling the trouble before the trouble troubles him."

The yellow bird paused and turned to the white bird, asking, "Who do you think was right? My father or my uncle?" The white bird hesitated and said, "I… I don't know. I think both had valid points." The yellow bird smiled and continued the story, "Eventually, my father stopped arguing with my uncle. I asked him why, and he replied, 'Son, I realized both your uncle and I had our reasons, our own perspectives.' I asked again, 'So who is ultimately right or wrong, Dad? If the weather remains hot and dry for another 1-2 weeks, and my uncle's family runs out of food, would that mean you were right?' My father looked at me and said, 'Do you hope I'm right? Do you hope your uncle's family will suffer due to lack of food?' 'No, I don't,' I innocently replied. My father continued, 'You see, in a debate, it's not always necessary to argue about who's right or wrong. I don't want to see your uncle's family suffer just to prove my point. Neither can I change his perspective, nor can he change mine. Instead, your uncle and I are learning to respect each other's thoughts. If the dry season continues and your uncle's family lacks food, I will help within my capacity, and I believe your uncle will do the same.'"

After finishing the story, the yellow bird turned to look at the white bird and said, "Do you understand now? There are questions and issues that have definitive answers, like cows having four legs and living on land, elephants having trunks, a year having four seasons, etc. But there are also matters where we simply have different viewpoints. Instead of trying to argue about who's right or wrong and causing harm to each other, isn't it better to learn to respect each other's perspectives?"

Upon hearing the yellow bird's words, the white bird turned and left.

Perplexed, the golden bird called out, "Where are you going?"

The white bird replied, "I'm going to apologize to the Green Parrot. I was a bit hot-headed earlier. I don't want to make him sad, and I want to keep being friend with him."

The golden bird smiled and said, "Fly safe!"