#pathetic is also such a loaded term

[bhaalsdeepbat]

sometimes when people describe astarion as pathetic, they'll list all his more feminine characteristics rather than like

it's fucking pathetic of him to be mad if you save the gnomes, even if you understand why he disapproves it. It's still fucking pathetic. he's also extremely pathetic when he ascends and starts becoming more like Caz, but it's bc it's pathetic that the power goes to his head like that simply bc he would rather insulate himself with power than allow himself to face his past and overcome it.

not because he deserves nice things and finery.

[franzkafkagf]

I noticed that Aegon's fans are divided into two teams - the first one sees him as a completely heartless, almost psychopath, the other one like in this analysis.

https://www.tumblr.com/very-straight-blog/750648583572881408/it-really-tires-me-how-some-fans-try-to-make-aegon?source=share

What do you think about it and how do you see him?

Basically I've written a few things on him already; here, here and here as well as the many web weavings i have on him hihi <3

I see him as a super nuanced character; he is deeply (and I mean deeply) broken. That's why I love him, there's so much there in terms of characterization, even with the little screentime he had.

He is so desperate to be loved but destined to be hated by everyone around him (thank you tgc for this quote, lives rent-free in my mind forever)

Rhaenyra sees him as a threat (she has this fear that her father will replace her with him, someday)

Alicent deeply loves him but is too hard on him (she genuinely thinks all her sons will die if she doesn't make him king; he needs to be strong. strong for them, strong for her.

Aemond is resentful towards him. Resentful of his weakness. He has everything Aemond ever wanted. Why isn't he happy? He would be happy and grateful (he wouldn't).

Viserys wanted Baelon. He is not Baelon.

Forced to marry his sister, he never wanted this for them (in canon,,,, I'll live in my little helaegon delulu land)

He is the kicked dog of the family. He is the only one we see being physically reprimanded. It happens time and time again, this was a deliberate choice by the writers. All of Alicent's fears and grudges and love (ugly, desperate love, but still love) towards Rhaenyra are loaded onto him -> I wished we saw them interact, they are so alike :(

What does a kicked dog do? He runs back, tail between his legs. He tries so hard but somehow it doesn't work. He feels like a failure, he runs off, avoids the pain. He doesn't want to face his reality. He drinks, he indulges in anything that will make him forget

I did not ask for this. I've done everything you've asked me to, and I try so... I try so hard, but it will never be enough for you or father.

He acts out, engages in super self-destructive behaviour -> remember when the brothel madam said that Aegon doesn't go to nice places? It's like he is punishing himself.

I'll also have to speak about his assault; kind of a baffling writing choice to introduce him as a r*pist but it is in line with his characterization. He is a prince, of course he can take anything he wants, right? It was just harmless fun, right?

This behaviour doesn't stem from cruelty (like it did with Ramsay or Joffrey) it comes from the entitlement he feels. He might be the scapegoat of the family, but he is still a spoiled prince -> I actually love this about his character too. Purely good/purely victimized characters are BORING! He is interesting, there's both evil and good in him, he is so extremely complex I want to SCREAM.

I can see him going on an arc, not repent, but change. Grow into the man who can sway the people of Dragonstone to his side, grow into the role of king. Become the type of man who would rather live in pain than dull his senses with milk of the poppy. HIS ARC WILL BE INSANE!!!!!

I know a lot of fans want him to be less whiny, less pathetic, less grey… but honestly? He is perfect the way he is in the show. I genuinely love how he is written (I would've wished to see some interaction with his kiddos and Rhaenyra, that is all lmao) and I know he will be amazing in season 2.

[inyujidraws]

1st | 2nd | 3rd | 4th | 6th

Alastor’s Hell arc in this RadioMoon AU. He’s pissed that he was rudely ripped away from his family. Also he meets his old pal, Barry. I’ve made a few redesigns due to how different Alastor is in this AU, and to be more reflective of the 1920/1930s aesthetic. Husk & Nifty have a few changes as well.

Thanks everyone who came to my streams, watch me draw, & talk cringe.

Alastor here is a different man who has actually enjoyed a more fulfilling life filled with a few more people to love and live for. His mother avoided canon death due to Creon being there to save her. Alastor avoided his cannon death of being shot by a hunter by accident. Being a family man can really change a person. So of course he’d be pissed and traumatized from dying while protecting his adopted son in the midst of a mobster shootout in broad daylight.

Why does Alastor still have deer features after death? During the mobster shootout, Alastor managed to get Daniel to safety behind a truck that was loaded with taxidermy animal heads and other exotic goods. Amidst the chaos, the heads fell on top of the two. Alastor barely managed to get a deer head off of him, only to get shot in the head by a stray bullet. Daniel was safely covered by a bunch of animal heads, but he will forever be traumatized by his father’s death.

Alastor did not have a good time initially. The last living moment is being shot while protecting his son. So he’d be very pissed off and extra murderous, especially if people are being disrespectful. He’ll still take down overlords. In his sick twisted reasoning, he believes Creon will join him eventually, so he needs to “take out the trash.” He later made his peace with enjoying the good old days of killing and cannibalizing without a care. After all, he doesn’t have his family to care for and reign him in so who needs empathy?

On the bright side, he finds his old comedian pal, Barry. Barry had taken his own life during the early stages of the Great Depression. That was enough to send him to Hell. Barry has survived on his own barely due to Batman-Joker powers. He can force anyone within range to laugh uncontrollably, whether his jokes are good or not. Whacky clowny toon shenanigans happen around this clown demon.

Alastor will still own Husk and Nifty’s souls. Alastor isn’t a complete dick to Husk, and they’re on friendlier terms. Husk is more privy to Alastor’s family life, but he respects Alastor’s privacy regarding that topic. He’s seen plenty of proof that Alastor is still human and deeply mourning the loss of his family. Nifty is still Nifty.

In this AU, the fight between Alastor and Vox still happened. Being heavily injured, he was found by Lilith/or Roo (still deciding), and forced into a deal. He kept a low-profile recovering from his wounds for a while and kept to himself; mainly researching to find loopholes to get out of his forced deal.

He only happened upon Charlie by accident, about 3 or 4 years before the show’s cannon. The timing didn’t seem right and he wanted to ignore her, and failed miserably. And that’s how he became a reluctant stand-in dad, whom Charlie will always contact occasionally, discreetly. It’s still a way for Alastor to get more close enough to weasel a deal from Charlie in the future.

Alastor does help with the Hotel and still enjoys being a dick. But he’s well-meaning in his own a$$hole-y way. He insists on taking care of most meals, because commercialized, instant food are the worst things to happen since sliced bread (his words). Barry becomes a 3rd guest, but mainly there to boost morale at the hotel.

The beef with Lucifer is a bit more personal. Not only is Alastor asserting himself in control as the primary trustworthy influence in Charlie’s life, but he’s also pissed that the most powerful being in Hell is a pathetic, weak-minded shut-in who has done nothing. Alastor is slightly pissed on Charlie’s behalf that Lucifer chose to be an absentee-father and give Charlie the impression that she was unwanted. The 3 years where Charlie would choose to send letters and phone-calls to Alastor more frequently than her own father, says a lot about the daddy-issues.

[wexhappyxfew]

when all else fails

(a/n): here it is! a Silver Bullets ensemble piece featuring all of the lovely ladies that man the B-17 Silver Bullets that is mentioned so very often. let's just say....adjusting to a new pilot after losing one that did so much in terms of care - is hard. but having each other, makes it a bit easier. (featuring also: frank, the orange cat that meatball chases when warranted).

"How many times has he mentioned that the God-forsaken cat loves him?" muttered Paulina as she came and settled herself into the chair besides Carrie, shaking her head and lacing her fingers together like an elaborate pie crust.

"Dougie'll probably keep saying it," Carrie offered and then nodded at Marianne, who was sat in her own chair, working her way through another beer, "Frank doing okay?" Marianne shrugged and glanced at the orange cat, curled up at her feet, licking at his paw, eyes half-opened as he lounged on the wooden ground of the flying club.

"Looks like he's as fine as he'll ever be," Marianne said, "Dougie snuck him a thing of cheese earlier, so….let's just say, he's content." Carrie snickered as Paulina glanced down at the little ball of orange.

"Remind me how you're going to get him home again? Strapping him up in Silver Bullets, his own mask to fit his whiskers, a parachute made out of napkins?" Paulina offered and Marianne chuckled.

"I'll just ask Benny, he got Meatball over here, I'll be damned if I can strangle Frank into a harness, but it'll happen," Marianne said, "plus, he's a big sky enthusiastic." Carrie raised a brow. Paulina blinked.

"Come again?" murmured Carrie.

"He climbs up the trees, ya know? Entertains the kids. Jumps outta them, too. Crazy son-of-a-gun. There's a reason he's got nine lives, well…probably five now." Marianne said with a sigh, like an exasperated mother, "I blame Meatball."

"Why are we blaming Meatball?" a new voice said, entering the picture, the bright-eyed silhouette of Margie Harlowe coming up to them, Kennedy Farley in tow - like sunshine and gray skies clashing together in the middle of summer, but somehow making it work.

"He chases Frank around," muttered Marianne, "therefore, Frank has it out for him. Don't think Benny would agree but." Kennedy glanced downwards.

"A real wild-eyed killer there, Mar." Kennedy murmured and Marianne grumbled.

"He's just a softie on the outside that's all," Marianne said and Carrie chuckled.

"I can promise you, if I wave a thing of cheese in front of him, he's done for, there's no fighting with Meatball," Carrie said, patting Marianne on the shoulder and she all but sighed.

"It's alright, Frank, I'd be the same way," Paulina called down to Frank - who sat wildly unbothered, "swear to ya, you could wake me from a dead-sleep."

"Any of you meet the new pilot?" Margie asked, sweeping her eyes through the current group of four staring her in the face, "Alright, what's with the blank looks?"

"Don't think we're the ones you should be asking," Carrie said quietly, "you think Francis is gonna lose it? We know what happened when Harding tried with the other pilot…..Francis couldn't stand her."

"That's because that Captain Atchinson was nothing but a stuck up twit with a stick up her ass," Kennedy offered, "told me three times about how to load my goddamn .50 cal - last time I ever went up with her telling me what to do. I know how to load a gun, sweetheart."

"Bunch of bullshit, too," Paulina said, "you know she told me I had to at least eat proper in front of the guys. Does she not realize most of these guys saw me on my death bed when we arrived in Greenland? Puking my guts up as I pathetically begged for Major Cleven to take me to the grave. That was the least of my worries-"

"Well, our new pilot is not Captain Atchinson - she's actually really sweet, level-headed, can hold her own." Margie said butting in, "You all oughta introduce yourselves, stop hiding."

"Gotta name?" Marianne asked, a bit more hopeful than the others.

"Annie Bradshaw." Margie said, a hint of a smile on her lips, "She was in Fort Des Moines, but she's been a pilot for a bit. I got Benny to spill about her to me a bit. Supposedly she was going to fly AT-6s before coming here, so I guess we can consider ourselves lucky." Someone coughed.

"We'd be lucky if Birdie was still here." Carrie murmured quietly and a collective silence came over the group.

"Alright, what's with the sour faces?" Bessie, beloved navigator of Silver Bullets, said coming with a fresh drink - beer in the bottle - and Vivian and Judy in tow, the three new sets of eyes wandering about the current display of grief that seemed to wash in like waves.

"Don't tell me," Vivian said, arm linked through Judy's, eyes narrowed, "Major Egan made another one of his bad jokes and Pauli ain't having it."

"It ain't that, Viv, but feels close enough to be just like it," Paulina mumbled from her seat and shrugged, before leaning her head on her hand, "meet the new pilot?" The group glanced towards the trio and found somewhat blank looks on all their faces as well.

"Saw her." Judy offered, a bit more enthusiastically than the others, "She's a pretty thing. Didn't say anything though. It was from afar; I was trying to keep Dougie company, poor guy got turned down. I offered him an emotionally-filled pat on the shoulder."

"You really are the sweetest out of us all," Margie said with a smile towards Judy - who grinned like she always did - one that still looked youthful and full of a life now past.

"Was he trying for Helen again?" Carrie asked, her voice a bit more stiff than it had been previously and Bessie shrugged.

"A pretty poor attempt, I'll give him that," Bessie offered, in that comforting voice of hers that never seemed to let anyone down even in the worst of times.

"That or he's going on about the damn cat." Paulina groaned, receiving a shove from Marianne, "Sorry, sorry-" she glanced down at Frank, "sorry Frank, we love ya, I promise."

"So," Bessie started, glancing around the group, "anyone else willing to make the first move or should I bite the bullet. Again, might I add."

"I'll come with you," Judy offered, "she seems real sweet, I tell ya." Bessie smiled and glanced towards the group. Silence.

"Listen, listen, I'll come," Kennedy offered, "nothing a little New England charm can't do."

"New England charm?" Paulina crooned.

"Very experimentalist of you." Carrie said with a smirk and Kennedy rolled her eyes.

"I don't see anyone else jumping to their feet," Kennedy said, placing her hands on her hips with a raised brow, "imagine that was you! Comin' in here and your first introduction is Major Egan - Jesus Christ he probably scared her off-"

"I don't have to imagine," Paulina said with a sour look on her face, "if Birdie were here, we wouldn't be having to start this all over again."

"Yeah, well, Birdie ain't here, Pauli." Kennedy said. It was tough love. A tough realization that was a hard pill to swallow and something no one wanted to have to face.

None of them had really been flying since - Francis had done a practice run with Benny, but had come puking out of the plane and that had been that. Sometimes on walks around base, there was a presence about Silver Bullets that was almost sickening. It was like trying to face a fear none of them wanted to actually have to face. Getting in Silver Bullets without Birdie there. Because how much could you trust the next person to look out for the group and do much, if not the same or more?

"Well, what a surprise," Francis Montez said, swaggering over, a tired look on her face, an even more exasperated smile growing on her lips, "go on, what's happened now. Who are we bettin' on now?"

"No one, Lieutenant, except maybe the new pilot," Judy offered with a shake of her head, "you meet her yet?" Francis' face fell flat and she glanced around the group and shrugged.

"Ran into her, was on the move, didn't have much to say yet," Francis said, her words awkward and spaced uncomfortably. A few of the women exchanged side-eye glances or random coughs or sniffs.

Everyone knew Francis was struggling the most with it all - losing Birdie like they did. Just like that. Having her stuff back at the base, having to send it home to her folks, having to write out the letters and mail it out. Having to even think or say anything regarding it all. No one wanted to express any emotion towards a new pilot, or try to replace Birdie in anyway - it's why this whole new pilot shindig hurt just a little more than they all thought. They knew Birdie would never be replaced, but sometimes it felt like it was replacing her. Francis had been the one to see it and live it. She felt it the most it seemed - and showed it.

"You doing okay, Lieutenant?" Marianne asked quietly, a few worried glances going towards Silver Bullets' copilot - the drawn in expression on her face that fought with whatever inner emotions she was feeling more and more, the dark circles under her eyes, her gaunt cheeks. Francis Montez seemed to take on the weight of the world and let it stay on her shoulders for as long as she could handle; she hadn't fallen down yet.

"Fine," Francis said and then settled onto the open chair beside Carrie, "so, who's gonna make the first move? Or well, let me rephrase, who should be the one to make the first move?"

"I vote Margie." Paulina said, with a raised hand as she sipped her beer, "Margie or Vivian, someone who walks around like it's always sunny outside or something, ya know?"

"Flattering, Pauli, truly," Margie said, and Vivian offered a graceful smile with a nod.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Pauli, you really do butter me up," Vivian said, "but I think this is a Margie Harlowe situation at its finest." Margie grinned and crossed her arms and glanced around.

"You guys shouldn't have."

"Take the compliment, Margie," murmured Carrie. Margie smirked.

"She here?" Margie asked out loud.

"Supposedly Brady invited her."

"She blonde?"

"Blonde, more dirty-blonde, but nice dirty-blonde, shorter-side."

"That her?"

Everyone followed Carrie's finger and line of sight and found the new pilot, Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw, moving towards the bar, leaning up against it smoothly and ordering a drink and then looking around, her movements fluid, calculated and purposeful, her presence not entirely overwhelming and the look on her face a mix - calm, cool, collected about herself. Someone you probably didn't want to mess with unless you had it coming.

"Yep, that's her," Judy said, "Margie you should go for it." Margie turned to the group, took a gracious bow, cracked her knuckles like some professional sports star and then turned away.

"Watch and learn, ladies," Margie said and then plowed forward.

"There she goes," Kennedy said with a chuckle, "our Margie, whodda thought huh?"

"Whodda thought what?"

"Volunteering herself like that," Kennedy offered, "going into the line of fire. She's better than me."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Francis said, "Whatcha trying to say?" Kennedy glanced over her shoulder just as Margie stuck out her hand to shake and then glanced back at the group of women and Frank, who now was cuddled in Judy's arms.

"Harding's been trying to get a pilot in for days after Atchinson was booted. Supposedly, he didn't let anyone even meet us until he was sure, especially after what happened before." Kennedy said, "Egan let me in on it, Mr. Chatterbox. Anyway, it seems legit. The entire thing. And she made it through all their levels of inspection, interviews, questioning, all of it. She's good." The group seemed to gravitate to looking towards Francis, attempting to judge her facial expressions before coming to a consensus.

"Francis?" Bessie offered. Francis was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward and took the beer bottle in her hand.

"I won't say anything until she's up there flying Silver Bullets."

[chattercap]

Current Project Roadmap (September 2024)

As we enter the last part of the year, I figure that it would be a good time to do a quick rundown of all the projects that I'm currently working on!

First, regarding my previous announcement about removing animations, after receiving some feedback I've decided to go ahead with removing them, to give me a bit more flexibility in terms of asset creation and enable me to release Android builds. However, for the games that I've already released, I'll be retaining versions with the animations (so - Karamu, Kanau, and MindMindMind), except for The Deepwater Witch - since I only released a demo, and it would be awkward if half of it was animated and half of it wasn't LOL

Project: The Perfect Woman Key words: Psychological horror, literally the only thing that I've made that isn't a romance, this project has been stuck at 99% for the past three weeks

Current progress: The game is basically complete, and I just need to finish debugging some of the saving and loading. I basically ended up using this project as a playground for testing some new systems, so it took longer than expected LOL I'm going to take some time to document all of my changes before I focus on polishing it up. Expecting to release on September 13th.

Project: Karamu Trilogy Key words: Romance, horror, emotionally needy ex-boyfriends, blackmail and possessive behavior is okay if you have shared trauma, yandere love interest (who unfortunately becomes a better person, I apologize)

Project details: One love interest (M), established protagonist (F).

Current progress: The script for the final part is 100% complete, at 65k words (over double the length of Karamu and Kanau combined! Haha!) It has been revised and passed along to the voice actors. I'm also collaborating with some very kind translators to release a French translation of Karamu and Kanau and a Russian translation of Karamu.

Project: The Deepwater Witch Key words: Romance, surreal, post-apocalyptic, twisted fairy tale, grumpy practically homeless man x mute sunshine mermaid, Ramil is my BEST pathetic man and I stand by this

Project details: One love interest (F), established protagonist (M).

Current progress: The script is 100% complete, and I have a few CGs left to do.

Project: Actala: The Hero's Shadow Key words: Romance, fantasy, mystery, childhood friend romance with a good dosage of additional Eldritch horror, basically every tag that I could add for this would be a massive spoiler what do I do

Project details: Five love interests (M), established protagonist (F).

Current progress: The updated demo is about 50% complete, and I've been working slowly on the remaining CGs and sprites.

🌹Code Name: You Just Want to Plant Flowers but Your Yandere Knight Traps You in a Tower, Toxic GF Edition❄️

Key words: Romance, twisted fairy tale, hero-to-villain love interest, friends/lovers-to-enemies arc, GF that can either princess carry you or rip your head off, tragedy, yandere love interest

Project details: One love interest (F), customizable protagonist.

Summary: You're the heir to the royal family, but you've been kidnapped and trapped in a tower by one of the kingdom's strongest knights, who used to be your best friend. Although the kingdom sends knights to rescue you, she cuts them all down without mercy. Why is she doing this? How can you escape? And the question is… do you want to?

Current progress: The project is fully outlined, and writing is in progress. The logo is complete!

🔪Code Name: I'm Trapped on an Island With My Husband, Who Is Probably Going to Divorce Me or Stab Me🦑

Key words: Romance, psychological horror, marriage drama, tragedy, yandere love interest

Project details: One love interest (M), customizable protagonist.

Summary: Following a horrible family tragedy, you've retreated to a remote island with your loving husband. However, things aren't going well for your marriage. After a horrible fight, you wake up to find that your husband is… different. Kinder. More understanding. At first, you're happy, but he's also acting a bit strangely. You start to wonder… is this the man that you married?

Current progress: The project is fully outlined, and writing is in progress. The logo has been commissioned.

🌶️Code Name: I Got Isekaied into a Smutty AU Where My Demon Boyfriend Blackmails Me into Marriage!🕸️

Key words: Romance, smut, historical, revenge, murder spouses, blood makes everything sexier apparently, yandere love interest

Project details: This is a NSFW spinoff of one of my previous projects, Karamu, featuring the same characters and similar themes in a historical Japanese setting, with more sex and more murder! One love interest (M), established protagonist (F).

Summary: Every three days, a body appears in the harbor, surrounded by red flowers and covered in golden threads, its heart torn out of its chest. People say that it's the work of a demon. After her best friend is beaten half to death by her husband, Nelli decides to do anything to save her - even if it means making a deal with that very same demon.

Current progress: The project is fully outlined, and writing is in progress. Once I decide on a title, I'll commission a logo!

Additional note: Since this is a NSFW project, I'm not comfortable with making it freely accessible. As a result, I'll be paywalling at least the NSFW portion (depending on how integral the NSFW is to the plot, I'll either release this as free with NSFW DLC or a free demo + paid full game).

I'll be focusing on finishing up The Perfect Woman during the first half of September! After that I plan to release demoes (hopefully) for both the knight gf game and the husband-traps-you-on-an-island game sometime in December.

Other than that, I would be curious if anyone has projects that they're looking forward to! 🤔 I've basically been working on projects as I like, but if there are any projects that you're interested in particular, let me know and I'll try to prioritize accordingly! 🙇 If not I'll try to divide my time so that I make decent progress on all of them, prioritizing my announced projects.

Thank you to everyone who's following along with my work 😊

Chattercap

[themoonlily]

Galadriel's storyline in ROP rubs me wrongly in so many ways. Honestly, if an Elf really needs to be gallivanting around Middle-earth with a bunch of Númenoreans at their heels, it's Elrond. He's the young one here, whose angst would be a little more understandable in the scale and nature written in the show than Galadriel’s (not that she doesn’t have stuff to be angry about, I just expect better of her), with canonical connections to Númenor and thematic potential with his being Elros' brother and thus the living embodiment of what Númenoreans crave. Meanwhile, if anyone should be dealing with the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm, it's Celebrimbor and Galadriel - and especially the latter should be the political agent Elrond is made out to be.  For the record, I do not actually condone this idea, but if we are talking in the terms of the story as it is being told in the show, it would make a lot more sense if Celebrían had the role of the warrior princess that's been given to Galadriel. Canonically little is known about what she was actually like, and as a character she does not have the baggage of established lore and how fandom widely regards her role in the legendarium. Galadriel, meanwhile, has these in loads and we know she was being politically active and a wife and mother at this point of the Second Age. Weren't the show's creators harping on filling in the blanks or writing the book Tolkien never did write? Instead they've gone and erased an actual canonical character whose story was never very detailed, and completely derailed a character that does have plenty written about her. As the show's version stands, it pretty much declares the story of Galadriel as a woman with a husband and daughter is not worth telling. Galadriel is not trying to reach her goals through her personal power, charisma or influence but through violence and bitterness. 

And what did the first season accomplish? It made Galadriel's goal vengeance, pure and simple. Even before the death of Finrod, it was something along the line of avenging the death of Two Trees. Not a word about her personal ambition of becoming a queen in her own right, establishing a realm or being a leader. Her story is of aimless wandering for an age, looking for some guy so that she can kill him to avenge a brother who is living happily in Valinor. Now, especially after that scene with her and Halbrand/Sauron, Galadriel's story is twisted even further. Now it looks like it was Sauron who planted the idea of ruling as a queen in her head. And not even as a queen in her own capacity, but as subservient to him (Sauron does not share power, essentially he's offering her nothing better than he offers to any common orc). This casts a completely different light on her rejection of the Ring in FOTR and undermines the importance of what this moment means for her as a character: the temptation is no longer her ruling as the supreme queen, but acting as Sauron's bootlicker, which also makes the temptation look pathetic and thus her refusal no big deal. Essentially, Galadriel's story is not about Galadriel anymore. It's a story about men who leave her (Finrod and Celeborn), or who condescend on her (Elrond), or who use and manipulate her (Gil-galad and Sauron). I don't even know what purpose this serves. Not only is this ship-baiting just tired, but also what it implies about her is pretty awful and humiliating. It's contradictory to everything said about her in canon, or Elves and marriage. Galadriel even in her youth keenly reads and understands people and their motives and she is consistently the one person who recognises evil when it has not yet revealed itself and rejects it before anyone else. And yet here she is, dicking around with the enemy she has been hunting for millenia. It makes her look clueless, naive and stupid, her "quest" essentially a fool's errand, and it paints her later struggles against Sauron not as the actions of a leader trying to do the right thing even though it costs her everything, but as a scorned ex trying to get payback for personal slight. It's as if Amazon was not capable of understanding the concept of people choosing to do good for its own sake, and deciding to fight an almost hopeless battle because to do nothing would be worse. For them, every good deed has to have a personal stake or agenda. This undermines Galadriel's "goodness" (and her greatness) even more, as if this show's version of her hadn't done enough to make her look as bad as possible. And it shows Amazon’s profound misunderstanding of Tolkien.   Sidenote, now that I think more of this, I can't help this feeling: Galadriel had to be the one to go to Númenor instead of Elrond, because show creators were too much of cowards to genderbend Sauron or ship-bait a male/male relationship (for the record, I think ship-baiting or queerbaiting are both stupid things to do). Appearing as a woman is completely within the reach of Sauron's abilities, and he actually has the history of using shapeshifting either to fight or to entice. Hell, why is ship-baiting even necessary, unless to recycle once again some truly overused tropes? (Employing overused tropes in fanfiction is one thing, but I expect better from a big adaptation that makes a huge number of being faithful to the source material.) Tolkien in particular is known for his iconic friendships and love between comrades; in fact, it's the friendships of his characters, not their romances, that save Middle-earth and a betrayal of faith and fellowship is no less devastating. Instead of a potentially interesting and new take, what we got is an entire season of Galadriel and Halbrand getting off on being mutually terrible people, her apparently being the reason he returns to his evil ways, and her agency stripped away from her so that she can pursue an essentially pointless vengeance. Even the person she supposedly loves is mentioned only once in a throwaway scene that does not in any way convince me that she actually cares about Celeborn. Also the erasure of Celebrían (who is canonically around the same age as Elrond) now leads to the logical conclusion that she will be born some time during this show, which makes her extremely young in Elven terms at the time of her marriage to Elrond. Yikes. Furthermore, this is a further violence done to Galadriel and her narrative, because canonically she and Celebrían were together at least for most of the Second Age, but now her daughter will be married off almost as soon as she has reached some sort of physical maturity. (Honestly, does anyone believe that Morfydd Clark looks and appears as if she could be the mother of an adult daughter? I have no trouble believing this of Cate Blanchett's Galadriel. Both of these actresses are/were in their early thirties when they first appeared in the role of Galadriel. Maybe it's not Clark's fault -- although her physical smallness in the role of a very tall and strong woman is jarring -- and instead it's because the character is written as such a petulant child that it's horrifying to even think of her parenting anyone.) 

[plethomacademia]

wip whenever

tagged by @mightymizora who then tagged loads of people but i will add @smoreofbabylon and @rowanisawriter

I am usually a person that sits down and slams out 2k words every session. With the winter, I ended up taking the last two weeks almost entirely off from writing since I just didn't have words. I finally have written a little bit the past few nights so I'll share some GaleZel under the cut. It's the kinkmeme about his sated orb resulting in *ahem* a bit of horniness.

(Next few paragraphs is me being in my head feel free to go to the jump for Gale stuff.)

I will say I think part of my issue beyond the never ending darkness is I have been struggling with the longfic in terms of, like, I am down to the last three big events that needs to happen: heist, crowning the brain, and Orin's attempted sororicide. Between each of those though I have the shifting dynamic of Enver and Maeve and honestly, y'all, I could write so much about it.

I already want to do a spin off called Bespoke which is just about him making her a strap on and teaching her how to use it on him, teaching her how to claim pleasure in a way that requires planning and forethought instead of whatever frantic thing she currently allows.

But even in the long fic like, I have him building her a little gilded cage to try to coax her into, I've got her dealing with getting enough leash from her dad to get shit done but not so much that he feels the need to yank it, soon she is going to be interacting with Ketheric even more and that's a whole thing, then I am giving her a month to train her dragon brain where it's gonna get weird in a new way!

I don't know, it feels insanely self indulgent and I do worry that I am boring people! But also I want to write it out! It's a push/pull and with winter, the bleh was winning but slowly, the desire to write him offering her a piano tutor is winning out. Just skip those chapters I guess! Or don't, I truly am not sure what people get from that fic in the non porn chapters. I am here for angst.

OK Gale being pathetic under the jump.

One time he slips away with an excuse to relieve himself and instead works himself in his fist. It does not take long, it never does now, and he manages to clean himself with a quick cantrip and meet the others before they are even around the bend. He sighs to himself in relief as he joins them, only to feel a prickle of awareness. Lae’zel is looking at him in a way that makes his whole body heat in a flush of shame. He watches her nose crinkle as she cocks her head at him, and he all but runs away to the other side of their merry band.

[ardentpoop]

simply had to review the whole series via tier list 🤓

S: recommended to everyone I know - especially if you trust my taste in stories - because it impacted me profoundly at a tender young age, it was shockingly effective by this show's standards, and it somehow managed to stand the test of time. season 2 alone. 👑

A: the other cream of the crop seasons in terms of emotional impact and setting. seasons 1 (if you want to smile) and 4 (if you want to rip all your hair out).

B: mixed-bag seasons that are a notch above the C-tier seasons in that the viewing experience feels atypically cohesive, as in the case of season 6 - and if not, as in the case of season 3: the good episodes are good enough to make it memorable overall.

C: seasons that introduced or leaned too heavily on some of this show's worst story elements (Chuck, meta comedy, creation myth fanfiction, angel politics, time travel, goofy-ass monsters like the leviathans) but that contained enough substance to be otherwise engaging (samndean facing their destinies as opposing vessels to Lucifer and Michael, Sam's Cage trauma, samndean's conflict over Amelia and Benny, the Trials arc, the Gadreel arc, Jack's introduction and his early bond with Sam). seasons 5, 7, 8, 9, 11, and 13. obviously if I were to give the series as a whole a rating decoupled from my intense emotional attachment to it I'd give it a C.

D: what I consider the dumpster fire seasons. unwatchable if you aren't already fucking insane about this show, and even then they verge on excruciating. unfocused, bogged down by bewilderingly not-good writing by the likes of my faves Eugenie Ross-Leming and Brad Buckner, balls-to-the-wall ridiculous sometimes. seasons 10, 12, 14, and 15. 13 would be here too if it didn't feature the strongest start of any season of this show since s4. I also feel the need to clarify that 10 would be in the C tier had the writers done anything remotely interesting with Dean's short-lived demon arc or his MOC arc - both loaded with potential but pathetically anticlimactic and redundant onscreen. 12 is buoyed by a select few standout episodes but the British MOL arc is so unforgivably awful that I can't rank it higher overall. 14 is my absolute least favorite season of this entire show because it shoves Sam into a back corner for arcs that are painfully relevant to his character... like, notably worse than the rest of the series does.

[womanofwords]

Fixed

Villain liked repairing things. He liked the way broken things looked as they were slowly reconstructed in his hands. Also, Villain grew up poor, so he didn’t get to have new things a lot. Things were repaired to save the trouble of scraping together the money to get a new one. Villain was no longer in that financial situation, he did enjoy the feeling of repairing things.

However, it had to be said that even though Villain liked repairing things, he had never worked on anything that was alive before they met Sidekick.

They knew of Sidekick, vaguely. They’d seen Sidekick with Hero a couple of times, by their side fighting Villain. But they didn’t know anything about Sidekick, and they assumed the same for Sidekick.

So it was a shock when they found them at their doorstep at 2 AM, whimpering with pain and shivering from the cold.

Of course Villain took them in, they weren’t a monster. But they had no idea what to do after that. Their first thought was to call an ambulance, but Sidekick shook their head frantically.

“They’ll trace the call,” Sidekick warned. “Hero will find me.”

“Did Hero do . . . this?” Villain asked, waving a hand over Sidekick’s cuts and bruises. Sidekick nodded. “I see. I’m not sure what to-”

“Don’t send me back, please! He’s evil!” Sidekick begged, looking even more pathetic. “He did this to me because of a game! He wanted to see what sort of things my skin could withstand!”

“A game?” Villain’s voice got low. “He did this to you for the sake of a game?” Sidekick nodded, trying to get up and letting out a whimper of pain. “Don’t move. You shouldn’t be moving.” They got their phone and dialled numbers, this time ignoring Sidekick’s frantic babbling. “Now, now, Sidekick, I’m not getting an ambulance. I’m calling in a favour.”

Medic arrived half an hour later, two subordinates in tow. “You called, boss?”

“You have to help them,” Villain said, pointing at Sidekick. Medic fumbled.

“Um . . . that’s a hero.”

“That is not a hero. This is someone seeking shelter from a hero. Now. Help. Them.” Villain’s eyes burned a hole into Medic’s skull, and they caved.

“Fine.” Medic loaded Sidekick into the back of a van, and they took off. Villain watched them leave, their face expressionless.

Now Sidekick was safe, they could turn their attention onto Hero.

Hero didn’t have any safeguards in place to keep him safe. He was the safeguard, and that knowledge had left him cocky and overconfident. With that, it wasn’t difficult to overpower him and take him somewhere else.

“Where am I?” Hero asked, after he regained consciousness.

“You’re with me,” Villain told him. “And I have some questions about Sidekick.”

Hero sniggered. “Sidekick? Why do you care about such a weakling? Trying to recruit them?”

“I found them beaten to a pulp. They said you did it.”

“Complaining about their hazing ritual, I suppose.” Hero scoffed. “Like we all said, weak.”

“Well, that’s a good place to start. But who is we?”

Hero scoffed again. They did that a lot. “Like I’m telling you.”

Villain grinned and picked out the largest, sharpest machete out of the many tools they had brought with them. “You will.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

After wiping off the blood, Villain visited Sidekick. “Hello, little one,” Villain cooed. “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Sidekick replied. They was sitting up (or maybe they were being propped up by the bed) and even smiling. “Medic is a total miracle worker!”

“I know, that’s why I hired them,” Villain bragged. “And I have successfully convinced Hero to leave you alone. As far as anybody knows, you left due to medical reasons and you were on good terms with the League at the time.”

“Seriously? You did that? Thank you!” Sidekick reached for Villain for a hug.

“I don’t do hugging, little one. This is all I’m comfortable with.” Villain gave Sidekick an awkward head pat which extended into a back rub. Their hand came away bloody, to both of their horror. “Oh, sweetheart, let me handle that. Medic won’t be back for a while, anyway.”

They had learned how to apply bandages earlier, and they did a passable job with Sidekick. Nothing Medic would consider amazing, but it did the job. “It still hurts,” Sidekick groaned. Villain patted Sidekick’s head again.

“I’ll massage the pain out of them, if you want,” Villain offered. Sidekick immediately nodded, flashing them a grateful smile.

Looking at Sidekick, Villain remembered why he loved fixing broken things.

But judging from the way they handled Hero, they had to admit that they loved breaking things too.

[peachesnabsinthe]

I just applied for the exact position I had 5-6 years ago 🙈 my part-time library position. The pay is awful, but I was really content with working there at the time because I enjoyed the position so much. I was made to feel bad because I had graduated with a bachelor's degree, but could still only obtain a very low paying wage job. I fucking hate that I actually believed that shit and let it get to me at the time. I also NOW know that I'm disabled too, and I liked working for the library because they were super accommodating to me (even without knowing I was "actually disabled" or whatever). For being basically a cult (lol), the organization itself does so much cool shit for their employees, so I genuinely enjoyed working there.

I don't know fully if I'm really healthy enough to go back to working, but it will only be part-time, and I left my full-time position less than a year ago due to how bad my health was. My coworkers and supervisors were so supportive during that time, and I left on good terms so there's a high chance that I may get the position.

I fucking hate how society makes us into these pathetic little-worker drones that have to fight for survival. But the stress of no longer working is honestly getting to me. I have a list of confirmed diagnoses now, so I feel a bit more prepared with working: I know my physical limits (for the most part) and have some medical splints and what-not that I can use. I'm taking my health seriously due to not having access to medical professionals currently, so I'm prepared to change my routine up to where I can be My healthiest. My previous employers are also aware that I'm disabled, and they've always accommodated me in the past. My previous job (and the position I'm currently reapplying for) were the BEST fit for me, like I genuinely thought I could retire from the library. It devastated me when I got so sick and officially had to call it quits. I haven't read a damn thing in almost a YEAR because of it. I kind of want to go back.

The pay is absolute SHIT but library workers don't do it for the money soooo lol and I currently make n o t h I n g (well besides the lovely folks that have supported my sxwork stuff, thank you so much 🥲 @hausfaerie). My partner is the kindest, most hard-working and patient human being I have ever met. It was his idea for me to quit originally, and he has always been the primary (and currently, the only) provider for us. But seeing him work so hard for us and we still struggle is so mentally exhausting to see. I don't fucking care if I make less than $10 an hour at this point, I need something to help take the load off because this world is SO GOTDAM EXPENSIVE TO LIVE IN. My state is FUCKED and I know that I will not qualify for financial disability. I also live in a medical graveyard. There aren't any medical professionals that can treat all the illnesses (⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)

I don't even know if I will get the job yet lol they might tell me to fuck off. If I do get the position though, it's only part-time, so i'll still have some free time to do whatever I want which will be nice 👍🏻

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Four

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The training continues, and Leona shares an intimate lunch with her favorite Hunter.

Hello!

I'm putting a trigger warning here again, because the chapter contains blood and its consumption! I know that I have this among the tags, but just in case! :D

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Four

.......................................

I take a silent sip of my coffee, enjoying the leftovers of my breakfast when I finally don't have to mentally prepare myself for one of MacTavish's or Garrick's sadistic training ideas, despite the fact that my body is slowly getting used to the torture and constant pain. I suspect that this has something to do with me being an Extreme, because no matter how much we Healers lag behind the Hunters in terms of physical endurance and stamina, our bodies adapt to the load sooner and recover faster. Of course, this is probably just a nice side effect of our role, because how the hell would we survive when these energy vampires suck us dry if we wouldn't at least be able to pull ourselves together faster than an average person?

Of course, from this small success, a slight joy blooms in my soul, but I can't appreciate it in the least, because more serious thoughts are swirling in my mind, which causes gloom to creep onto my features. And it seems that I radiate just enough sinister energy, because the soldiers lounging in the cafeteria only dare to measure me with furtive glances, and they mostly avoid me, like they would do with a leper. I don't blame them, because if I were them, I would be terrified to venture with a free and accessible surface of skin near a person who could break the line of my pathetic little life with one touch. But right now, it's not the attention being paid to me that bothers me, but rather the aftermath of my little intimate moment with Riley.

As much as it still fills me with perverse joy that the highest-class Hunter of the Liquidation Unit 141 was bent out of shape thanks to my machinations, I'd be lying if I said his behavior didn't raise my blood pressure since then. Of course, whoever cooked the shit should eat it too, but the man has retaliated with meanness and harshness that belied my predictions and expectations every damned day since then. I knew he had enough pride and dedication to his duty that he wouldn't stop the training. I also expected that his coldness would return, after all, I had already managed to decipher that not only was his nature like that of a carved wooden doll, but his defense mechanism was equally effective. After all, since the afternoon, when he burned the imprint of his hand on my neck as a nice new necklace in response to our nice little chat, he redoubled his efforts and kept his distance from me even more enthusiastically than before. And when he has to use his mouth, because I deliberately don't pay attention to his nonverbal instructions and pantomime play, then he speaks to me with as much kindness as if I was some pesky dirty thing from under the sole of his shoe. And sure enough, those comments of his aim to penetrate my soul just as deeply as my answers try to get a rise out of him. Of course, while I found this amusing at first, because it showed that, despite appearances, I really got closer to solving the man's nature, but after a while, I also got tired of playing verbal ping pong with a wall. I know that I provoked him, I sought trouble for myself, but I didn't expect that his subsequent behavior would get on my nerves much more.

Surprisingly, however, he conducts my teaching with incredible professionalism, which sets off thousands of speculative thoughts in the winding paths of my gray matter. Because he sends the message that although he doesn't really want to treat me as a human being, he still has such perfectionism in him that he expects the maximum from me every time we stray into each other's space within the confines of my training. And I'd rather kill myself by biting my own tongue and choking on it, than admit that he does provide me with a lot of useful tricks, even though an execution would probably be a more enjoyable activity for both of us. And it is still an unsolved mystery to me as to why I let all this spoil my mood so skillfully. Because I got what I wanted, I got a reaction out of him, which helped me take the first step on the bumpy road which will lead me to solve the Hunter's enigmatic behavior. And yet, in the hidden back corners of my head, there's a dark, disgusting feeling that I can't identify. I would rather help my head meet the hard material of the tabletop if it would help my brain cells recalibrate these silly thoughts, because there is no point in getting annoyed by something that I know is the guaranteed end result of my own behavior.

I look at the clock on the wall of the cafeteria with a tired sigh, and for the first time, I'm glad that I can get into another exciting workout, because at least the charm of the novel experience will be able to distract my mind from this slippery slope caused by the masked Hunter. Although the thought of what kind of goodies Price has in store for me already fills me with pain, nevertheless, pouring the last drops of my coffee down my throat, I stand up, forcing my limbs screaming for rest into action, and I head towards the exit of the cafeteria, leaving my mug na plate on one of the counters lined up there. It is possible that my sloppy movements and my unusually high amount of disgust with life are also due to the fact that I am forced to go on a marathon diet for the first time in my life. Despite Laswell's assurances, that I would be kept at least as well as an animal waiting for slaughter, I was not once entertained with a tasty morsel during the two and a half weeks since my arrival. I have been forced to go without blood for a long time before, but considering that my body is trying to adapt to new challenges in survival mode, I know that this is not the point when I can play with my hunger. Even though I'm not actively healing my injuries, my body uses my energy automatically to at least push me to the brink of normal functioning. I feel that I still have some extra power left in me, but it won't be like that for long. And I'm going to hunt down a cute little soldier boy before begging Price or Laswell to spare some blood for me. Maybe I'm making my own life harder, but I've never begged in my life, and I'm not going to start now.

I stride along the long corridors with determined steps, which I have now managed to memorize enough so that my little team dares to leave me to wander alone, which I consider to be really a brave decision. Of course, both they and I know that the security system of the entire base is tight enough that I wouldn't have a chance of slipping out unnoticed. And honestly, the thought of escaping seems like such a far-fetched dream that, for a while now, I haven't wasted my brainpower to observe where each exit leads to, and how many soldiers are patrolling there. I can realistically assess that the best chance I have to skillfully get out of here is if they voluntarily escort me out into the outside world. And even then, there is the not-so-negligible problem that I would somehow have to survive the inevitable encounter with the monsters. And sweet little girls like me don't usually live through these kinds of fun experiences without proper planning. Of course, reminding myself that I'm sinking into ever greater depths of the sea of shit doesn't help my mood, and because of this, if possible, I walk even more nervously towards the scene of my training today.

And as soon as the double doors of the supposed gym appear before my eyes, I pull the corners of my mouth into a gloomy grimace from the sound of enthusiastic shouting emanating from inside. Placing my palm on the door, I open it with a firm movement, and my eyebrows run to the middle of my forehead as I take in the sight unfolding before me. I don't know what ideas I had when I heard the name "gym", but I did certainly not think, based on any of my mental images, that the sonorous term intended to cover a real battlefield. And although looking to the side, I recognize one or two metal monsters suitable for physical training along the walls of the room, my attention is immediately drawn to the fighting ring standing in the middle, in which my favorite captain is currently pounding a young boy into the ground.

The closer I get to the gladiator performance mocked as training, the clearer it becomes how carefully Price handles the guy, who nevertheless slowly looks akin to the gray cat appearing in archive cartoons, who is miraculously disposed of by the mouse for the hundredth time. Despite this, he fights heroically, and after he falls to the ground, he stands up again and tries to attack the Hunter, who only smiles and deflects the blows directed at him. For Price, this might just be a little bit of fun, but the boy takes the whole ordeal so seriously that my heart almost feels genuinely sorry for him. Almost. Because he has no chance, yet he tries again and again, and the crowd of soldiers standing around the ring shouts and cheers him on, as if the guy would really have a sliver of hope to win. All these antics seem pointless, because even though I've never been near a monster, I've studied their behavior enough during my work to know that if he can't prevail here, he'll only buy enough time with his small weapons on a real mission that he'll be torn apart by a behemoth mutant a minute later then usual. My cynicism seems cruel, but it doesn't change the fact that plenty of the many eager little soldiers won't return from deployment without a Hunter by their side to help them survive. And even then, with luck, they'll come back, but not necessarily in one piece.

"That's enough, Riggs!" Price finally stops the match, and the guy grabs hold of the ropes of the ring gasping for air. "Nice work. Go get some rest." The man pats the boy on the shoulder, and a proud smile appears on his face, as the little soldier nods and walks out of the little arena to his companions who enthusiastically clap him on the back.

Of course, I don't have to wait long for the Hunter to notice me, because as his eyes scan the small crowd in search of his next victim, his eyes find me almost immediately, which brings an infinite cheerfulness to his face. Clearly, my arrival has only increased his already high spirits, and this makes me suspect that he probably has the same excitement for me as for the little guy who got his ass whopped. I could've guessed that this would happen sooner or later, because I'm not so naive as to believe that only MacTavish and Garrick enjoy sadism during training.

"I'm glad you found your way here, Woods!" He shouts enthusiastically, which suddenly make all eyes turn towards me, and indeed they are filled with the very readable emotions of confusion and caution. Now, for the first time, I sympathize with them, because even I can't imagine why he feels that it was a good idea to invite me here.

"Yes, unfortunately, it was quite difficult to get lost." I answer cynically, and I already feel that even though nothing has happened yet, the first sparks of nervousness are igniting in my mind, thereby worsening my already not-so-rosy mood. And now I know for sure, that hunger has something to do with it, because it certainly doesn't help that all my nerves are on edge waiting to see what crap the man comes up with.

He doesn't seem to be bothered in the slightest by the murderous temper I exude as I stand as still as a sculpture, with folded hands in front of my chest in the middle of the mob gathered around me, because he strolls out of the ring and heads towards me with the ease of a true leader.

"Attention soldiers, today is a special day. Woods is joining us, so get your act together!" The captain starts to lecture, and his voice automatically attracts the attention of everyone present. He walks towards me with heavy steps, and when one of his gloved hands rests on my shoulder, I involuntarily tense up as I realize how he towers over me. Again, I just need to make the mental note that no matter how harmless he looks, he's still just a Hunter who could easily kill me. He wouldn't even have to try that hard. That's why the paternalistic attitude towards me and the soldiers is so annoying. "We have to give her a hand in her training, so I expect the best from you!"

Almost simultaneously, the sound of agreement echoes through the soldiers, and I can feel it on my skin how their previous puzzlement suddenly changes and is replaced by excited anticipation and slight pity. They don't dare to say it, or show it in particular, but over the years I've honed my perception fine enough to know that every little bastard here is almost trembling in waiting for the opportunity to deal with the nasty, evil criminal who has invaded their little nest. There is no doubt that many of them greeted my arrival with, at best, skepticism, if not fear mixed with hostility, and I could enjoy the effect of this every day when I appeared near them. And now they will have the chance to show how better they think they are. How cute.

"Don't worry Woods, I've got something else for you, than for the newbies." Price reassures me and takes me by the shoulder to guide me toward the ring, and I reluctantly allow him to lead me there. Because I really have no choice but to cooperate with him, whatever delicacies he came up for me.

We stop in front of the fihting enclosure, and he helpfully pulls apart the ropes delimiting the ring in front of me, silently instructing me to enter the scene of my suffering. I flash a dark look at him, then comply with his request and climb in, quickly studying my surroundings with my eyes.

"I read in your file that you attended the mandatory military course during your studies." Says Price, easily stating the facts, and I slowly turn back to him wondering why he feels that he must now deepen my experiences from ten years ago. It's obvious that if I go on a mission, I won't have a chance to survive with my bare hands, so I'll be equipped with weapons, preferably protected behind a Hunter. After all, if the goal is to be able to use me on their small adventures, then I should stay out of the monsters' way as much as possible. And I have even less chance to use my knowledge against Hunters who have been trained to kill all their lives. That's why I don't understand why I need to develop skills that I won't be able to use. Of course, I don't deny that it would definitely come in handy if I could learn something useful here, but I already have proven methods of neutralizing targets who get close enough. Price seems to forget that I can kill with a touch and a burst of energy. "It included hand-to-hand combat, yeah?"

Of course, at the mention of my little basic training, some soldiers' faces light up with glee, and the joy that appears in their expressions is almost pathetic. It's fairly certain that they believe, just because they were thrown here by chance or due to blind patriotism, and they've been taught about the rules of survival for a few months, then that will be just sufficient to crush me easily. However, they forget a very important factor. The reality of what I am. This fact separates me from simple people like them. And I declare this with the greatest awareness of my arrogance.

"Yes, although I don't think anyone would want to come within arm's reach of me." I state innocently, with a small, albeit rather malicious smile on my face, running my eyes over the small audience, who suddenly realize why they had kept their distance from me until now.

"Don't worry about that, these guys are tougher than they look." Price assures me in a calm tone, and his features show that he understands perfectly what I'm trying to demonstrate to his students here, but there's no need to fret, because he won't let my mean little hands do anything dangerous. It's not like I'm stupid enough to let myself be caught red-handed. It didn't end well the last time I tried it. "Douglas! It's your turn!" He turns his back towards the soldiers behind him, and at his command, a well-built, but rather young-looking boy moves from the crowd and fights his way into the ring with his chest puffed out.

Douglas halts in front of me and straightens his back with such confidence, while surrounded by the cheers of his little friends, that it is quite ridiculous. Although he might only be eighteen years old, and barely a half foot out of puberty, he has already managed to grow to such a size that he could make anyone feel uneasy. Judging from how his peers are trying to fire him up, it is not incorrect to presume that even though he is a newbie he has some skills, which at least partially justify his behavior. And no matter how much it crosses my mind that I tend to lure similar boys to dinner, I don't let that thought develop any further, because considering Price's training methods, he is more than capable of sending me to the floor.

"Since I'd like you to survive fieldwork, you must improve in hand-to-hand combat as well. But today the goal is to see what you're capable of now." The captain mentions the reason for the entire little circus today casually while folding his arms comfortably in front of his chest, as if he were just a teacher who just wants to observe how wild his students can be if they are left to their own devices. "I want you to do what you've always done. I want to see what you know. " He declares with the utmost confidence, and I stare down at him with narrowed eyes, with a grimace on my face that clearly tells him that he has lost his marbles. Price must have had heatstroke in the overheated, sweat-smelling room, because he seems to seriously forget exactly what he saw in my file.

"Are you sure you want that?" I ask, and I don't even try to hide the graveness in my voice, because even though the young guy is probably able to take care of me, he's still only a normal human, and as soon as I get my hands on a cloth-free surface of skin, I can knock him out in seconds. And even I can grasp what an idiot the captain is for letting his little apprentice into a potentially deadly trap. Of course, the notion occurs to me that neither Price nor the rest of the base are aware of exactly how quickly and unfairly I am capable of lashing out at others. Therefore, the man can rightfully be curious about what sneaky little tricks I have up my sleeve.

At my statement, of course, disbelief takes over the faces of the new recruits for a moment, but as Douglas shakes off all his fear, and just puts a mocking smile on his face, his companions once again find the strength of malicious joy, which gives them the incentive to start shouting quite enthusiastically. Price silences them with a small wave, and stepping closer to the ring, he leans close to me through the ropes.

"The goal is not to retrain you. But to further develop what you have." He explains softly, yet his deep voice contains such honest determination that even I am taken aback by it. Until now, I was certain that even though they wanted me to be tougher, the ultimate goal was to train me to be an obedient pet. And the thought that Price would like me to use my talents to the fullest pushes my brain down some very interesting rabbit holes. The stray idea that this man and his companions (with one very terrifying and irritating exception, of course) really mean well, and might be able to accept me one day with all my dangerous practices, gives me a rather strange warmth in my belly. And if I were a little more naive, I would truly believe that they do. But a second is enough and I steel myself again, because now is not the time to analyze the meaning of these small gestures.

"I can't guarantee he won't get hurt." I warn the man seriously, but he only gives a small smile in response, and pats my arm as he steps back to give the limelight to the newbie and me.

"The fight lasts until someone gets on the ground. Douglas, give it your all! Woods, don't hold back!" Price gives out the instructions, and his words are met with a roar of excitement from the small group of people gathered around the arena, as they encourage my opponent to give it everything he got and knock me out as soon as possible.

I take one last look at the Hunter, and finally, I turn all my attention to the soldier in front of me, who adjusts his training gloves and takes up a fighting stance with his legs slightly apart, and his hands raised in front of him, with a determination in his eyes that says I can't expect anything good if it depends on him. How fortunate that, unlike him, I have no illusions about what the other can do. I let the series of habits acquired over the years take over me, and I feel my consciousness adjusting to the state that usually dominates me during my hunts. The dull waves of hunger appearing in the depths of my stomach are now helping my mind shift into the state that has helped me imagine myself as a predator with almost blessed efficiency.

My gaze glides over him at lightning speed, and it's quite obvious from his posture and the way his whole body tenses up like a spring ready to jump, that he has enough combat experience to chew me up. Even if he wouldn't be able to pull such a feat, he still has the physical advantage, and that alone is enough for me to immediately conjure up an army of tactics in my head to defeat him. Because losing is not an option. It would only give the mob what they want and prove what they believe about me. That I'm a slothful little leech, whose only use is to serve their superiors. And I'd rather make a necklace out of my own guts than let that happen.

Douglas gets bored of our staring match the first, bridges the distance between us with a few steps, and moving close enough he swings one of his fists, and I can register from his first movements that he is not afraid to cause pain, even if I seem relatively weak and defenseless. But before he can hit me, I dance away from him with light movements and dodge his blow. He turns his head towards me bewildered, and I see the surprise appear in his features for a fleeting moment, for which I only give a small, mocking smile to him. Although I'm not physically as strong as him, and I don't have months of persistent training behind me, thank heaven, biology compensates for this deficiency. Because even though I don't come close to the Hunters, as an Extreme my reflexes and sharp little eyes have ensured that I can get out of difficult situations in mostly one piece. Even a normal person could compete with this little skill, if I wouldn't be a mean bastard and use every little advantage to play dirty. And I have just enough experience in how to trick others.

I take advantage of his momentary shock and start circling him with deliberate slowness, and it does not escape my attention how his shoulders jerk after observing my activities. The pride disappears from his face, and he follows my every step with concentration, as if he is waiting for the predator to pounce, and he is not mistaken. The goal really is to find a gap in his defense, but as always, it's better to get him to willingly give me an opportunity to attack.

And I must have annoyed him enough with my little ploy for him to take the fight seriously, because when I pause not far behind him, waiting, the unmistakable scowl of rage blooms on his face. He springs into action with such fervor that I narrowly dodge his next blow, and it doesn't come as a surprise when his right hook hits my side dead-on. The pain ripples through my ribs like lightning, but it sobers me up enough to try to get close to him before he can start to fix my face next. But he easily avoids my swinging fist, so I'm forced to nudge his knee with my foot in the meanest way possible, almost teasingly, with just enough force to make him hiss in pain and back away from me before he can do more damage to me.

My rather insidious little move unsettles him for just a moment, and as his face turns redder with the fury raging inside him, I grin, belying the pain throbbing in my ribs. The crowd around us is now screaming advice and egg on Douglas to stop playing and to finally take care of me, and there is no doubt that even without his fans he has reached the point where he feels no need to be subtle. And I'm just waiting for him to become careless and leave me a tiny little opening.

That's why, when he lunges toward me again, I just stand stiffly waiting for his strike. And I don't have to be disappointed, he quickly appears in front of me and lashes out at me with all his strength in his angry left jab, but before I can even experience what kind of anger he wants to convey to my face, the clever reflexes of my kind kick in. My hand suddenly reaches towards his and my fingers wrap around his forearm, and this startles him just enough for me to take advantage of his surprise and thrust my other little paw into his face with the speed of a viper about to bite. My palm smooths over his mouth open from shock, my fingers dig into his shaved skin, and I can already feel my energy running through me. And as the first wave of my power reaches him, he doesn't even have time to understand what's happening, because his eyes roll back immediately, and his body goes limp on the floor of the ring with a huge thump.

In the sudden silence that settles in the room, the chirping of a cricket would be ear-piercing, and I just measure up the passed-out guy who lies on the ground with the elegance of a starfish with much indifference. I feel a little sorry when I remember that the poor guy will be playing dead for a while because of my little tricks, but then I quickly settle the tiny weakness of my heart inside myself, because it's his captain who insisted that I fight him by showing off my sneaky skills. If Price didn't demand for me to toughen up, sooner or later he would have simply beat the pants off of me, there's no doubt about that.

The stunned immobility of the room is interrupted by Price, who climbs onto the arena, steps towards Dougles, and checks if the boy is really just taking his well-deserved beauty sleep. And when he is sure that the soldier is indeed still alive, he picks up his limp body with an effortless movement, gestures for a few guys to move closer, and hands them their unconscious comrade. When my victim is safe, the captain turns all his attention to me, and I feel an irrational sense of doubt and defensiveness rise up in me, because I'm almost certain, by seeing his expression, that he will now express his displeasure with my show.

However, real astonishment settles into my every fiber, as the man steps closer and firmly pats my shoulder with a satisfied smile appearing on his face. And in the way, he looks down at me gently, I don't feel any malice, but only warmth, which makes me quite uncertain as to what hell is going on here. Because I was quite sure that even if he wanted to see with his own eyes what I could do, he wouldn't be happy when he saw me in my element after I let go of my nice girl person and let loose. I was convinced that when he was confronted with the fact that I didn't just look dangerous on the pages of my file, but that I was actually a savage bitch, he would have the same disgust and condemnation in his eyes as anyone with an iota of common sense. And yet, I don't see any trace of contempt as I study his features utterly perplexed.

"Good work." He tenderly squeezes my shoulder, and the small gesture gives me a confused tingle in my stomach, which I can't identify when was the last time I felt, so it sufficiently deepens my bafflement. "We can work with this." He announces firmly, and his deep voice rings with real determination. "But it won't be an easy ride, so get ready! It's my turn now!"

Instead of the possibilities of potential pain appearing in my head from his statement, for some reason, a completely new motivation rears its head inside me. I can't tell if it's his aura or the unspoken promise that he really wants to see me as more than just an object, but it suddenly seems easy to overcome the excruciating pressure of hunger and fatigue weighing down on me. And fueled by this newfound enthusiasm, I position myself ready to attack, eagerly preparing for whatever difficulty Price throws my way, because no matter what, I will not disappoint. Because neither he nor I will let failure be an option.

⃰*

I stare rigidly at the tiny crack running along the ceiling with my eyes, and by now I've checked about a hundred times how many centimeters it might be. I had time for it, because I had been awake since the dull pain first appeared in my stomach, which has been tightening around my insides like a vise ever since. It's been a long time since I've felt hunger show up like this, and although I'm not yet in a state that makes me feel disgusted with mysefl, I want my food just enough to keep me up through the night.

I haven't consumed a single drop of blood since I arrived here, and a little fasting wouldn't be anything new to me, but considering that every damned day my dear teammates have amortized me with new surprises, I've crossed the line where I can comfortably tolerate the gnawing pain in my stomach. And although I vowed not to beg for my delicious snack, after yesterday's training session with Price, I got to the point where I considered taking out my more charming self and trying out my persuasion skills. Fortunately, the captain seemed to be counting the days of my fast, because after kicking my ass in every way possible and sending me to the ground in the ring God knows how many times, he announced that the next day Laswell would finally come to the base with my goodies. And I squirmed awake from the thought all night, until I assumed my current position, mentally chanting that the morning would come as soon as possible.

The sun's rays have been high for a long time now, and they paint the wall of my small room in warm light, but still, no one has come to invite me to the breakfast intended for me, or more like an early lunch now. And I'm getting more and more nervous and impatient by the minute, and with every noise that filters in from beyond my door, I look at the handle ready to jump, to see if it moves at last. I'm fully aware that this whole situation is pathetic, but the urge to scold myself for this has long since passed. I save my strength for when I finally have to drag myself out of here, so that at least the appearance of being relaxed and carefree can remain. For my pride would not let them see the ways in which I am tormented by hunger, which they actually forced me into.

It occurred to me at some point during the night, that it must have been quite intentional on their part to force me into fasting because they knew I needed blood and not just on holidays. By now they could have also guessed that my body tries to regenerate itself even if I don't consciously use energy. So it should have also occurred to them that my appetite would come back much earlier than expected, yet they let the fun drag on until this point. Of course, it's not easy to get blood, because it has to be obtained officially, from professional donors, who were probably only recently approached, because, to the best of my knowledge, there are no other stars like me in colony No. 17 who could have needed this service until now. And I'm the most understanding person ever, but at the same time, it is also certain that this does not allay my suspicion about this whole thing being a deliberate step to punish me. I suspect that this is just one of the many tests they want to use to see how far they can stretch the string inside me.

My musings are interrupted by a knock, and I sit up so quickly that sudden dizziness creeps onto me, and I have to grab the edge of the bed for support. For a hot minute, it seems that I might just be hallucinating, but when the intruder tries to break the door down again, I finally jump out of bed and run to the door in such haste, that I have to pause for a moment before I would wrap my fingers around the door handle, to protect it my image. And when the entrance to my room opens to reveal a menacingly huge figure, I'm already blessing my restraint because I'd swallow my own tongue before letting Riley see me desperate. Because apparently, instead of all the possible applicants, he was ordered to the threshold of my small abode to collect me for my presumably cordially served main course.

And almost reflexively, a sour expression of irritation appears on my face, which I don't even try to hide or banish, because I can feel a similar burst of enthusiasm radiate from him at the sight of me. Although I had already gotten used to his indecipherable, yet overwhelming gazes during training, in my current state I had lost all sense of humor to tolerate him. In other circumstances, I might even tease him a little to get our little pastime off to a better start, but the night spent awake and the ache turning like a knife in my stomach trample on the beginning buds of my sassy comments.

"Laswell wants to see you." He informs me briefly, and I would prefer to shove the fucking mask on his head down his throat, as his dark eyes, studying me, settle purposefully on my obviously worn face. And I can imagine how much pleasure this can give him, because even though he may be taking on the role of a statue in front of me, it doesn't take much brainpower to figure out that the past few weeks had surely put him in the mood to watch my agony.

"Wonderful." I reply in a similar concise manner, and by stepping toward him I force him to back away. My door closes behind me with a loud bang, and I look up at him expectantly, suggesting that he show me the way to the nice station chief of the base, because my relative patience will soon run out. Especially in his company.

Without a word, he begins our journey to the heart of the base, I follow him with similar silence, and for the first time, I do not regret that I don't have the strength to entertain him with my humor and sharp tongue. Because now I don't have the slightest desire to continue experiencing the complicated situation that arose between the two of us. And as my eyes instinctively stray to his broad back in front of me, the question of how long the cat-and-mouse game between the two of us will last flashes into my mind again. I know that he won't reward my similarly nice behavior towards him with just mean comments, strictness, and criticism forever, and for some reason this makes me feel morbidly excited. I'm slowly starting to get familiar with this cold and hard side of him, and even though I'm getting tired of him not allowing me to have similar experiences to the one I encountered in our first training session, the insatiable desire to penetrate his hard exterior further still rages in me. And I still can't explain why this urge awakens in me, why I feel the need to solve Riley's mystery, but there is a curiosity in me that annoys me just enough to not let me turn the pages over the story. Although I should be satisfied with the few things I have at my disposal, that I can use to anger him enough to lose his concentration, so I'm able to attack if necessary, but unfortunately, my sick thirst for knowledge does not allow me to do that.

As usual, the base is buzzing with busy soldiers, and I'm slowly getting used to seeing this sight everywhere except the solitude of my room. Still, malicious joy awakens in my dark little soul, as the faces of the people are filled with fear or even caution, and they whisper behind my back as I stroll away next to them. I can safely assume that the unfortunate adventure of their little comrade with me has already reached all of their cute little ears, and it fills me with happiness to know that my little demonstration of strength was enough for them to keep a meter distance from me, if they had not done so before. Because even their fear is better than being looked down upon.

However, my attention is diverted from my joy when the Hunter leading the way suddenly stops, and with only great luck do I manage to pull myself out of the sea of my thoughts, so that I can stop before I crash into him. I look up annoyed, and as I identify the sign of the infirmary, I only raise one of my eyebrows in interest. I find it very ironic that they chose a place for me to exercise my eating habits, which the residents of the base visit out of dire need, but most of the time they don't come for a snack, unlike me. It's like taking a fox to the henhouse.

Riley opens the entrance to the infirmary with a firm move and enters without waiting for my reaction, and I follow him with exceptional obedience. Upon stepping inside, the sterile smell of disinfectant hits my nose almost immediately, and for some reason, it stirs up a painfully nostalgic feeling in me, as my head protests against the intrusive smell with a slight throbbing. It reminds me of the days I spent in the lab, and for the first time since my arrival, I feel the absence caused by the loss of my career. How sad that I can no longer hunch over microscopes and lab results. I suspect it would feel like a walk in a park compared to my current situation.

"Woods! How nice to see you in one piece!" Laswell appears behind the door opening from the side of the infirmary, and I take careful notice of the security system activating with a soft beep after she exits. I only need to look at the control panel on the wall, and I know that the secret little room can only be the medical storage, where she presumably hid all my potential goodies. It is quite a clever move of her to place an unbreachable obstacle between me and the object of my hunger, for even though I know that relief could be within arm's reach, I will always be dependent on them. Fucking fantastic.

"I thought you would never honor me with fulfilling your end of the deal." I remark with indifference, and as a faint, but omniscient smile appears on her face, I suddenly feel an irresistible desire to quench my thirst with her blood. The look on her face tells just enough to confirm that my diet was a deliberate show of power. Of course, it is understandable that she resorts to such vile methods, because although I am currently living in my relatively cooperative era, no one has forgotten that I spent a good portion of my life with illegal entertainment. And maybe we both know that habits die hard.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten what I promised. That's why you're here." She explains, and then in her hand, she flashes the bag smuggled out of the storage, in which shines the deep red of the one thing I've so enthusiastically come all this way for. "Have a seat." She requests, as she invites me to make myself comfortable while gesturing towards one of the immaculate beds, and I don't take my eyes off the blood bag for even a minute as I jump onto the hospital bed. And suddenly I could swear that that special metallic, yet sweet aroma reaches my nose even through the plastic. I know that it's just my mind playing tricks on me, and I have to force myself out of the spell that was cast on me just by the sight of the red liquid. I've always had a strong reaction to blood, but over the years my morbid fear of getting caught has proven to be enough of a motivating force to develop self-restraint. Of course, this is a much more difficult task when hunger is persistently digging its claws into my stomach.

"I was hoping you didn't call me here to chat." I make my little stingy comment to the woman, and her self-confident calm still doesn't waver, and I seriously wonder what the hell they're taking around here, that puts them always in such a crazy good mood. "I'm not in the mood for that now."

Without further ado, I reach for the bag, because now I really have no patience for arguments, but the woman simply shakes her head, as if she would want to explain to a confused child why she can't eat sweets for dinner. This frustrates me enough to make my eyebrows furrow impatiently and I nervously purse my mouth shut, because why the hell is this chick wasting my time now?

"We act in accordance with the legal regulations, and according to this, a Hunter must supervise your feeding." She begins, and I automatically flash my glance at the man mentioned, who just wanders to the wall opposite me with lazy steps, to lean against it comfortably with his hands folded in front of his chest. No way.

"Absolutely not." I snap at her almost immediately, because the thought of Riley being the one to accompany me while my lovely little snack takes over my consciousness, fills me with anger and fear at the same time. No one has ever witnessed how I consume blood because I know how the whole process affects me. And I don't need that to be analyzed by someone who is capable of using it against me.

"Although I understand that this can be stressful, unfortunately, we'll do this the legal way. The regulations were set in place for a reason, you should know that the best." Laswell covertly points out the obvious fact that the eating habits of my kind have probably already caused problems. Although she probably doesn't realize how much self-control I have, it would be futile to deny that she's right to assume, that if I get sufficiently lost in my meals I'd want a little dessert in the form of one of the innocent bastards living here. A valid, but inaccurate assumption.

I could correct her and argue about sticking her fucking rules where I suspect spiders have been weaving their webs for a while, but there would be no point. She has a tight expression on her face that tells me there is no argument that will soften her heart to my problem, and I am far more hungry to drag out this scenario even a minute longer. So I just roll my eyes with spectacular boredom and sigh in irritation, giving my silent consent to this whole circus. I'm forced to swallow this bitter pill, because I don't want to provoke a little punishment from the woman, and I suspect that she would have no problem hiding my snack where she got it from, if I'd still feel like resisting.

"Ghost is only here to look out for you." She adds pointing to the Hunter in question with her free hand, and her features soften as she observes the fact of my acquiescence. "There is no need to feel uncomfortable." She assures me almost kindly, but she can't awaken any other emotion in me with her attentiveness, apart from irritation. Because instead of the man, I would rather invite any of his friends to chat over my lunch. "Enjoy your meal!" Laswell finally hands me the damn bag with a morbid little comment, and I just follow her out of the corner of my eye as she walks to the door of the infirmary and leaves the room.

And as the entrance closes with a soft click, the room becomes so quiet that even I can feel the tension sparking, which holds me back from eating my food right away. Placing the plastic bag in my lap, I direct my gaze to the man who is comfortably posing as a statue a few meters away from me, and by now I'm measuring him up almost automatically, searching for signs from which I can uncover what might be going on under the mask. His tall figure is dressed in casual clothes today as well, his black tactical pants fit comfortably around his long legs, and his arms emerge from under the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie, and now for the first time, I can see the tattoos on his left forearm. His body, wrapped in dark clothes, forms a gloomy contrast with the immaculate white walls, and although his posture seems relaxed, he still exudes a warning aura. As he stands, it would be almost impossible to decipher anything of what might be going on in his head, but I'm slowly getting the hang of what I have to look for. My scrutinizing glance falls on his face covered with a mask, and I find it interesting that today he chose his disguise with the addition of a skull, and not his simple balaclava, because for some reason I have the vague feeling that he wants to hide as much as possible from my curiosity. By now he could have realized that I was trying to read his every little move, and therefore decided to minimize all his interactions with me, so as not to give me a chance to probe any deeper. But this only makes me greedier, because it suggests that what he's hiding is worth revealing.

"What are you waiting for?" The question comes from him in a rather apathetic voice, and I merely tilt my head in interest, because I see the graveness flashing in those brown eyes, as he glances at the bag resting on my lap for a second.

"Are you in a hurry to be somewhere, perhaps?" I ask him, and the beginning of a mocking smile involuntarily finds its way to the corner of my mouth. I deem his impatience strange, even though I know he really has better things to do than play babysitter here. And yet, this starts a chain of tangled thoughts in my mind, which makes me increasingly interested in why he is here now instead of one of his friends. I'm sure any of them could have taken on the honorable task of watching me sucking a bag of blood dry, but here he is. I doubt it was his sense of duty that kept him from turning down the invitation, because he could have made someone else take the task on. As an SSS-class Hunter, he obviously has this privilege.

"I'm not the one needin' this shit to survive." He remarks, nodding to the bag with his head, and the movement itself is filled with such contempt that it reflexively ignites anger in me. "So stop babbling, I know you've been waiting for this all this time." He interjects his little commentary, which has an edge that could definitely kill anyone.

He doesn't even try to hide the disdain from his deep voice, and it's impossible to miss the way his eyes narrow and small wrinkles appear on the painted skin around them, and I can almost see him pulling his mouth in a distaste under the material of the mask. By now I could have gotten used to his comments, but still, when he hits me with his harsh words in a moment of weakness, when I am hungry, the desire for revenge flares up in me. Because, once again, he is acting hypocritically and forgets that we both walk in the same shoes, and we both need something, without which we would face serious problems in no time.

And that raises the suspicion in me, that this is exactly why he is here. He wants to witness me finally broken and weak, in a state where I'm vulnerable, so he can have a taste of the perverted pleasure he gave me earlier. This is now the time for revenge, and he wants to enjoy every moment of backing me into a corner, and experience how the mask of confidence and pride slips away from my reach. There is no doubt, that he would like his presence to embarrass me so that he can finally break off my horn that I’ve used to poke him with so enthusiastically until now. Because why wouldn't I feel humiliated by doing something that until now, I have probably done in my private moments because of discomfort and fear, and which reveals that I can intimidated and shamed by something too. But he's dead wrong if he believes that I'm not willing to overcome my shyness when it comes to preserving my pride.

It is true that I have been at a disadvantage until now, but I did not allow them to see me as weak because of the sick expectations I had of myself. And Riley could rightly assume that now would finally be the chance for him to admire what I looked like when I became undone, and he would have certainly used this information against me at the first opportunity. Very cunning of him, because from this I can conclude that we both like to search for weaknesses in the other, and I almost appreciate that he wants to gain an advantage over me in such an insidious way. While I usually provoke him in my devious ways, he seizes the opportunity in a much simpler and more straightforward way. And I, driven by this realization, decide not to deny him what he came for. I'll give him the show he so desperately wants and make sure he enjoys it.

"Sometimes I forget that you think we are different." I sprinkle the backhanded remark lightly, and in the meantime I playfully run my fingers over the little tubes on the top of the blood bag, keeping my eyes on his, which is suddenly filled with delicious anger at my little statement. It's not completely unexpected that I talk back even in this situation, but it irritates him all the more what I want to convey to him with my words.

"Drink, or I'll take it." He warns, and his voice is filled with palpable tension, which brings back the excited thrill to my stomach that I felt during our very first training session. For some reason, every time his hard voice deepens with his accent, and his tone alone promises unimaginable consequences, I feel a masochistic desire to find out if he really fulfills his promises. I've never experienced this part of my personality before in my life, and I should probably be worried about my new discovery, yet it's hard to stop my machinations. Despite the fact that I know I can easily acquire another pretty bruise or two like last time.

"You're wrong if you think that I am the only one dependent on something." I lift the plastic bag in my hands, measuring its red contents with nonchalant calmness, and slowly lick my lips as the first excited shiver runs through my body at the promise of a delicious bite. "My dietary preferences may be questionable, but let's not forget that out of the two of us, I wouldn't be the one to slaughter half the base if I ran out of power." I shed light on the basis of his hypocritical behavior, and when I leisurely my gaze slides over his figure, I see how a muscle jumps on his sculpted forearm.

I realize that this was a low blow, even from me, but it would be a shame to sweep the facts under the rug. It seems that he likes to pretend that he doesn't need my Healer skills, so that when the battery of the little Hunter inevitably runs out, he doesn't harm his little friends. However, we both know that there was already an example of this exact thing in the history of the Hunters, and there was certainly much to clean up after the aforementioned unfortunate killing spree. "Shut up and drink." He orders menacingly, and it seems, his patience is running out, but this is what he gets if he tries to deny reality so vehemently. Because I'm not afraid of the truth, but someone who does everything, maybe even puts on a mask, to escape from some unseen evil, can find it very difficult to make peace with the weaknesses inherent in their nature.

"You don't have to judge me, Riley. We both try to suppress our instincts, but sooner or later they catch up with us." I point out the truth, and in the meantime, I easily undo the opening of one of the tubes on the bag with my fingers, and forcefully keep a careless smile on my face in order to hold back the relief that overwhelms me from the sweet scent of blood.

"You're the only one driven by instincts here." He retorts, and in this one sentence, he condenses every drop of his growing venom, which rings crystal clear behind his words. But that doesn't upset me, because I've already settled into my role and prepared to show him the performance he came here for. It would be cruel to deprive him of that joy, even if the intimate moment will probably turn out differently than he expected.

"Hmm, maybe." I answer with comfortable laziness while tilting my head to the side, and I watch his body pulsating with tension, which makes him look like a panther ready to pounce, which can't wait to sink its claws into its victim. "But at least I'm not denying it." I shrug, forcing all the indifference in the world into myself, and with this last remark, I release the control that has kept me from throwing myself on my lunch with the elegance of a starving beast. And before he has a chance to react, I raise the bag and place my lips on the tube, and the relieved sigh that breaks out of me after the first sip, visibly shuts down what he wants to say.

The sour, yet chillingly familiar taste of blood spreads on my tongue, and as the liquid travels down my throat, the well-known warmth floods my insides, and an involuntary moan breaks out of me as I close my eyes and surrender to the feeling. I greedily suck at the contents of the bag, and with each swallowed portion, the excited trembling in my body increase, and the familiar buzzing fills my head, which erases all the dirty details of the outside world. Now, however, I grab all the remaining threads of focus and direct it on the man in front of me, because even though I vowed to give him a show, I can't let myself go completely, no matter how much the heat of the blood traveling to my belly pulls me towards the euphoria of unconsciousness.

And apparently, he is quite captivated by the sight of my feeding, because his eyes never leave my figure sitting on the bed, and his undivided attention on me gives me an evil satisfaction. To an outside observer, it may seem that he is not overly impressed as I consume the substance of the bag in large gulps, which in itself could drive anyone close to disgust. But I know that he is not bothered by the blood, but rather by my little performance, because he cannot hide how his broad shoulders rise up tensely, and the way he almost imperceptibly tries to press himself against the wall even more. I only gift him with a cheeky snort, and as I get lost in the wonderful taste of blood again, I enjoy the way my senses are filled by the pulsing warmth growing under my skin and the melody of his deep breaths reaching my ears.

I stop my activities for a minute, when I open my eyes and fix my gaze on the Hunter, and I feel the hot grip in my stomach intensify as our eyes meet. The dark sparks that sit in those brown eyes are inexplicable, and suddenly I don't even want to know what they could mean, because their heat almost burns my skin. The intoxicating fog covering my brain doesn't let me ponder on this question any further, but the excited buzzing in my limbs makes me want to go even further in my show. Therefore, tilting my head back, I touch the tube to my lips again, and lifting the bag, I allow the sweet stupor of blood to fill my consciousness yet again.

Glancing at him from under my eyelashes, I maintain eye contact and let the fingers of my free hand slowly trace the line of my throat, thus describing the path of the red liquid swallowed in slow sips. I don't even try to hold back the mischievous smile that creeps on my face when his jaw tightens under his mask, and I wonder for a fleeting second if he wishes he could wrap his hands around my neck again to end all of this. I'm sure he's already regretted starting this game a thousand times, because his whole being seems to become more and more on edge by the minute, and the tension emanating from him is almost gnawing at my skin. I'm close to being mesmerized by the way the muscles dance under his tattooed skin as his folded arms press tighter to his chest, and that only intensifies the fiery tingle in my stomach.

His eyes tear away from me as his gaze follows the line of my fingers, and when they travel with a feather-light touch along my chest and the delicate curve of my breasts hidden under the green T-shirt, he moves and pushes himself away from the wall so suddenly that I instinctively reach for the edge of the bed below me and grab into the fine fabric with my fingers. His entire body exudes the fierceness of a predator ready to lunge, and this only fuels the recklessness in my mind, which is already emboldened by the blood. The game I indulged in is quite dangerous, but even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stop, because the perverse joy of once again being able to penetrate the stoic mask of the Hunter awakens in me. He takes a threatening step toward me, and every one of my nerves tightens and flutters with anticipation as he slowly closes the gaping distance between us. When he stops just a few steps shy from me and stares down at me from behind his mask, he almost dwarfs me, but this does not drive away the morbid excitement that settles in me. Because this is now similar to what I experienced during our last incident, but the ominous power that emanates from him is radically different, and I eagerly drink in all its vibrations.

I empty the contents of the bag with one last sip, then squeeze the last drops into my open mouth, and I feel a drop escape and run down my chin. I throw the empty plastic onto the bed with a nonchalantly, and catching the escaping drop of blood with my index finger, I follow its path all the way to my mouth, and I grin as his gaze follows my finger again. And as I lift my hand to my mouth and playfully clean off the last bite of my lunch with my tongue, his hands clench into fists with a force that seems almost painful, and now I can guess that he would really prefer to squeeze my neck with them. It's a shame that he has once again given himself up to my bullying and can't do anything about it.

"You were right. I really am a creature of instinct." I speak for the first time, breaking the heavy silence, and I let my energy still invigorated by the heat of the blood guide me, when I jump off the bed and step closely in front of him. I might be only reaching up to his shoulders, yet I feel more powerful than ever, even if all this fun has made the web of my thoughts about him even more complicated. "But it's only a matter of time, and it turns out whether you are too. Let's hope you're better than me." I taunt him, putting a small smile on my lips, when his eyes narrow dangerously at my statement.

But I just slip past him with the lightness of satiety and the drunken courage that settles on my mind, to then head for the door of the infirmary, because for my part, I consider the whole situation finished here. I even surprised myself with how beneficially the spark of my anger helped me through the entire meal, but I'm not sure if my brave little stunt did any good for my relationship with the Hunter. It has not been free of excitement so far either, but this current action of mine, sponsored by my courage awakened in my euphoric state, raised the tension between the two of us to a completely new level. Because I'm sure he was a hair's breadth away from doing something really nasty to me for my teasing, that I wouldn't have gotten out of with just the nice necklace of his fingerprints. And even though I gained another insight into what causes him to lose his composure, I still have the sinister suspicion, that sooner or later I will bear the consequences. And maybe I'm looking forward to it. How sick.

I take one last look at him as I open the infirmary door and stand on the threshold, and he continues to watch me with the same intensity as he followed through my lunch. And from the way every one of his muscles still remains in tense rigidness as he stands by the bed, I have a faint intuition that although he must have gotten something for his efforts, he doesn't seem nearly satisfied. And this puts the bug in my ear, which keeps chirping that our little conflict will soon reach its peak, and I won't like it one bit. We'll see.

[illnessfaker]

sending unhinged anon hate rife with fallacious logic like this and bypassing a block, then proceeding to sign it w/ your blog name, is so fucking funny. you can use all the loaded language you want but that doesn't change the fact that 1. termination of a pregnancy is not an inherently eugenicist or genocidal act and 2. abortion bans and other similar restrictions around reproductive healthcare have killed people and will continue to kill people so long as they are in effect, on top of having a variety of other negative impacts on the lives of those who are capable of pregnancy and/or childbirth. trying to turn my "forced birth" comment around into "forced stillbirth" doesn't work because i'm not and never have been in support of anyone carrying a fetus to have childbirth forcibly denied them whereas you're arguing for people to have no choice but to go through the extremely physically strenuous and potentially fatal process of pregnancy and childbirth. i can acknowledge that abortion is used for genocidal and eugenicist purposes (as are things like forced sterilization) while also believing that no one should be forced or coerced into carrying a fetus to term. almost like it's not a black-and-white issue. wild!

but your worldview is obviously so massively twisted that you're beyond saving so, yeah, either trip down a flight of stairs like i said or at least get a life, you pathetic loser.

[neocopy]

Analyzing endless flows of data can sometimes get a little boring. Sometimes a mechanical mastermind like Neo needs a little something extra to spice up life. The issue is-- what can one do when they've already accomplished all their goals? Sure, long-term goals can be set anew but working toward them is a slower pace than he would like to satisfy such an unhealthy sense of curiosity that endlessly channels through his mind.

That's why experimentation has become one of his new involving hobbies. With the combined abilities of the Chaos Emeralds and the Phantom Ruby allowing his fleet to travel to alternate realities, he's began to develop quite a collection for himself -- with one such creature being something taken from the Ark of a previously doomed timeline. A beast so powerful and massive that it had originally been dubbed ' The ultimate lifeform. '

What a load of malarky that was. Defeated by two eager hedgehogs with super forms no less. Pathetic! Neo sought something far more destructive than that. Something powerful that will remain subjugated. Controlled. Unable to utilize its power against Neo's. And for the most part, he's succeeded.

Relocating the creature alone was a monumental task -- incubating it within a chamber specifically designed to house it was another. The beast was such a deplorable, disgusting thing that Neo would have shielded his eyes from were it not the product of his scientific curiosity. The way the beast thrives completely off of an innate source of chaos energy that was utilized in its creation, but which also actively destroys it from the inside out... it's no wonder this creature was labeled as a 'failure.' It was doomed to die, but simultaneously kept alive by its own internalized sense of spite and wrath.

Now look at it..

What was it now beyond a husk of its former self? A creature that had decayed so wildly it might as well have been reduced to a skeleton? Parts of its flesh have since rotted away and exposed bone, yet those same parts are kept in a constant cycle of regeneration. A cycle that will never truly end as long as Neo keeps steadily feeding it the various solutions and concoctions he's created to sustain its life. His robots have done well to produce the solutions on a scale which can be delivered to and administered to the creature in a consistent cycle.

The beast, now aware of the presence of its captor, weakly lifts its head to gaze upon him. The metallic contraption laughs softly, gazing upon it with the same joy one would get upon seeing an invention functioning.

[ :// How does it feel, Biolizard? To finally be in a space where you can continue to grow and molt for as long as I need you to? Ah.. I suppose speaking isn't your strong-suit. Even if you were capable of it.. your body can barely produce a growl, let alone words. ]

The beast is incapable of responding to him. The various coils and wires connected to its body, slowly feeding it fluids and solutions of chaos-infused concoctions only allowed it a very meager amount of freedom in terms of movement. It can, however, detect his presence -- and the sheer amount of chaos energy radiating from the six emeralds he has embedded into his body.

[ :// Worry not. Loathesome as you are, I will soon see a use for you in the coming days. I do, after all, have plenty of ideas involving you and a certain world I plan to visit soon. Humor me until then -- continue your slow, agonizing 'recovery' so that we can begin our tests proper, hm? ]

[ :// Dr. Gerald Robotnik may have failed to turn you into a powerful bioweapon, but that's because he lacked the ingenuity needed to sustain such a cumbersome creature like yourself. Worry not. I will 'fix' you in a way only I can. The genius of the Robotnik bloodline and my infinitely-growing database will turn you into a living, breathing catastrophe. ]

[ :// Hmhmhm hahahaha~! I can not WAIT to have my fun with you..! ]

The laughing mechanical monster of a machine turns on a dime and parts way out of the former ultimate lifeform's prison chamber. Soon, he thinks -- he'll find a way to utilize its biological properties in a way no other scientist has ever been able to harness.

Soon, he thinks -- a universe will have to face a dire, dire threat. And he has plenty of interest to see just how much chaos a beast like that can cause.

[pesterloglog]

Tavros Crocker, Harry Anderson Egbert, Vrissy Maryam-Lalonde, Vriska Serket

Page 206-207

TAVROS: We appear to be,,, in no uncertain terms,,, completely surrounded,

TAVROS: I don't wish to come across as pessimistic,,, but,

TAVROS: It's hard to see what possibilities we have, for a plan of escape,,,

HARRY: there has to be something we can do!

HARRY: my dad is counting on us to get out of here and meet up with him.

TAVROS: Well,,,

TAVROS: I'm also not wishing to be rude, but,,,,,

VRISSY: It's Ok8y Tavvy, I don't Give A Shit a8out being rude.

VRISSY: Harry, your dad's plan fucking SUCKS.

VRISSY: There's no Easy w8y out of this.

VRISSY: It was simple enough for him to Tell us to escape, 8ut we're the ones th8t Have to 8ctually DO it!

VRISSY: And that advice he gave you?

VRISSY: It was All a load of Meaningless 8ullshit!

VRISSY: "Don't get caught."

VRISSY: Yeah, No Shit!!!!!!!!

HARRY: ok, wow. :/

HARRY: vrissy, i know this is a stressful predicament but i think that's going too far.

HARRY: my dad believes in us.

HARRY: and if he thinks there's something we can do, then there has to be a way!

HARRY: it's the only possibility.

VRISSY: Ok8y, how A8out This for an alternative explan8tion.

VRISSY: Your dad is Giddy and High on the Thrill of Something Interesting h8ppening in his life For Once!

HARRY: i don't believe this.

HARRY: i've been waiting for my dad to start talking to me again for what feels like forever.

HARRY: you KNOW that!

HARRY: and you couldn't just be happy for me this one time?

VRISSY: Oh my GOD Harry 8nderson.

VRISSY: I know you've spent So much Time crying into your d8tenight Popcorn a8out this but Please give it a 8reak!

VRISSY: Just LISTEN to me for once.

VRISSY: This isn't a8out your hangups with your Dad, okay?!

VRISSY: We're in the middle of a WAR.

VRISSY: A War th8t is, in some part, His Fault!

VRISSY: And instead of Taking Responsibility and 8cting like a Grown Up, he decided to Rope us all into this Ins8ne Game he thinks he's pl8ying!

TAVROS: Vrissy,,,, i don't think that's fair,

TAVROS: Uncle john isn't to blame for this,,,

HARRY: yeah, no shit tav.

HARRY: this whole situation is because of YOUR insane hitlermom.

TAVROS: Ok, now,,,

TAVROS: That was uncalled for,,,

VRISSY: Yeah Harry, not cool.

HARRY: oh what, so you're gonna just pretend that his mom *isn't* a literal dictator?

HARRY: he doesn't need you to stick up for him, vrissy! he's fucking loaded!

VRISSY: Harry, all of our families are O8scenely Wealthy.

VRISSY: We're standing in your mom's 8outique living room! You can't exactly pl8y a Privilege Card here!

VRISSY: And Tavros, you don't have to Defend Mister Eg8ert just 8ecause you feel weird a8out him trying to kidnap you that one time.

VRISSY: If 8nything, you should 8e on My Side here!

VRISSY: John's clearly got a Tr8ck Record of doing 8nything for a moment of excitement without thinking of the Consequences.

VRISKA: (Grr........)

VRISSY: And Look wh8t h8ppened!

VRISSY: Remember what he did on Harry's 8irthday that one time?

TAVROS: (I told you that,,, in strictest confidence,,,)

VRISSY: Tavros, he could h8ve Killed you!

VRISSY: Why Else do you think you're such a Wimpy, Traumatized 8a8y?

TAVROS: Ok, that,,, isn't the reason for that,,,

TAVROS: And,

VRISKA: (Grrrrrrrr........)

TAVROS: I feel like your implied, "concern", for my childhood wellbeing,

TAVROS: Is less sincere,,, than it is,,, an attempt to weaponize something difficult for me,

TAVROS: In order that you can win an argument,,, with harry anderson,,,,,

VRISKA: GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

VRISKA: WILL YOU ALL JUST

VRISKA: SHUT!!!!!!!!

VRISKA: UP!!!!!!!!

TAVROS: :O

HARRY: :O

VRISSY: :O

VRISKA: I feel like I'm going fucking insane.

VRISKA: Is it weepy wiggler tantrum hour, or are the three of you always this pathetic????????

VRISKA: No8ody answer that, it was 8ulge-achingly rhetorical.

VRISKA: Just keep quiet for a moment while I insult you some more.

VRISKA: Vrissy, you're cool and all, 8ut I'm getting tired of this teen nonsense.

VRISKA: John's "advice" totally 8lows, 8ut at least he understands what needs to 8e done.

VRISKA: Don't insult my friends. Only I get to do that.

VRISKA: Tavros, stop 8eing such a wimp.

VRISKA: No8ody has time for this pansy clownery!

VRISKA: Do you remem8er what happened to the last clown I had to deal with?

TAVROS: (Gulp,,,)

VRISKA: Yeah, I thought so.

VRISKA: And Harry, listen.

VRISKA: Neither you nor your friends have anything really important going on.

VRISKA: Your lives and your planet are a total 8ore!

VRISKA: 8ut somehow John loves you anyway.

VRISKA: Try and be fucking gr8ful for that every once in a while.

VRISKA: Not everyone is so lucky.

VRISKA: Anyway, forget his advice. John wasn't counting on you to get us out of this.

VRISKA: He was counting on me!

VRISKA: So from now on, everyone just follow my lead and do what I say.

VRISKA: And if that doesn't sound like a good enough deal to you, then...

VRISKA: Just,

VRISKA: Stay out of my way.

HARRY: ...

VRISSY: ...

TAVROS: ,,,

VRISKA: Alright! I'm glad you can at least recognize when a grown-up is talking.

VRISKA: Harry. Go to your room.

HARRY: um... what?

HARRY: no??

HARRY: you're not my mom.

VRISKA: And no8ody is more gr8ful for that fact than me!

VRISKA: You need to arm yourself, stupid.

VRISKA: None of you even have a way to fight!

HARRY: oh.

VRISKA: Here. Take this.

HARRY: what is it?

VRISKA: It's your stupid face is what it is!!!!!!!!

VRISKA: Hahahaha, just kidding. It's a spare strife speci8us.

VRISKA: You wanna prove you'd make it on Alternia?

VRISKA: Take this and go gra8 a weapon.

VRISKA: Meet us 8ack here in a min8.

HARRY: a... what?

VRISKA: A MINUTE, GOD!!!!!!!!

HARRY: alright alright, i'm going.

[wolfpants]

If you’re still doing the writing asks, I’d like to ask!

🌿how does creating make you feel?

I am, yes! Sorry for the slowness 😅 Thank you for the question 💖

This is going to sound so pathetic, but creating makes me feel like I'm worth something.

I've never felt like I've been great at anything (but not for lack of trying! and I do think that is the most important thing!) - I was a poor to average student (bad attention span, apparently spent too much time daydreaming about my special interests rather than focusing on things like maths and science and apparently the things that matter, according to my teachers), and all the hobbies/crafts I picked up over the years I'd start and then let go of before I could master them (I used to be really into art and drawing when I was younger, and I think I could have been good at it if I stuck it out for longer, I also used to play instruments but I never had the patience for learning them "properly", and did much better at self-teaching than being instructed).

Even when I started writing as a teenager I let my lack of focus get the better of me and I just didn't allow myself to see things through. And as I got older, I felt like I couldn't share anything I did (writing wise) with the world because it all felt a bit half done.

Then the pandemic happened.

I've always excelled at consuming. I was a film student, I watched films like it was my job (and for a while, it kind of was), listened to music like it was my job (same thing), read loads and loads of books and absolutely consumed every piece of queer lit I could get my hands on. Including fanfic.

When lockdown started I found myself with time, and with a narrowed focus. I read more fic and I got really into Wolfstar - after primarily being a Drarry reader - and decided I wanted to try writing something of my own and publishing it. I didn't expect it to go anywhere. I had the support of a best friend (who I happened to meet on Harry Potter livejournal back in the day and is now one of my closest friends) who encouraged me to keep going with it, so I did, and it gained a little traction, and the positive feedback on that encouraged me to keep going and the more I went the more joy I got out of creating and realising that - making my own stories, writing the fic I want to read, is a really joyous, fulfilling thing. And it finally allowed me to finish something and feel like yes, I achieved that, I did something exactly the way I want, I completed something on my own terms.

And the more I create, the less I feel a need to do it for anyone's approval other than my own, and that I've found is the secret to a rewarding, joyous creative output.

So, when I create, I feel purpose, within myself. I feel joy.

... sorry for the essay 😂

Anyway, if anyone else wants to hear my jumbled assortment of thoughts, go ahead! Fanfic writer ask game &lt;3

[queerxqueen]

for the ask game: 🥺⛔🤩🤲📚

OMG THANK YOU ANON <3

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I looooove writing characters who are pathetically down bad, or characters who are idiots and oblivious until they have a classic "Oh. Oh." moment where they realize very suddenly and dramatically and recontextualize all of their feelings in an instant and UGH. I think that's why I love Byler so much, because we have horrendously down bad Will and Mike who belatedly realizes how horrendously down bad he is in turn. This also ties into Cattonquick with Oliver being down bad and Felix needing to be prompted into realizing/admitting it... So that dynamic is fire to me, always.

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

DO I EVER?? I have loads, LOL. Here are just a few recent ones that will likely never see the light of day:

Insomniac-verse Parksborn fake-dating AU where Norman thinks Harry and Peter are dating and it's the first time Norman's ever been proud of Harry so he just goes with it.

A Byler alternate season 4 time-loop fic where Will & El come to Hawkins instead of Mike coming to Lenora, Will gets Vecna'd, and Mike has to watch Will die over and over again as the days repeat and they figure out how to stop Vecna and save Will :)))))))

A Cattonquick fic from the perspective of Annabel realizing how weird Felix & Oliver's relationship is (where naturally Annabel and India realize Felix is a jerk and end up together). Still might write this but for now it's not priority.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

UGH THIS IS TOUGH I have so many blorbos and I love writing each of them for different reasons. Writing Feral!Unhinged!Felix for the Moth and the Flame was super fun. But I do think Will is probably my most favorite character to write just because I love and understand him so deeply that it feels really easy and delightful to let him come to life on the page.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

No snippet, but for those wondering what I'm working on in terms of Cattonquick, it's an Oxford-days oneshot inspired by this tweet:

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

Funnily enough, writing is literally currently my career. I write Young Adult novels and am traditionally publishing. My first original work is a gay vampire romcom coming in early 2025, for fans of Casey McQuiston/Rainbow Rowell/FT Lukens/Aiden Thomas vibes. But I have 3 books contracted to write and publish over the next 3 years. I haven't talked much about my original writing on here, but I would love to, and definitely will do so more as things happen and get closer to release with my debut!!! Happy to talk more about the publishing process and my OG wips if anyone is interested, just shoot me an ask <3

[Fanfic Writer Ask Game >>> My Askbox]