#preference flux

[xenogender-klown-goblin]

Genital preference fluid/ genital preference flux: when your genital preference fluctuates. This can be gradual over time or from day to day.

[fauvester]

replace "state" with "planet" and even the old cardassian moral tales are relevant for the post-Fire world

[ssaalexblake]

Also, one of the things i am almost certainly sure was cut from Flux when they got their episode count chopped was Yaz’s career issues. That they mentioned it, and mentioned it again in a way that lacks continuity to the last mention in the space of two episodes smacks of ‘something got cut’ to me. Like the backstory with Azure that never arrived despite the fact that when you think about it you go wait... what??? 

And I mean, I don’t?? have any major issues with how Yaz’s story went because it all tracks neatly into the main arc where Yaz ends up the doctor, but i Do think the little things were cut out due to the plague getting them a lower episode count, and so the arc feels in some ways lacking in polish because the stuff from s11-12 was Very intricate and it lost some of the homely touches of storytelling through lack of time.

Added to that, they ended up doing a serial which is Not Nearly As Good for character work as non serialised episodes. Sometimes to say something about a character you need a contrived story to reveal the perfect thing about them. In a serial format you can’t take a break and do that. Eve of the daleks and legend of the sea devils being the episodes that really moved things forward interpersonally for the characters is just proof to that. 

Mostly i think the plague ballsed things up is 8 million different ways. I could be bitter about it but i’m gonna spend my time hoping chibbs will do a tell all over what else was gonna happen instead. 

[brechtian]

really hoping the casting for importance of being earnest is gender swapped (bc i think thatd be fun) or entirely gender neutral because i want to play jack or algy like you cant imagine id be sooo hot

[virgils-together-breakfast]

dont wanna derail the last post so

eigengrau is the kind of grey i mean when i say im grey attractional. like its the kind of grey ace/aro/etc i am.

im eigengrau grey in EVERYTHING.

mostly as in the rarity definition of greyspec and not the watered down attraction one

except aesthetic thats both

like if i were to call myself black-stripe-ace or green-stripe-aro with an exception or two that just wouldnt WORK for me, tbh idk if that works at all

but on a scale of allo frequency of attraction to being completely devoid i just looked at that shade and went “THATS ME”

[disposablelimb]

does anyone else do this thing where you'll know something is overstimulating you like your computer screen but you keep staring at it almost like picking a scab or pressing on a bruise i guess. it would be much better if i turned off all the lights and lay down with my phone for a bit but i keep staring at this fucking sun-bright lightbox and i don't know why

[janmisali]

what do you think of tone indicators in general?

unfortunately my thoughts on tone indicators are somewhat nuanced. fortunately, this is tumblr not twitter, so I can just write out my full thoughts in one post and be as verbose about it as feels necessary.

speaking as an autistic person (and I know there are other autistic people who don't hold this same view, this is just my perspective), I think as an accessibility tool, the extended set tone indicators in current popular use is fundamentally misguided.

the oldest ones, /s for sarcasm and /j for jokes, make sense. their notation isn't the most intuitive thing ("does /s mean sarcastic or serious?") but it's not too difficult to explain what they mean. I've had to spend my whole life learning by brute force what different tones of voice mean and what they change about how I'm supposed to interpret something, so I already know what "read this in a sarcastic voice" and "read this as a joke" are supposed to mean. my existing skills can be translated into the new form without too much effort.

the same thing applies to emoji and emoticons. I know what facial expressions mean, because I had to learn what they mean. figuring out if :) is sincere or not from context is a skill I've already needed to develop. it doesn't come naturally for me, but it's something I already at least somewhat know how to do.

most of the tone indicators in current use uh. don't work like this.

tone indicators like /ref or /nbh don't correspond to specific tones of voice. I don't have a "I'm making a reference" voice or a "I'm not talking about a person who's here" voice that I can picture the sentence being read in. these do not indicate tones, they're purely disambiguators. they clarify what something means without necessarily changing how it would be read out loud.

and on paper, that's fine, right? like, it's theoretically a good thing to take an otherwise ambiguous statement and add something to it that clarifies what you meant by it. the problem is that these non-tone tone indicators are not even remotely self-explanatory. it's up to me, the person who is being clarified to, to know what all these acronyms are supposed to mean, and how they change the way I'm supposed to interpret what something means.

it's, quite literally, a newly-invented second set of social cues that I'm expected to learn separately from the set that I've already spent my whole life figuring out, and it works completely differently.

sure, these rules are (in principle) less arbitrary than the rules of facial expressions and tones of voice and how long you're supposed to wait before it's your turn to speak, but they're also fully artificial and recently invented, which means they're currently in a constant state of flux. tone indicators go in and out of fashion all the time, and the "comprehensive lists" are never helpful.

in theory, I appreciate the idea of people going out of their way to clarify what they mean by potentially ambiguous things they post online. if it worked, that would be a really nice thing to do.

however, sometimes I imagine what the internet would be like without them. what if instead of using /s, the expectation was that if you're sarcastic online there's no guarantee that strangers reading your post will know what you meant? what if instead of inventing more and more acronyms to cover every possible potentially confusing situation, we just... expected one another to speak less ambiguously in the first place?

so, I on paper like the idea of tone indicators. I think it's good that some people are trying to be considerate by being extra clear about what they mean by things. but if tone indicators didn't exist, and people who wanted to be considerate in this way instead just made a point of phrasing things more clearly to begin with, I think that would be vastly preferable to even the most well-implemented tone indicator system.

also /pos sucks because there's something deeply and profoundly wrong for an abbreviation that means "I don't mean this as an insult, don't worry" to be spelled the same way as an acronym that's an insult

[wafflesex]

Because I'm a massive nerd: have some character analysis involving gem language and the gems the Leech twins are named after.

Fluorite is a precious stone named after the Latin word “flux” which means “continuous change.” It is associated with growth: removing negative energy, promoting positivity, and increasing self-confidence.

When cleansing the body from stress, fluorite primarily protects the intellect. It promotes concentration, memory retention, and can be used as a learning aid or for making big decisions. Green fluorite is especially good for this.

While fluorite’s namesake refers to spontaneity, geologists consider it a stable, predictable gem used to measure the hardness of other gems and minerals on the Mohs scale. Its strength is a reliable factor in determining how resistant other minerals are. In other words: fluorite helps you discover your true limits and potentials.

Besides aiding the mind, fluorite energizes as well as grounds the heart in "the now," especially during moments of high anxiety. Not to say it disregards the past and the future; it just prefers to work on who you are at present, recognizing you as an ever-changing, inevitable, unstoppable force in the universe. It promotes compassion towards oneself and encourages one to be the best they can be by opening their heart to fun and love instead of embracing past trauma.

In this sense, fluorite is wonderful for conducting work on your inner child, and is especially responsive to younger people (or those young-at-heart).

A softer mineral, true fluorite tends to bear many natural imperfections on its surface. Some may attribute this to recklessness, hyperactivity, or immaturity. But beneath its scuffs and rough edges, fluorite is a colorful, hearty stone overflowing with positivity… that even glows under ultraviolet light! What a funky little guy.

Jadeite is a highly prized gem that promises safety and balance in one’s life. Like fluorite, it is also a cleansing stone which relies on a more mature approach to turning negative energy into self-sufficient thoughts and behaviors. However, though beautiful and reliable, jade is cold-to-the-touch, and when stowed away or left unused, can grow incredibly brittle. Therefore, it insists upon being used frequently, if not all the time.

Many believe jade jewelry should be worn for one's entire lifetime, as removing it may invite eternal bad luck.

Only diamond can be used to carve jadeite, the strongest natural stone in the world. Measuring in at around 7 on the Mohs scale, it doesn’t blemish, bend, or break easily. With such reliable strength, it can be carved and manipulated into intricate shapes without fear of shattering.

As jade naturally resists breakage, it is a protective gem that forms a special bond with its owner and is commonly used as a tool for breaking other gems. On the rare occasion it does break, however, jade produces glass-like, razor-sharp edges.

In other words: once broken, handle with caution.

Still, there is a nurturing facet to jade: it promotes vitality, youthfulness, and longevity in people while also extending that power to the earth itself. It was often used in old Chinese rituals to manifest strong crop growth. Today, having a sculpture of a jade bok choy in one’s home is considered a symbol of long life and good health.

Make no mistake: jade would rather be out and about having fun with you and others. Doing so means it can make the most out of the life you have together. Utilizing its gorgeous exterior, it invites long lasting friendships and even romance to those who wear it. People may naturally trust and be drawn to jade wearers as the gem helps create a charmingly positive and tranquil personality.

If you're included, it feels included in turn.

A Chinese saying states “you can put a price on gold, but jade is priceless.” Tied to handling matters of the heart, it is a highly perceptive gem and an invaluable treasure meant to be cherished. Generous, elegant, and fierce, it will serve you well… but only if you do the same for it.

Ok I'm done thank you for coming to my rock talk

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Two

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, alcohol

Chapter summary: Y/N tries to get her life together but finding a job proves to be difficult. So difficult that when Jake catches her in a weak spot at the Hard Deck the two reconnect behind closed doors; Y/N gets a massive surprise that threatens to change everything

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You were late. 

Which was abnormal, because the only thing that was timely about you was the fact that you got your period on the same day every single month. It was the one thing you could count on in a world that was constantly in flux. 

This time, you were late. Three weeks late, to be exact. 

One Week Before

You weren’t sure what you had expected when you booked your flight to San Diego. The last time you and Bob had lived together you were just kids. Back then it had been fighting over the remote and who ate the last frozen waffle. 

Bob had always been quiet. Collected. He blended in with the background of things. Whereas you had preferred to be the center of attention, Bob was the wallflower. He carried your plastic pumpkin behind you while trick-or-treating and he was the one to help make scrapbooks for your high school graduation, taking a special weekend leave from the academy just for that. 

So it was surprising that almost every moment of Bob’s time was filled. If he wasn’t at North Island training, he was on a smaller mission, gone for a day or two at a time. Whenever he wasn’t flying, he was hanging out with the rest of the daggers. You often woke up and wandered out into the living room to find Bradley sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, wearing the same clothes as the night before, smiling sheepishly about how he had crashed on the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob said, his voice echoing on the phone as you filled a mug with coffee in the kitchen. “I won’t be home until late.” 

“You know when I moved here I thought we’d get to spend some time together,” you said. “Instead, I hear from you even less than when I was back home with mom.” 

“I’m sorry about that.” You could hear the jet engines roaring in the background. “This weekend. I promise, we can do something fun. The zoo?” 

You laughed. “I’m not five anymore, Bobby. You don’t have to plan a fun playdate for me. I just want to spend some quality time together.” 

“We will, I promise.” There was a pause. “Ducky, I gotta run, OK. I’ll see you when I get home.” The line went dead. You sighed, picking up your cup of coffee and walking into the living room. You needed to get a job. Pulling up your computer, you flicked over to the LinkedIn tab that was open. Back in Chattanooga, you had spent the year after college aimless. Bartending at night. Taking some classes and studying for the GMAT as you toyed with the idea of business school. But you weren’t really sure what you wanted to do. 

You still weren’t sure. That was the part that you had kept from Bob. He was the kind of person who needed a plan. An itinerary. He looked at menus before he even stepped foot in a restaurant. He refused to go somewhere if he didn’t know what the parking situation was. He was by the book. You were anything but. 

It was time you grew up a little. 

***

By the time Bob got home, the sound of the front door crashing open, you were in bed. Opening one eye, and then another, you waited for the soft footsteps of Bob entering the house. Instead, you heard a gaggle of voices, loud shushes and uncontrolled whispers. 

Cracking open the door, you peered down the hallway to where the light was on in the living room. “Bobby?” you called out, stepping onto the carpeted hallway. 

“Duck?” It was a slurred whisper. You frowned, rounding the corner into the living room to see Jake supporting Bob as he lowered him down onto the couch. 

You rushed over, eyes wide, not even realizing that the hem of your long shirt rode up as you kneeled down in front of the couch where Bob was laid horizontal, one arm hanging off and dragging on the cream carpet. You looked up at Jake accusatorial. “You got him drunk?” 

“It was Phoenix,” Jake said, hands in the air. “I swear. I’m just the DD.” 

You shook your head. “I’m getting him some water.” Bob started to sit up and you put one hand on his shoulder, shoving him down against the cushion. “Lie down.” 

“Bossy,” he groaned, fluttering his eyes closed. 

In the kitchen, you ran the tap, seething. Of course Jake had gotten Bob drunk. You barely knew him, but this just proved that you knew enough. His cockiness at the bar that first night had been charming. But you knew from your experience with men that cockiness never aged well. 

Jake entered the kitchen, one hand pressed against the doorframe. “Y/N.” 

You shook your head, pouring a glass of water. “You can leave.” 

“What if I came here to see you?” 

“Why the hell would you do that?” 

Jake inched closer. “Maybe I thought what we had the other night was pretty great.” 

“Weren’t you listening?” you asked, setting the cup down on the counter. “That’s never happening again. In fact, we promised to pretend it never happened. So in my mind, we met for the first time that day at the coffee shop when Bob invited me to meet his friends. That’s the story, Jake. Nothing else.” 

“You really think it’ll never happen again?” 

Jake was close, the warmth of his body practically heating you through your skin. You had to push away the memory of how his hands felt along your waist, in your hair, his lips on your throat. He was just a guy. There were plenty of other men you could sleep with or date who weren’t part of your brother’s friend group. You owed it to Bob not to get in the way any more than you already had. 

Even if Jake was standing in the kitchen looking at you like he wanted to consume you. Even if you felt your legs trembling at the thought of his tongue roaming over your core like it had that night. 

You straightened up and looked directly into Jake’s eyes, willing yourself to be difficult. Hard. “I don’t think so,” you whispered. “I know. Now if you don’t mind. I want to get this to Bobby before he pukes on the carpet like a cat.” 

You pushed past Jake, heart beating rapidly. A minute later, as you knelt down next to the couch, you heard the gentle clang of the door shutting closed, followed by a car engine roaring to life outside. 

Bob was asleep on the couch, glasses askew. You removed them, setting them on the nearby table along with the glass of water. Without thinking, you made your way to the window, peering out from behind the curtains. 

Jake was sitting in his truck in the driveway, lights on, but not moving. You pulled the drapes closed, shutting him out. 

***

You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel of Bob’s truck and groaned. This was your third interview that you had bombed in as many days. The first had been for a store manager of a women’s boutique on First Ave. The second had been for a barista job and the third for a bartending position on North Island. Bob had been pissed about that third one, but you needed money. 

“You have a degree,” Bob argued as you folded a pile of laundry on the floor of the living room. “From a good university. Put it to use, Y/N.” 

“Don’t you think I’m trying?” you asked, exasperated. “Nobody wants a fucking history major. It’s not like I’m going to go work for a Big Four or some land developer. These are the kinds of jobs that will hire me.” 

“You’re better than all of those,” Bob huffed, standing up and shaking his head. “I’ll find you something.” 

“You’re not responsible for me, Bobby,” you argued. “I can take care of myself.” 

“Can you?” 

His words clung in the air. Heavy, like fat raindrops. Those two words sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, out of your lungs. Just a black hole and you were falling. That’s all you seemed to do lately. Fall. Fail. Flail. 

And Bob knew it. 

***

“So you’re from Tennessee?” The guy you were talking to stepped in closer, one hand on the wooden bar behind you, practically boxing you in. But he was cute and when he smiled you felt like he was talking to only you. 

You nodded. “Moved here last month.” 

“So what do you do?” 

You hesitated. There was movement on your periphery and then Bob appeared on your right, face hard behind his wire frames. He took one look at Keith, the guy who had bought your last drink, and his lips practically disappeared into his face as they squeezed into such a tight line. “Fuck off,” Bob growled. Keith looked up, terrified. He spotted Bob’s uniform immediately. 

“Lieutenant Floyd,” Keith said, straightening. 

Bob stepped in closer. He wasn’t as tall as Bradley, or as built as Jake, but he carried a quiet presence that filled a room. It had run off more than one high school boyfriend. Keith looked like the next victim. “Leave,” Bob said and Keith grabbed his beer, scurrying away with nothing more than a grimace. 

You turned your gaze, hot, on Bob. “Seriously?” 

“A fucking ensign?” Bob asked. “No way. I didn’t bring you here so you could let some random Navy guy in your pants.” 

“You didn’t even want to bring me here!” you argued. Bob turned ashen. “I’m only here because you feel bad for me. Poor little Y/N. Has no life, no job, no aspirations. I’m your pathetic little sister. That’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it?” 

“Ducky,” he said, face growing softer. “That’s not true.”

“What if it is?” you whispered, pushing yourself up and off of the bar. 

“Duck.” Bob’s hand shot out and you flung him off, eyes wide. 

Weaving around the bodies that crowded the bar, you skirted the edge of the room, headed for the bathroom. Inside, you put both hands on the sink, letting your head hang low. Just as the tears started to flow, the door opened and you spun around in shock. “Oh!” 

Jake stood in the doorway to the single bathroom. “Shit, sorry, the door wasn’t locked.” 

“It’s fine.” You turned back around, expecting him to leave. 

Instead, you heard the door shut softly, footsteps as Jake stepped near. “Are you OK?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you’re crying in a dirty bar bathroom.” 

You wheeled around. Before you could think, you flung your arms around Jake’s neck, pulling him in close, smashing your lips against his, tasting the beer on his tongue as he walked you back until your hips hit the sink basin, his fingertips tight along your sides. You gasped into his mouth, feeling his lips close around yours, the heat of his hips drilling you back against the counter, his massive muscular arms winding around you, holding you close, the pine scent of his cologne filling your nose as one of his hands threaded into the hair at the back of your head. 

Finally, you pulled back, lips puffy and wet, Jake’s green eyes wide, his mouth pink from kissing. His eyes roamed over your face before he stepped back, his hands falling from your waist. 

“Shit,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“No, you definitely should have done that.” Jake grinned. 

“I have to go,” you murmured, grabbing your purse, trying to skirt around him. 

Jake’s hand reached out, stopping you. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s OK.” 

You turned to look at him, eyes filling back with tears. “Nothing is OK,” you replied quietly, one hand on the door, yanking it open. “In case you didn’t realize, Jake, I’m a mess.” 

You scrambled out the door and back into the boisterous bar before Jake could say anything else. 

***

“Ducky?” Bob’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door was soft. He must have been in the kitchen or living room. “I’m leaving!” 

“OK!” you called back, voice too sharp. 

There was a pause. And then, “I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah!” 

The sound of the front door closing rang out and you sank to the ground, cold tile pressed against your bare feet and the backs of your legs. You could feel your heartbeat thundering in your chest. 

You looked down at the pregnancy test grasped between your clammy fingers. 

And the pink plus sign staring back at you. 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away

[rosesaints]

help wanted ! chapter five.

pairing: miguel o’hara / f!reader

summary: after your ex

rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact)

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of violence towards the end

series masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

You’ve pictured this scene unfolding before you a thousand times since you left that apartment with him.

There were a few scenarios in your head where you stood your ground, played the role of the confident and amazing, ridiculously successful ex-fiancee. They’re the ones you most preferred; walking past him on a busy street with a fully-fledged career, a new blowout, looking better than you ever had before. Saying I’m so much better now that I’m without you.

Of course, there were other scenarios where you caused chaos. Flipping over tables, screaming all your frustrations out on him, making him hurt the way he made you hurt. Relishing in the confusion and hurt and stress that your imaginary self would’ve caused. Not as practical, and a lot more likely to get you on a quick trip to the police station, but it was nice to wonder nonetheless.

Reality is much more somber.

All eyes were on you and at that moment, you didn’t know what the right course of action was. With all of your different scenarios and imaginary confrontations, you hadn’t pictured it coming to fruition so soon. You knew you were grasping for straws, fiddling with time, but you had gotten lost in how weightless you had felt during the past month.

You thought of two pairs of brown eyes across the dining table, crinkling around the edges, laughing as you tried to swallow down milk after their little ghost pepper surprise. You thought of green grass and hot, sunny days and the smiles that would shine down above and below you as you hoisted Gabi into your arms.

They were a factor you didn’t account for—or even expected, in your little scenarios. But somehow, you thought, you would’ve much rather been standing there instead of whatever this was, with your fiancé looking at you expectantly and your parents lost in confusion.

Instead of letting the silence hang further in the room, your fiancé stabs at the moment. “It’s good to see you.”

You resisted the urge to laugh. “ It’s good to see me? That’s what you’re opening with?”

“Well—”

“If you’re here for the ring, it’s gone,” Surprisingly, you remained calm, but there was something bubbling to the surface every second he stood in your living room, taking up space. “I don’t have anything that you would want.”

“I’m… I’m not here for the ring,” He looked sheepish, looking down at your floor shamelessly and you wondered how the hell you were able to stay with him for so long. Here he was, playing the part of the doting and devoted boyfriend gone down a wrong path, here to make amends, but for the first time, you weren’t buying it. He murmurs a silly, stupid pet name he had called you in college. “Come home. I miss you, my parents miss you, and it’s not the same without you.”

For the first time, you looked at your parents. Something rolls around in your chest and you had to keep your composure. As the words left your lips, you couldn’t help the way your voice trembled, however. “Can you give us a minute?”

Your mother looked like she wanted to refuse, to stay and say some choice words about him but you wanted to deal with this on your own. You looked at your dad and he nods, ushering her out.

Once they left, you didn’t bother hiding the flux of emotions that rose up your throat.

“You have no right,” The volume in your voice surprised you, but you didn’t stop. “No right to come back here, and—and asking me to come home. You’re insane. After what you did?”

The more you remembered, the more the red-hot anger threatened to take over. This guy took away your apartment, your career, your dignity, and now he was trying to take away the one singular moment of peace you had had since you graduated. Maybe even since the moment you met him.

“Why are you really here?” You couldn’t help but ask. It was selfish, but you wanted to hear it, to hear the final nail in the coffin and set him loose.

“I know that it’s really sudden and out of the blue, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I broke up with her, she’s gone,” He paused, pondering then, taking his glasses off and rubbing an exasperated hand through his hair. “She couldn’t keep up with her part of the lease, and—” “You’re kidding. You’re fucking kidding,” Unbelievable. Of course, the new, shinier model, you remembered her—-barely out of her freshman year of college—-couldn’t keep up with her side of the rent. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Come on.”

“Don’t ever bother coming around here again,” Without any ceremony, you gestured at the door. “I don’t want to see you ever again. I mean it.”

It felt like forever until he finally left the view of your living room window, rolling out of your street and disappearing into oblivion. There’s a weight that you didn’t even know rested heavily on your shoulders, and you knew that you should’ve felt relieved, or felt proud for handling that the way you did but something lingered, and you suddenly felt so out of place within your house.

At that point, your parents had joined you at your little stoop by the window. Hushed and apologetic explanations fell haphazardly over your deaf ears, “he insisted on talking to you, we tried to get him to leave but you got home before—”

You needed to leave. The overwhelming desire to leave and go somewhere, anywhere, took over and you were picking up your shoes and your bag and your car keys and rushing out of the door before you could fully process what happened, what exactly took over you in that moment.

Outside, you thought, that it should have been raining. It should have been pouring cats and dogs, thunder and lightning all around you, but instead, there was a sky full of stars. The rain would’ve been fitting, it would’ve paired well with whatever was brewing inside you, but all you were met with was an incomparable silence, a bright night sky, and the sleepy lull of your hometown.

You wanted to get out of it.

You had never, ever, wanted to force yourself out of this homey, suburban image. So you hopped into the car. It’s a scene straight out of a rom-com (minus the rain), and you would’ve resented the comparison, but then you were sobbing and screaming along to some cheesy breakup mix, something from thirty years ago and driving around without anywhere to go.

There were a few stops along your little impromptu road trip, a gas station, a Target (walking around aimlessly was admittedly, very therapeutic despite the stares you got for going around fifteen minutes before they closed), and your old high school. It all felt wrong.

None of it felt as right as when you reached for your phone, typed in  Miguel O’Hara, and pressed call.

It only rang once, twice before he picked up. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“H–Hey. I’m just,” You choked out a sob, despite trying so, so hard to keep it together. “I just wanted to… to check in on Gabi. See if she got to bed without any—any issues. She’s been having some trouble going to sleep, so, so I just wanted to… to make sure.”

You heard a pause from the other line, some shuffling, and then his voice became clearer. He said your name, soft and gentle and it made your shoulders relax. “Is everything okay?”

The question should’ve been simple, and on any other day, you wished that you could’ve responded like you usually did, all lazy smiles and easy confidence while the sunlight bore down on you on those mornings when you made him stay in bed a little bit longer. You realized then, that you wanted to come home. “No. No, I don’t think’s everything okay.”

“Hey,” Miguel’s voice reverberated throughout your dark car. “Lo que sea que esté mal, podemos hablarlo. Tú y yo.” Whatever's wrong, we can talk about it. You and me.

“Can I come over?” An exhausted laugh escaped you then. “It’s a long story.”

“Of course,” There was no doubt or hesitation. Just Miguel. “Do you want me to come get you from your house? It’s pretty late.”

Suddenly, you were hit with the realization that you were probably a good fifteen or twenty miles away. “I’m actually—um. I hopped into my car and I’m fine, don’t worry, but I can be there soon. Just give me some time.”

You could hear him rustle, abrupt static coming through your speaker as you heard him stand up. Worried. “Are you sure? Where are you?”

“Yeah. I promise. I’m just a few minutes away, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” Even through the phone, you could picture him, running a hand through his hair. “Could you send me your location, just in case? I just want to make sure you get back safely.”

With some more reassurance on your part to Miguel, you sent over your location and said goodbye with the promise to see him again soon. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Swear.” When your hands touched the sides of your steering wheel, is when you finally let yourself fall apart, resolved to let it all out and get it out of the way before you saw him.

It must have been close to midnight when you finally drove into your street, quietly and carefully pulling into your driveway before making the trip just a couple steps over to the O’Hara house.

Before your hand could even reach the door to knock, it was opening in a flurry, and you were suddenly face-to-face with a very concerned Miguel. There were lines on his face you’d never noticed before and a curl in his eyebrows that you wanted to crease away.

This time, it was different. There was no rushed and hasty pretense to pull you in by your waist, peppering you with kisses, and pulling you into his bed. Instead, he’s wrapping you up in a hug you didn’t know you sorely needed, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he visibly relaxed in your arms.  

You were aware that you probably looked crazy, besides yourself and having broken down multiple times in the few hours you had been away from them. “I’m sorry,” You croaked out weakly, but Miguel was quick to shut down any of that.

“Don’t be,” He murmured into your hair, and it was so easy. So easy to lose yourself in the vibrato and timbre of his voice, to forget what just transpired in your own house. “Come in. It’s cold.”

Your shoes went where they usually rested, next to his and Gabi's near the doorway.

The house was quiet, and you were glad for the silence, listening around you to check that Gabi was asleep. You didn’t want her to see you at your lowest point, not after the nerve-filled day that she had already had. She was a sensitive kid, and way too smart for her own good, and you didn’t think you could’ve kept it together with her and Miguel in the same room.

It was easy to sink down onto the couch, even easier to lay your legs over his and look up at the ceiling in defeat. The moment felt unusually intimate, and a hopeful, most likely foolish part of you internally remarked that coming home to this wouldn’t be so bad, wouldn’t have minded doing this for years, but you brushed that thought aside, just content to sit there for a while.

Then you were breathing out a deep sigh that had been begging to be released the whole night since you left your house in a haze, and then the words were tumbling out, clumsy and unprepared off your lips as you began. “My ex-fiancé came by today.”

You didn’t dare to look over at him, afraid and apprehensive of what you would see, so you kept going.

“He came by and he asked me to… to come home,” A pause. “And I just couldn’t do it.”

“When we ended things, I thought, oh my god. My life is over. Just hours after graduation and I was out of a fiancé, a home, a career,” You let out a hoarse, dry laugh. “He got me blacklisted from the Daily Bugle. He took everything from me and then it was just like, I had to get everything figured out right away, to just rebound and resurface and come up so quickly.”

“I was able to forget about it and to push it down, and it finally felt like I could breathe again, and then he came by and really just,” You mimicked an explosion with your hands, then you dropped them by your sides in loss. You felt embarrassed with your rambling, but when you finally mustered up the courage to look over at him, eyes drifting to his with uncertainty, all you saw was anger. A seething anger that loomed dangerously close to engulfing him. “I felt really lost.”

Your words hung in the air, and Miguel deliberated on them, meticulously weighing his replies. Finally, he spoke, his words coming out ragged and barely contained. “Did he leave?”

“Eventually. Not without any fuss, but he’s gone.”

“Good,” Miguel’s eyes searched yours for any hurt, softening when he saw none, offering a gentle smile that spoke volumes of relief and reassurance, but there was an edge to the next thing he said. “We’ll keep it that way.”

A question had been lingering at the forefront of your mind, patiently waiting for the opportune moment to be asked. So you seized it. “How did you juggle it all? How did you just… know your place in life and get it all figured out?”

“Well, for starters, a lot of self-reflection and time,” He shook his head, almost like he was in disbelief. “It wasn’t too long ago, and I was scared shitless after graduation and I didn’t know what to do.” Despite yourself, you had a hard time believing him. Miguel was one of those people who just seemed like they were born to be a parent, with every careful and overwhelmingly supportive touch of his actions with Gabi. It was something that you had admired, a sense of purpose, and just true, undeniable belonging. “ Nuh uh. The Miguel O’Hara, genius geneticist, incredible father, one hell of a little league coach, didn’t know what to do?”

“Shut up,” He grinned at you, with no malice seeping off his words. The next thing he said was more gentle, more genuine. “But yeah, it… it took me a while. I was so angry for a long time. I didn’t really give too much of a damn about anything. When I graduated, I thought that there was only one path for me, and I was just this overly ambitious, uncaring jerk with nothing else going for him than science.”

“It was all I had. Until I had Gabi.”

You eyed the photos along the wall, of Gabi and Miguel in various states of suspended happiness and you realized, in every single photo that you had seen without her, there was something missing. Miguel often looked mismatched and lost, until she came along.

“Alchemax wanted me to imprint genetic codes into human physiology. It was experimental, groundbreaking technology and we were on the very precipice of it,” Miguel looked down at his hands, searching for something that was long gone.“I could’ve been famous, fuck , maybe even won a Nobel Prize. But then I thought of Gabi and it just couldn’t compare. I wouldn’t trade a single thing to come home to this every night.”

The next thing he said made your heart leap out of your chest.

“Your plans will get derailed. People will come and go through your life, but sometimes, sometimes you just have to let things happen. Let people crash and burn your plans. Who gives a shit about what’s meant to be anyway?”

“Just do what you want.”

It was quiet while you digested the impact of his words, and without even thinking, your hands reached across the couch to interlock with his. From the corners of your eyes, you could see the faint outline of his shoulders coming undone, his hands confidently and easily clasping yours with just as much clarity. You let them remain there, and it felt right.

“I guess now, I should add an amazing motivational speaker to the list—”

Your name falls off his lips in teasing disbelief. “That’s what you take from my whole spiel?”

“Hmm. That wasn’t all I took from it.”

The next time he said your name was like a revelation, like gospel. His eyes searched yours, and somehow you knew.

And then you closed the gap between the two of you, hands reaching for him like absolution to a sinner. He’s gasping your name once more , hot breath fanning your face and then he was grasping the skin of your thighs and pulling you on top of him, groaning as you slotted in perfectly on his lap.

You writhed on top of him, moaning in barely concealed satisfaction as he deepened the kiss, cupping your face like he couldn’t bear to let go of you. When you pulled back, his eyes are completely dark with desire, pupils dilated and lashes falling heavily onto his high cheekbones, regarding you with so much admiration and need.

Those eyes.

His hands were everywhere then, on your thighs, your waist, your neck, your chest. You could feel him beginning to roam the outskirts of your shirt, teasing and playing with the hem. A ragged sigh of relief forced itself from somewhere inside you when he finally bunched up the fabric and touched your skin, hands reaching around your back to undo the clasp and then your lips were returning clumsily to his, biting and suckling on his bottom lip and relishing in the almost pained, but deeply attractive growl that left him.

You kept your eyes locked intently on his while you helped him with removing your top, fingers going over his, watching as his gaze shifted from your eyes to somewhere lower. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces, dulce niña.”

You wanted him, all of him , couldn’t stand to go even a second without it, and then you were pulling his shirt up in turn, breath catching in your throat when you felt how warm he was, enjoying the sculpted terrain of his chest and abdomen as his hands went to yours once again, pressing you closer to him.

“Do you want this? I need to hear you say it, cariño , want you to tell me how much you want it.”

You were nodding, half-delirious and it wasn’t even a question, without any doubts and you told him exactly how you wanted him.“Yes—yes, please, please, I just want you . Need you inside.”

There was no grace or patience in the way you both hastily peeled the rest of each other’s clothes off, and then there was the slow drag of his cock against your folds, teasing you, letting the anticipation hang further in the air just to torture you a little bit more—until you were practically begging for it.

“Shit, baby,” Miguel groaned lowly into your ear when his attempts to enter you were hindered by the wet squelch of your pussy as he tried to bottom out. “You gotta relax for me a bit, okay? Don’t know how much longer I can hold out with you like this for me.”

All you could do was nod mindlessly, trying your hardest to stifle the urge to just sink down, and with a gasp, you jerked forward, eyes widening in pure, unadulterated pleasure as you took all of him inside. Miguel gasped, reaching for your hips.

This was so different from all of your previous rendezvous with him. You weren’t complaining, not with the view below you of Miguel falling apart inside you.

“Look at me,” In this light, Miguel looked downright heavenly, eyes drifting between you and where you were connected with him, murmuring his agreement. Anything, anything you want. You sat in delicious realization as you had the reins. “Don’t look away.”

It was unspoken and evident in the warmth and desire he followed your words closely, never once breaking eye contact. I’m all yours.

You began rolling your hips in earnest, starting off slow and cautiously with up-and-down movements, your hands gripping his shoulders for stability as you teased him, almost mocked him similarly to the way he’d edge you in past times, making you feel every depth of him and forcing you to stay stuck in his pace.

Suffice to say, while you had learned the tolerance and patience of playing this long game with him, biding your time, Miguel was very close to falling apart.

There was no telling how long your sickly sweet torture of him lasted, gushing and clenching around him to the point that he had to lay his head back on the head of the sofa, breathing heavily and closing his eyes at the feeling of you around him.

You could’ve done this all day, watching intently as the vein connecting his shoulder and neck throbbed with need, but then he was slurring endless praise for you to keep going, to use him just how you wanted him. You almost felt bad, until you began rocking faster so suddenly that it must’ve given him whiplash, effectively ending the prolonged

“ Dios. Don’t stop, please, gatita—”

His hand snaked in between your legs, pressing hard against the hood of your clit and then you were coming around him, whiteness bursting across your vision as you moaned and writhed on top of him, riding out the throes of your pleasure.

You slumped, but you remained on top of him there, far, far from over.

“Miguel, ‘m tired, help me,” The next words that left your lips were foreign, but it was also the clearest inclination that you had ever felt the whole night. “Want to feel you cum inside.”

Miguel froze below you as if assessing the weight of your words. “Are you sure?”

“Please. I want to feel it.”

How could he have possibly said no to that?

The next course of events that transpired was enough to make your brain short-circuit, as the hands on your hips fell to your ass, more demanding, reclaiming the control that was rightfully his. Another pause, The way he kissed you was so gentle, you were almost lulled into a false sense of security—but then he was slamming into you with the force of his whole body, his hips touching up and hitting something within you that made you see stars.

Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god—-fuck.

“You think,” He growled out through gritted teeth, moving from your lips to the side of your neck and sinking in with teeth that felt so much sharper. “You can just get away with saying something like that? Like it wouldn’t do something to me?”

He tutted, shaking his head and meeting your eyes with the same confidence and danger that he had shown you from across the bar during that first night. “No, no. That just won’t—God, fuck,” Miguel’s head was thrown back when you moaned around him, unable to respond with coherent words. “That just won’t do.”

“I’m going to make you feel me for days .”

You whimpered, keeling under his touch as you let him fulfill his promise, merely going along for the ride and realizing, no, you were never fully in control in the first place.  

His hips began to stutter as he plowed his hips against yours a few more times, each thrust growing progressively sloppy and uncontrolled, moaning out your name and other things you couldn’t possibly comprehend in your dazed state. “You rode me so good, yeah? Going to show you just how grateful I am.”

When you felt the warmth spreading around you, all-consuming and so, so right, you thanked whatever lied in the heavens above you for leading you to him.

You laid in his arms, content and sated and giddy with happiness as he rode out the rest of his orgasm, his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder.

The room felt hot and heavy. The two of you were fucked out, your breaths intermingling with his own as you rested your forehead on top of his, smiling in a tired way that he was elated to reflect. “Let’s go to bed.”

Miguel found it hard to leave.

He insisted on tucking you into bed, despite your tired insistence that you could stay awake. His hands roamed the soft fabric of his shirt that you were now wearing. Sleep came to you easily, resting with a content smile as you faced him with only mere inches separating the two of you on his vast, California King bed, the day’s troubles slowly wearing off your form in lines as you rested into a deep slumber.

It was two in the morning, and most places were already shut down, all except for one. And he knew he had to do something.

See, he lied to you earlier. His anger never quite, fully went away, just lingered beneath the surface. Waiting.

And it surged at the mention of what your ex-fiancé had done. It rippled when he heard your voice, unsure and lost, through the speaker of his phone, threatened to boil over when he listened to the full extent of just how he ruined your prospects and learned the full reason for why you were back home.

He tried his best to hide the way his fists clenched at his side, figured that maybe it was best to let bygones be bygones and let you handle it, but then he saw the way you had curled into yourself on his couch, on the verge of breaking.

Now, that just wouldn’t do.

Sometimes, Miguel made concessions for his actions. There were times when he let his anger fester and seep into his consciousness in rare, opportune moments and he knew that when it did, there was no stopping what he was about to do.

He convinced himself that he had pushed down that part of himself a long time ago,  abandoned along with his ambitions at the first floor of Alchemax, but it drove him to the same bar you met him anyway, watching from across the street as your ex-fiancé pounded back shots with two women draped across his shoulders.

The recognition rang true in his mind as he reminisced on some of your mother’s Facebook posts about the two of you. It was him, no doubt about it.

Miguel looked at himself in the mirror then and allowed himself the time to reconsider, to drive back to his house where you and Gabi remained asleep, blissfully unaware of what he was about to do.

He saw your ex-fiancé laugh, victorious and unassuming, and decided in that split second that there was no going back. Not for you.

It was too easy to lure the guy into an alleyway with the false pretense of  fucking drugs —-and on a regular occasion, he would’ve laughed about how cliche it all was, how stupid this guy was for following him into danger—-but he had a greater goal to accomplish.

Miguel didn’t feel any remorse as he watched his target crumple to the ground, wheezing and shielding his hands up to him, and that’s when Miguel laughed as if that would have possibly done anything to stop what he was about to do.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I don’t know who… who you think I am but I’m from out of town, you’ve got the wrong guy—”

“Oh, I think I’ve got just the right one,” His voice grew lower, his mocking laugh dying off the edge of his tongue as he tilted his head at the simpering mess beneath him. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

His desperate attempts and pathetic pleas to get him to stop fell on deaf ears as Miguel continued, cool and composed, barely breaking a sweat even as he delivered more blows upon him.

“Go home. Fix yourself up. Get her that internship back, along with anything else you could’ve possibly lost her, or I swear,” He forced your ex-fiancé to look up at him then, and lets his words hang menacingly in the air. Doesn’t feel anything as he sputters out an agreement through raspy breaths. “You’ll have a lot worse coming for you.”

Miguel stopped at his office on the way home, stripping off the remnants of his actions and washing off the blood that had accumulated on his hands and beneath his fingernails. He made sure to be meticulous, fixing the collar of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves as he pulled out of the parking lot and put in directions to a 24-hour diner he knew that you and Gabi adored.

He ordered a dozen doughnuts and a breakfast pizza for all of you to share in the morning, leaving a hefty tip as he pushed out of the drive-through and headed home.

The house was still as he left it, carefully peeling off his shoes and placing them next to yours as he made his way to the kitchen, setting down your breakfast for the next day and fixing up two quick glasses of water for himself and for you before he made his way upstairs.

When he pushed the door open, his breath caught in his throat.

It seemed, that in the time he was gone, Gabi must’ve had a nightmare. There were some nights where, despite her best attempts to act grown-up and mature, she would still make her way to his room and would huddle close to him in the dark.

Gabi had migrated to his bed in search of him but instead found you. Your arms lazily draped over her, fingers still caught combing through her hair as one of Gabi’s bedtime books lied abandoned next to the two of you, fast asleep and snoring softly as they waited for him to come back.

In that instant, Miguel knew that he was in deep, deep trouble. He was screwed, there was no other way about it. It was you. It had been you, all along, all this time.

[beemovieerotica]

saw a post cross my dash about how transman / transwoman without a space in between is a terf dog whistle and i want to maybe stress that language is constantly in flux and to remind people that we are (again) in a bubble of very particular awareness/preferences

there are gender studies, medical, and sociology journals that still the non-spaced punctuation as of 2023/2024, if you see someone doing this then i wouldn't immediately assume they have bad intentions.

[monarch-of-jack]

I might be the only one here. But the reason I feel conflicted when I see people shipping and sexualizing Aspec characters, is because I don't trust most of you to be respectful about it. Not to mention some of you straight up arent.

Yes, Aspecs are an incredibly diverse group of people. I KNOW. I've been in their circles for well over 10 years. But do you all really care about that?

If you don't, then you're really just using it as an excuse to ignore their identities.

Let me make it very clear that I support exploring ALL the nuanced ways that someone can be Aspec. We are so much more varied than just sex-repulsed Aces and romance-repulsed Aros. (Though those are still valid experiences, don't shit on them!)

There are Allosexual Aromantics. There are Alloromantic Asexuals. Aspecs in Queerplatonic Relationships. Grey-Aspecs, Demi-Aspecs, Oriented AroAces, Cupio-, Flux-, Lith-, Fray-, Recipro- Aego-, and a million other types of Aspecs. It's a huge spectrum.

And orientation doesn't equal action. There are sex/romance favorable Aspecs. There are kinky & kink favorable Aspecs. Aces that have and have had sex for whatever reason. Aros that are and have been in romantic relationships for whatever reason. Maybe they felt pressured. Maybe they were experimenting. Maybe they were still finding themselves. Maybe they were forced. Maybe they do it for their partner. Maybe they do it for money or their image. Maybe they just like it despite lacking attraction. Aspecs are people. They are all different and all equally valid in how they live their lives.

A character being Aspec literally just means they're lacking attraction in one way or another. So there's still endless possibilities in creating canon and fanon for them.

But are most of you really shipping characters like Alastor, Peridot, Jughead and co. as Aspecs, or are you looking for excuses to disregard their identity?

Have you actually educated yourself about their identities so you can portrait them accurately and respectfully? Are you infantilizing and patronizing them or make them act stupid? Do you make them pitiful, antisocial, or 'difficult to deal with'? Are you arguing with Aspec people when they point out something is problematic? Are you accepting input from Aspec people? Do you explain that you're shipping/sexualizing that Aspec character because of your specific headcanon or AU? Do you get angry if you have to clarify that after the fact? If you as an Allo, ship or sexualize Aspec characters, do you really do it with them still being Aspec?

The thing is, you can. But a lot of you don't. And that's why Aspec people react defensifely.

We have little to no representation in the media as it is. And yet you're annoyed when we ask you not to diminish or erase their identities.

I want to see Aspecs in all kinds of situations and with all sorts of preferences. But way too many of you are ready to shit on Aspec identities to get your fanon out.

I could go on for days about this. But the fact that some of you will get angy that I even made this post is exactly what I'm talking about.

[gender-trash]

how did you learn how to solder? is it something someone can teach themself?

my dad taught me when i was 7 so unfortunately i have damn near zero useful advice for you :( PROBABLY you can teach yourself from, like, youtube...? its not that hard though; 7 year old me was a dipshit so if they can do it you can too

uhh, it'll go easier if you have a halfway decent temperature controlled soldering iron (i use a Weller and it cost $120 iirc) and use leaded solder + flux. i also like to use small conical tips rather than the chisel tips my soldering iron came with, but thats really down to personal preference. touch the iron to the pins + pads and melt solder onto the pad, not the iron directly. if you used too much solder you can use solder wick dipped in flux to schlorp it off. masking tape helps a lot for fixturing things while you solder. my favorite trick for header pins is to stick the part + pins in a solderless breadboard while you work, but if thats not an option, tack solder just the ends of the header so you can reheat + wiggle it around as needed easily. use shrink tubing + hot air pencil to conceal your sins when soldering wires together. i think thats all the soldering tips i have

[penny-anna]

for me personally Moffat's run had a big dip in the middle in terms of quality but i actually prefer its vibes to RTD Who. s5 is prolly still to date my fav series of nuwho & s10 was a major return to form. i also know plenty of people who enjoyed Moffat's entire run without reservations so u know!! my experience is not universal.

Chibnall Who i thought took a little longer than previous eras to find its footing but it did get there. Flux was an absolute blast. the whole era also has a lot of A++ design work, I really like how (unlike the previous 2 eras) it's not afraid of just embracing classic who's creature designs. Thirteen is also a good friend of mine's favourite Doctor & the era had a pretty devoted f/f fanbase from the outset.

during the aforementioned conversation w my coworker about dr who she mentioned that she's just caught up on Chibnall Who and really enjoyed it and actually found The Star Beast to be a let down in comparison. there are myriad Doctor Who opinions & experiencees out there!!

[killingick]

“—Can I get an Amen?”

Bendy and the ink Machine

Ink Demon Headcanons

TW: NSFW MENTIONS, MENTIONS OF SADISM, HEARING VOICES

Now before we progress, I am aware that this man isn’t friends with Boris and Alice in the actual game, and that he very much wants Alice dead and very much wants to reconstruct Boris. So i guess this is an au? Because they’re friends in this.

ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

✞ The ink demon isn't one to speak. His lips won't part to make utterances but you will always hear him; Like a demonic flux of voices swirling themselves around your head.

✞ When he has something he wants to say, only who he wants to be heard by will hear him.

✞ You might look daft babbling out responses to the ink covered demon, but only those who've spoken to Bendy will realise he's talking to you.

✞ He has quite the temper.

✞ He won't say anything about him being pissed off, but you will feel him.

✞ Be it by an army of deformed creatures dragging you to the depths of the workshop, so he can punish you for the foreign emotion you've made him feel, or by putting you into a state of shock.

✞ He'll make the ink from the soup you'd generously consumed, crawl it's way into your brain and put you into an intense amount of pain until he finds you and deals with you himself.

✞ God have mercy on anyone who tries to get in his way.

ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

✞ The ink demon is extremely possessive.

✞ He can come across as sadistic when trying to keep what's his to himself.

✞ Whilst you’re wandering the floors below with Henry, he'll always be watching. Nails tapping harshly at the desk as he tries to remain calm, knowing your job is to lure the lone follower to him. But his patience can run thin very quickly.

✞ Whenever you leave the workshop, which he doesn't really like, he will send you letters, signed off from "Joey Drew."

✞ Usually saying to come down to the work shop for whatever made up reason that sounds believable.

✞ He knows you'll always read through the lines of course, and take his letters as his way of saying he misses you.

✞ He's not one for PDA's, the most he'll do is cup your chin with his fingers, forcing your gaze to meet his own whilst he strokes a finger over the soft flesh of your cheek bone.

✞ He prefers to love in private.

✞ Beckoning you to sit on his lap whilst his hands explore your body like a sacred piece of treasure, littering kisses up the skin of your neck and cherishing every little sound that escapes your lips like a lullaby, further feeding his addiction for the mortal being that is yourself.

✞ That desire for you being displayed at most when he has you beneath him; nails dragging along his back whilst you scream his name.

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

✞ How you came to fall for someone like Bendy always confuses Alice and Boris.

✞ For such a sweet person, you've come to love such a vile creature and it's baffling.

✞ Boris has always taken a lighter approach when describing Bendy; depicting him as just being lost and scared, not really understanding what he's doing and desperately wanting help, which he keeps on denying.

✞ Alice thinks he's just an upright selfish asshole.

✞ He'll damn near start a riot to get what he wants, and the way he becomes so fixated on the littlest things is just irritating for her.

✞ Despite this, deep down he still knows how to care. He just can't help what the foreign liquid does to him.

✞ Friends are family to him, and he will look out and provide for them as best he can.

✞ But when things don't go right he gets irritated and takes it out on himself.

✞ Only growing more infuriated when Alice starts lecturing him.

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

✞ The ink demon stands at about 7'1.

✞ When angry, ink will leak from his pores, coating his flesh in the dark substance.

✞ He doesn't really eat a lot.

✞ He should, but it's not something his body relies on.

✞ He likes it when you bring him snacks though, he'll always appreciate it deep down, with that never ending smile on his face reflecting his appreciation.

✞ As a result of the ink's effect, he often hears voices which he easily gives in to.

✞ They'll beckon him to do their bidding and corrupt everything around him.

[lunchboxpoems]

PRISM

1. Who can say what the world is? The world is in flux, therefore unreadable, the winds shifting, the great plates invisibly shifting and changing–

2. Dirt. Fragments of blistered rock. On which the exposed heart constructs a house, memory: the gardens manageable, small in scale, the beds damp at the sea’s edge–

3. As one takes in an enemy, through these windows one takes in the world:

here is the kitchen, here is the darkened study.

Meaning: I am master here.

4. When you fall in love, my sister said, it’s like being struck by lightning.

She was speaking hopefully, to draw the attention of the lightning.

I reminded her that she was repeating exactly our mother’s formula, which she and I

had discussed in childhood, because we both felt that what we were looking at in the adults

were the effects not of lightning but of the electric chair.

5. Riddle: Why was my mother happy?

Answer: She married my father.

6. “You girls,” my mother said, “should marry someone like your father.”

That was one remark. Another was, “There is no one like your father.”

7. From the pierced clouds, steady lines of silver.

Unlikely yellow of the witch hazel, veins of mercury that were the paths of the rivers–

Then the rain again, erasing footprints in the damp earth.

8. The implication was, it was necessary to abandon childhood. The word “marry” was a signal. You could also treat it as aesthetic advice; the voice of the child was tiresome, it had no lower register. The word was a code, mysterious, like the Rosetta stone. It was also a roadsign, a warning. You could take a few things with you like a dowry. You could take the part of you that thought. “Marry” meant you should keep that part quiet.

9. A night in summer. Outside, sounds of a summer storm. Then the sky clearing. In the window, constellations of summer.

I’m in a bed. This man and I, we are suspended in the strange calm sex often induces. Most sex induces. Longing, what is that? Desire, what is that?

In the window, constellations of summer. Once, I could name them.

10. Abstracted shapes, patterns. The light of the mind. The cold, exacting fires of disinterestedness, curiously

blocked by earth, coherent, glittering in air and water,

the elaborate signs that said now plant, now harvest–

I could name them, I had names for them: two different things.

11. Fabulous things, stars.

When I was a child, I suffered from insomnia. Summer nights, my parents permitted me to sit by the lake; I took the dog for company.

Did I say “suffered”? That was my parents’ way of explaining tastes that seemed to them inexplicable: better “suffered” than “preferred to live with the dog.”

Darkness. Silence that annulled mortality. The tethered boats rising and falling. When the moon was full, I could sometimes read the girls’ names painted to the sides of the boats: Ruth Ann, Sweet Izzy, Peggy My Darling–

They were going nowhere, those girls. There was nothing to be learned from them.

I spread my jacket in the damp sand, The dog curled up beside me. My parents couldn’t see the life in my head; when I wrote it down, they fixed the spelling.

Sounds of the lake. The soothing, inhuman sounds of water lapping the dock, the dog scuffing somewhere in the weeds–

12. The assignment was to fall in love. The details were up to you. The second part was to include in the poem certain words, words drawn from a specific text on another subject altogether.

13. Spring rain, then a night in summer. A man’s voice, then a woman’s voice.

You grew up, you were struck by lightning. When you opened your eyes, you were wired forever to your true love.

It only happened once. Then you were taken care of, your story was finished.

It happened once. Being struck by lightning was like being vaccinated; the rest of your life you were immune, you were warm and dry.

Unless the shock wasn’t deep enough. Then you weren’t vaccinated, you were addicted.

14. The assignment was to fall in love. The author was female. The ego had to be called the soul.

The action took place in the body. Stars represented everything else: dreams, the mind, etc.

The beloved was identified with the self in a narcissistic projection. The mind was the subplot. It went nattering on.

Time was experienced less as narrative than ritual. What was repeated had weight.

Certain endings were tragic, thus acceptable. Everything else was failure.

15. Deceit. Lies. Embellishments we call hypotheses–

There were too many roads, to many versions. There were too many roads, not one path–

And at the end?

16. List the implications of “crossroads.”

Answer: a story that will have a moral.

Give a counter-example:

17. The self ended and the world began. They were of equal size, commensurate, one mirrored the other.

18. The riddle was: why couldn’t we live in the mind.

The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

19. The room was quiet. That is, the room was quiet, but the lovers were breathing.

In the same way, the night was dark. It was dark, but the stars shone.

The man in bed was one of several men to whom I gave my heart. The gift of the self, that is without limit. Without limit, though it recurs.

The room was quiet. It was an absolute, like the black night.

20. A night in summer. Sounds of a summer storm. The great plates invisibly shifting and changing–

And in the dark room, the lovers sleeping in each other’s arms.

We are, each of us, the one who wakens first, who stirs first and sees, there in the first dawn, the stranger.

LOUISE GLUCK