#so I’ve written this on the basis that you haven’t read it

[cosmoshunger]

HEY. help me. can you describe aftg to me with as little spoilers as possible

The main character is a boy on the run called Neil Josten. He gets an offer to join a famous collegiate sports team called the Palmetto State Foxes and he can’t resist accepting even though he knows the fame will be dangerous for him. (The sport in question is a made-up sport called exy. It’s explained just enough that you can follow along the matches and get excited about strategy, but since the sport kind of takes a back seat to the other stuff going on, it doesn’t spend too much time going through rules and stuff.) The Foxes are infamous because they’re a kind of rehabilitation team - the coach recruits players from difficult backgrounds to give them a second chance through exy. Because of this the characters are all damaged people who do shitty things, and as they delve into the backstories of various team members MANY TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY. In the vaguest way so as not to spoil anything, the main conflict is that the world of exy has…a lot of connections to Neil’s life before he went on the run, which puts him even more at risk.

Essentially it’s this messy combination of sports and thriller and messed up found family that somehow works just enough to keep you really invested. It’s not perfect and it has more than its fair share of problematic elements, so you kind of have to go into it with as few expectations as possible and just sort of go along with it until it clicks. Boy is it fun though.

[littleadaline]

Hold Me [P.G8]

Warnings: academic overwhelm, reader isn’t coping well with the stress, Pedri being a (hopefully) helpful partner. Fluuuuuff ✨

A/N: wrote this during my midterms, basically how I felt going through the sleepless nights of studying, keep in mind I have ✨ADHD✨, so my retention can often be resumed to….shit 😽😽

A/N (again): I’m publishing this at 1:12 AM, clearly shouldn’t, but I’ve been too eager lmaoo. Um.. I haven’t written in a year or two, so bear with me. I’ll try to post on a somewhat regular basis, but being a Uni student, my schedule is a bit hectic. Love 😽

———————————————————————

Everything felt dull. The birds had stopped singing, the sky wasn’t as bright, the wind was colder. You huffed as you woke up, not ready to go through another day of this. Pedri had already left for training, leaving you alone in the flat. You sighed, turning over to grab your phone, chuckling as you saw the messages he had sent you while you were asleep.

[Mi amor:]

Thinking of you 😘 Good luck with studying today! I’ll grab us food on the way back xx

You answer his message before making your way to the bathroom, ready to get on with your day. As you take a quick glance in the mirror, you can’t help but notice your sulked face, your tired eyes from hours of staring at your computer, tirelessly trying to understand the concept of your class. You were currently studying for your finals, something that had been consuming your entire life, barely leaving space for extracurricular activities or just, breathing. Pedri had noticed the toll it had taken on you, on your couple, seeing your date nights pushed aside for a quick study attempt. You couldn’t lie, some days you had regretted pursuing a higher education degree. A notification from your phone pulled you away from your thoughts.

[Mi amor:]

Training is done, but I’m gonna go out with the boys for a bit. I should be back in 3 hours. Are you in the mood for a poke bowl, cariño?

You let him know before heading to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. As you bit through your toast, you glanced around the room. Your books and textbooks were splattered across the dining table, your pencils scattered around the room, either having fell down the table or thrown in a fit of rage. You sighed, putting down your coffee mug on the table. You knew you had to clean up your mess, not wanting Pedri to see the flat in this state. But something was preventing you from picking up your books, your scattered pencils, and the hundreds-if not thousands of Post It’s on the floor. In an attempt to pump yourself up, you sat down on the dinner table, a twinkle of hope in your eyes. You opened up your computer, your eyes glancing at the revision document. Word after word, after word, after word. Your brain barely read out the sentences, before you felt a ball in your throat, a feeling of helplessness overcoming you. Overwhelmed, you sat down on the cold floor of the flat, defeated. Why? “Why can’t I pick up after myself? Why am I so shut down?”, you muttered to yourself. You were nervously playing with the hem of your sweater, clenching and unclenching your fists, your breathing rapidly increasing. You found yourself overwhelmed; by the repetitive clinging of the washing machine you had previously started, the neighbours’ crying baby, the children playing in the park below the apartment. Everything felt too bright, too loud, too much. Exhausted, you let the tears out, longing for some sort of relief, more emotional than physical. You rolled yourself into a ball, sobs hidden by the noise of your neighbourhood.

Outside this flat, no one knew about the mental exhaustion you had pushed yourself to. The restless nights, staring at the ceiling while Pedri snored peacefully next to you; the times you silently cried in the shower as your soul broke from the pressure. There was no denying it, the academic pressure had broken your soul, left it torn into shreds, your confidence down the drain. Between the sobs, you didn’t hear the front door open. You quickly wiped down the tears before scurrying to the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

“Cariño, I’m home!”, a soft knock came from the door. You sniffled, rather loudly. “Is everything alright?”, his voice grew concerned.

You looked in the mirror, your eyes widening in horror as you saw how red they were. “Shit, shit shit,” you said dabbing some cold water around your eyes. Pedri knocked a second time, harder. “Open the door please, I’m concerned about you.”

Left without a choice, you reluctantly opened the door. Pedri was standing there, his figure towering over you, his eyebrows were knitted in worry, his lips slightly agape. His hair was slightly stuck to his forehead, most probably due to the sweat from training.

“Nena, what’s going on? Did something happen?”, he said as he took your hand and led you out of the bathroom. “C’mere.”

Settling down on the couch, your body over his, you closed your eyes; for fear of breaking down in front of him. You felt one hand settle on your back, while the other settled on top of your head. In an attempt to soothe you, he began stroking your back. You felt your body relax to his touch, your worries melting away into nothingness. Pedri was your anchor, in all the aspects possible. Whenever you were sick, or tired, overwhelmed or angry, you knew you could find solace in his arms. You don’t remember what exactly happened after sitting on the couch, but you woke up to a different scenery. The sun had set down, leaving Barcelona enveloped by a cold darkness. The apartment had been tidied up, windows closed, blinds drawn, your books neatly packed on the bookshelf, your Post It’s picked up from the floor, your pencils back into their container. All the lights were turned off, the only source of luminosity being the candle Pedri had lit up in the kitchen; almond vanilla, your favorite. Confused, you sat up.

“Pepi?”, you said, rubbing the sleep off from your eyes.

Footsteps made you turn around, a freshly showered Pedri looking at you. You saw him disappear into the bathroom before coming back out again, fully dressed and dried up. Before you were able to say anything, he sat down on the spot next to yours. His hand found yours as he fiddled with your fingers.

“Nena…I think I know what’s going on with you.”, he started.

You held your breath, afraid to hear the truth coming out of his mouth, a truth you had tried so hard to suppress and deny.

“You’ve overworked yourself, haven’t you?”, he said, lovingly stroking your hair. “You’d think all this tossing and turning at night would go unnoticed?”, he chuckled. “I have taken into account how you started biting your nails again, how little time you have to rest. Your water bottle is always sitting empty, unless I refill it for you. The snack basket’s content hasn’t moved either, unless I break your study trance and feed you. You are sitting in front of your computer every waking second you get. I’m worried about you, and your mental health.”, he said in one breath. Pedri was right. Your day was filled with dread, to have to spend hour after hour trying to memorize concepts for your degree, your mind feeling like a hole-filled sponge, never able to retain anything. Exhausted, you let the dam break. Your shoulders shaking with sobs, soaking Pedri’s shirt as well. Pedri tightened his hold on you, bringing you closer to his chest.

“You won’t go through this alone. With the upcoming international break and my injury, I will be home for the next week and a half. I have also booked you an appointment with a therapist, so you can establish coping mechanisms together… also to talk it out. And after all of this is over, I booked us a flight to your hometown.”

You looked at him in confusion.

“I think being away from your family isn’t helping you much either,” he let out. “You’ve been in Barcelona barely a year, and I believe a part of your soul is still in your hometown. I believe the beach and your grandmothers’ cooking is exactly what you need in order to come back stronger.” He said, kissing the top of your head.

You didn’t know what to say, nor how to thank him. Unable to say anything, you just let yourself crawl onto him, your head peacefully resting on his shoulder. His body wash -a mixture of sweet and spice- filled up your nostrils, as you hummed in peace. You would always be grateful for the day Pedri appeared in your life. The relationship you had built was one out of fairytales, a story of love and resilience, considering you had survived doing long distance in the early stages. You balanced out each other in more ways you could think of.

“I love you”, was the only thing you mustered up to say.

“Te quiero también, nena.” He said, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

[holdinbacksecrets]

hii lovely, do you have any fic recs?

actually while we’re at it, your writings and the things you reblog are just beautiful, do you have any book recs too?

i have so many! and thank you for sharing kind words 🖤

my bts side blog is @sayeuphoria and my fic rec tags are ‘sticky feelings’ and ‘sweet like honey’

i’ll also make a little list of my favorite fics and ones i go back to regularly. the majority of these are 18+. mdni

also, please interact with fics you love. reblog them! reblog them with tags! reblog them with comments! send an ask or message to the author! but please reblog. you know how good it feels to take yourself out for a little treat? that’s how reblogs feel, and they make writers want to keep writing. it warms the hearts of writers to know someone was touched by our work, and a part of a piece that we’re really proud of ended up being someone’s favorite part of the fic. plus, don’t you want others to read your favorite pieces?? reblog to help people find them 🖤 it’s a potluck, and if you aren’t bringing a dish (which is totally fine), at least be willing to slice and serve some cake!

Rattled by @gukslut i first read this series over the summer of 2021, and i think about it on a weekly, sometimes daily basis. i reread it every six months. it’s an absolute gem, impeccably written. one of my favorite jungkook’s i’ve ever read

My feet to follow, and my heart to hold by @daechwitatamic i read this series as it was being posted last year, and i used to wake up so excited on the morning of a new chapter. this namjoon unleashed something in me, and i’ve been left craving love more than i used to. i love the presence of poetry too.

Guarded by @xjoonchildx this series was the first mafia au story i read and fucking loved. i’ve gone back to it so many times. i love the way hoseok’s perception of oc changes as the story progresses. oh so good and satisfying.

these blurbs by @darlingjoon tore me in half and stitched me back together

i’m a sucker for angst, and i love all the angst my lovely friend @taetaespeaches writes, especially for yoongi. perfection, but i’m going to drop some of my favorite titles of her fantastic, beautifully written work:

“i thought you left.” yoongi

“You know that I would ruin myself over and over again for you.” yoongi

“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back.” yoongi

“You’ve been my future since we were teenagers.” taehyung

“Let me hold you. Let me take care of you.” taehyung

“I may or may not have met someone.” taehyung

“You think I’d leave you if you falter?” jungkook

my @here2bbtstrash favorites:

deep end namjoon. this fic changed my life.

the shape of your body jimin

the spins jungkook

Love cafe by @chocosvt this jeonghan piece!!!!! AHHHHHHHH! the whole piece is amazing, but there were some scenes that were especially sweet and endearing. i remember sending a friend screenshots of dialogue freaking out.

i was so excited to share @by-moonflower-deactivated202401 bc their writing is incredible, piercing, and feels so nostalgic, but oh shit 😭😭 just learned they deactivated ☹️

book recs:

i’ve read almost everything by taylor jenkins reid, and i’ll recommend her books forever.

last year i read the book of azrael by amber v nicole and loved it. it’s a dark fantasy romance. i haven’t read the sequel yet.

this year, so far, i’ve read days at the morisaki bookshop. it’s a quick read but very sweet and comforting, with life lessons just beneath the surface. i’ve also read heavenly bodies by imani erriu. it had me screaming and kicking my feet. i posted about it here a few days ago. i’m reading the sequel right now.

dub finding ceremony by alexis pauline gumbs is a book i read my senior year of college, and it inspired a lot of writing for my independent studies prose class. braiding sweetgrass by robin wall kimmerer is another beautiful read.

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 6. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex - F & M receiving, Face Sitting, 69

Summary: Your letters over the Christmas break are driving McLaggen mad. He wonders what you'd think about meeting up in London the day before you need to catch the Hogwarts Express?

A/N: I would very much enjoy suffocating this man.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @lolitstiana, @ratsys, @aweidlich

Chapter 6: First Name Basis

Dear Cormac,

By the time this owl arrives, I expect you to have at least four training sessions under your belt. You’ll note that I’ve kindly given you a day off for Christmas.

It’s a shame we didn’t have more time before the holidays together. This is the first Christmas break that I’ve ever wished I was at Hogwarts. I’ve heard the castle is extremely empty this time of year. Who knows how anyone passes the time with nobody around in all those deserted classrooms?

Anyway, I hope you’re having a good break.

xoxox

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merry Christmas!

I wasn’t sure how to address this back because I think that was only the second time you’ve ever called me Cormac… Are we on first-name terms now?

We spent Christmas Eve at Rufus Scrimgeor’s party but it was different this year… I’ll tell you more in person in case this owl is intercepted. My dad, uncle and I were still extremely hungover for Christmas Lunch the next day (yes, even worse than on the train home after Slughorn’s). Mum was not happy.

You might be disappointed to hear that training has frankly been the last thing on my mind. Every time I think about Quidditch my mind wanders to the last time we were on the stands. We were having a conversation that I’d be keen to continue… if you know what I mean.

CM xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Gryffindor’s Reserve Keeper,

I hope your hangover is less painful today. 

Has anyone ever told you that you are such an unbearable show-off? I can’t believe you name-dropped the Minister for Magic in your first letter to me. How likely is it that these owls will be intercepted do you think? I’ve never really considered the possibility of anyone else wanting to find out information from my letters. But then again I’ve never written to such a big-shot with important Ministry connections before.

I told my mum and dad all about my invite to the Holyhead Harpies tryouts. They’re muggles so they’ve never really got their heads around wizard careers but they love football (kind of like muggle Quidditch) so sport is something they can understand. 

I am in fact disappointed you haven’t been training hard over the break - although I can understand your preoccupation with our last conversation on the stands. My mind keeps wandering too. It was probably my favourite conversation I’ve had involving Quidditch - which is saying something.

Let me know what you think about the chances of interception. I got a Polaroid for Christmas ( muggle camera) and I have a photo I think you’d like…

With love,

Ravenclaw Captain and First Choice Keeper 

xoxoxo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Holyhead Harpies Future Keeper,

I’m pretty confident that nobody else is reading our letters. And I’m not just saying that because I’m dying to see whatever it is you want to send me. Your letters have been arriving so quickly that there’s no way anyone has had time to read them before they got here. Or maybe you just write exceptionally fast because you miss me so much. 

The past week has been agonisingly slow. Usually, the Christmas holidays come to an end far too quickly but another week without you is driving me mad. The last few weeks of term when we weren’t speaking to each other feel like a wasted opportunity.

I’ve been too distracted to finish Slughorn’s Potions essay. When I think about Potions, I think about you. And then I think about that dress. Fucking hell. Although it’s not a patch on the protective headgear you wear playing Quidditch. Obviously.

Speak soon.

Big Shot Junior Minister for Horrendous Hangovers

xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear letter inception squad,

Please be warned that I am attaching with this correspondence an explicit photo of my tits and cannot be held responsible for any serious side effects that may occur upon viewing (dizziness, uncontrollable hard-on, etc.)

My beloved boyfriend has informed me that he is being driven mad by my absence and it is my only desire to help alleviate his pain. Well, maybe not my only desire. 

Cormac, if this letter ever finds its way to you without being censored by the powers that be. I need you to know something…

It’s you who’s writing quickly, not me. You miss me more.

With love,

Redacted

xoxox

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To my girlfriend (apparently),

Fuck.

It took me several minutes (hours? Days? What year is it?) of staring at your picture to realise muggle photographs don’t move. Or maybe they do. I should probably check again, just to make sure. Yep. Still not moving. I sincerely hope you didn’t need this photo back. It’s in significantly worse condition than when you sent it to me.

If I say I miss you more, will you come and meet me in London a day early? Say the evening before the Hogwarts Express leaves? It’s not like me to beg… But I’ll say anything. Do anything.

Then again, maybe I don’t need to beg as you just asked me to be your boyfriend. So you clearly miss me more.

Love,

Your unbearable showoff xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the afternoon of the second of January, once you’ve put your things in your room at the Leaky Cauldron, you come downstairs to find McLaggen waiting for you in the pub. It’s not like you forgot during these past two weeks apart how hot he was. But in person, he’s like the quintessential English boyfriend from every muggle rom-com you’ve ever seen.

You greet him and he pulls you into a kiss, cupping the back of your head. You need to stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips - this was much easier when you were sitting on his lap. Your cheeks burn hot just thinking about it. “Maybe I did miss you after all,” you murmur. He smells sweet and spicy, just like you remember. 

“Good. I missed you too,” he says simply and kisses the top of your head.

He takes your hand and you leave the Leaky Cauldron. Despite it being the day before the Hogwarts Express returns, Diagon Alley is eerily quiet. Most of the shops are boarded up and the few people who are out, go about their business in a harried, closed-off kind of way. Recent Death Eater activity has everyone frightened. Except for you two reckless idiots, apparently.

“Things felt so normal back home. Not much has changed in the muggle world. Not yet at least,” you say, as you wander down the deserted cobbled street. “Anyway, tell me about Christmas at Scrimgeour’s. Since you’re such a big deal and couldn’t put it in a letter.”

“Well, to be honest, it was pretty tense,” he tells you in a hushed voice, his face is serious. “That’s why I ended up so drunk.” 

“Oh.” Your face falls. You sort of thought he was kidding. “So, were he and your dad talking about Ministry stuff all night or something?”

“No, it was me he wanted to talk to, actually. He kept asking me about Harry Potter and if I knew anything about his private lessons with Dumbledore. I had to pretend I didn’t know he was even taking lessons with Dumbledore.”

“He is?”

“I’ve just heard rumours. But Scrimgeour’s questioning pretty much confirmed it.”

“So you didn’t say anything? Even though your dad works at the Ministry?” you ask, thinking of Marietta’s mum and Umbridge. 

“Nah,” he says casually. “He’s pretty high up. Got a decent bit of leverage. I’m not worried.”

Wouldn’t a position of power in the Ministry mean he was more at risk? But then again, what do you know? Your parents are muggles.

You look up at him - you’re actually impressed. Would you be able to hold your nerve if the Minister for Magic wanted information from you? “Well… you’ve got guts, McLaggen. I’ll give you that.”

He shrugs like it was nothing. 

Eyelops Owl Emporium is one of the few shops open, so you go in to pick up some owl treats. “My parents found the owl thing hilarious at first, you know,” you tell him. “They still don’t really get why they can’t phone me -  that’s how muggles communicate long distance,” you add when he gives you a confused look.

“And they didn’t mind you leaving them a day early?”

“Sort of. My dad wanted to watch a football game with me today. He says I’m losing touch with my non-magical roots so he writes down all the scores and sends them to me every week,” you smile fondly and pay for your owl treats. “What about your parents?”

“Dad doesn’t know, Mum was distraught until I said I was meeting you. Then she was delighted.”

“Oh?” Not quite ready for that conversation with them, you had told your parents you were meeting Cho and Marietta.

“She was worried about me coming to Diagon Alley so she tried to convince me to bring you to ours instead. But it’s a bit early to subject you to that. She and my dad met at Hogwarts, you see. I think she was anxious that I was in my seventh year and hadn’t ‘settled down’.” He rolls his eyes. “When they were at school everyone ended up married to whoever they went out with.”

You laugh as you exit Eyelops and the bell above the door tinkles. “As if the dating scene ends after Hogwarts.”

The two of you aimlessly wander around a few more of the only shops that are still open, catching up about your break before making your way back towards the Leaky Cauldron. “So… tell me about football. It’s like muggle Quidditch, right?”

You try and explain the rules as you walk down the cobbled street.

“The keeper’s the only one that can use their hands?” He looks at you sceptically.

“I promise it’s more exciting than it sounds… Speaking of keepers, any sign of you getting a game this year?”

“I doubt it. Weasley would need a serious injury for Potter to consider replacing him.”

You enter the pub and find a quiet booth near the back.

“Well, you never know.” You say, sliding into the seat opposite him. “I heard from Padma that Lavender is getting annoyed about him and Hermione spending so much time together. Maybe she’ll do you a favour.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry,” you grin. “Too soon to bring up your ex?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Depends, is it too soon to ask if you’ll be cheering on your ex-boyfriend Smith at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff game? If they beat us the cup is basically yours.”

“Only if Weasley is playing.”

“Yeah? So if I play you’ll be in the Gryffindor stands?”

“Yeah, alright then.” You scrunch up your face as if you can think of nothing worse but actually, you’d like to watch him have his chance to finally play a game. “You can give me your Gryffindor jumper to wear.”

“You realise I’m going to have to break Weasley’s leg or, I dunno, poison him or something because that sounds extremely hot.”

McLaggen goes up to the bar to order drinks and when he comes back he tells you all about the Quidditch world cup two years ago while you listen to his every word longingly. 

“I wish I could have gone to the final - it’s just that my parents want to see me as much as they can during the summer. And it’s not like they could have come with me with all the anti-muggle protection stuff,” you add wistfully. “I hope they can see me play a game one day.”

“What, they didn’t watch you play growing up?”

“Well, I didn’t play growing up, did I? I picked up a broom for the first time during my first flying lesson at Hogwarts.”

He puts down his drink. “What?”

“Keep up, McLaggen, they’re muggles.”

“No, I know that. I just never really thought about it. Blimey, it’s really not fair, having to learn to fly years after everyone else.”

You’re more than used to it by now. “What about you? When did you start playing?”

“My dad got me my first broom before I could walk, or so he tells me.” You smile. There’s something sweet about a tiny toddler zooming around with a miniature quaffle.

There’s something else on your mind. “Do you think your parents would be alright with you going out with someone who’s muggle-born?”

“I mean, you know Mum is already desperate to meet you. My dad is a bit more… old fashioned though,” he adds, a little awkwardly. “But he’ll come around when I tell him.”

You laugh “My dad’s the same. I haven’t told him either.”

“He wouldn’t be alright with you going out with a wizard?”

“Wizard? Fine. English? Not so much.”

He laughs like it’s a relief that it’s not just his dad’s prejudice that would be a problem. “Does that mean we’re definitely going out with each other then?” 

“Oh.” You remember your letter. “Yeah, let’s say we are. For the sake of us not falling out again.” 

“Very heartfelt of you.”

“Sorry, I’m really bad at this,” you admit. “I mean if I’d just told you when I fancied you that would have made things a lot simpler.”

“Easier said than done,” says McLaggen fairly. “I could have told you too.”

“When was that, by the way?” You ask coyly, leaning on the booth table and resting your chin on your hand. 

He clears his throat. “I dunno…”

“Oh, come on, McLaggen.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“Alright then -“ you take a sip of butterbeer. “- I suppose after the first Potions lesson this year. When you caught me in the corridor and I realised you smelled like the Amortentia we’d just made.”

“Wait a minute…” he knits his eyebrows together. “Do you use perfume or something that has coconut in it?”

“Yeah?”

He leans in and says quietly, so the other patrons don’t hear him. “I just realised the Amortentia I made smelled like you, when I had my face between your tits after Slughorn’s party.”

You feel your skin flushing hot. “Cormac.” You squirm a little, thighs clenching together, remembering his soft little moans as he inhaled deep in your chest.

“If that made you blush I definitely can’t tell you when I first fancied you.”

You shuffle in closer still towards the table.

“Tell me, please,” you whisper.

“Alright… it was last year when Ravenclaw lost to Gryffindor in the final.”

“Don’t remind me. Before or after McGonagall was about to expel me for threatening to set fire to Harry Potter’s broom?”

“Hah, no it was well before the final whistle. You were really anxious in goals - sort of wriggling on the seat of your broom with a kind of anguished expression on your face, watching the Ravenclaw Chasers cock it up.”

“And that was… that was what made you fancy me? That I was stressed out?” You raise an eyebrow and take a sip of your butterbeer.

“Well, yeah. I thought if you sat on my face the way you were sitting on your broom, I could get you to make those faces again.”

You almost spit out your drink. Your face is positively on fire. “Oh my god, Cormac…”

“I’d probably make you say that too,” he adds with a smug smile, and in spite of yourself, his attitude makes your lower abdomen tighten. He is so full of himself and every bit of common sense tells you that should hate it. But you don’t.

Sitting back in the booth, you look him over silently as your wet dream from weeks ago, the one about him going down on you in the Potions classroom swims to the front of your mind. Your legs wrapped over his broad shoulders, and the way his stubble had felt between your legs had all felt so real.

“Was that too far?”

You snap out of it and shake your head, realising you had been biting your bottom lip. “No, I just… I was wondering what it would be like.” 

He leans in over the table towards you and so you do too. He takes your hands in his significantly larger ones and whispers seriously. “So you’ve only been with girls before, right?” 

“Yeah.” You knew this was coming. At some point or another, you’d need to tell him that the closest you’ve come to touching a penis is when you felt his against you when you were sitting on his lap.

“Then I’ll probably be terrible at eating you out. You know - in comparison.”

That fucker. 

You can tell from his stupid smirk that he knows he’s good. His dimples appear at the corners of his mouth as he looks into your eyes. Everything surges up in your molten hot and you swallow, mildly embarrassed by how turned on your feel just from that arrogant smile.

“Not Cormac McLaggen admitting he might not be the best in the world at something?” you tease, trying to downplay how eager you are to find out.

“Oh yeah. It’ll be awful. Really, really sloppy.” He pulls your hands towards him and kisses your knuckles slowly. You look around the bar from your deserted corner booth. None of the few patrons are even glancing in your direction.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “Some - some people would say sloppy is good.” You know from your own experience that sloppy is great. But honestly, you’re worried about telling him that you’ve got no idea what the definition of good is when it comes to giving head to a man.

“Mhm,” he murmurs and slips his tongue between a gap in your fingers. God, your pussy feels slick, desperate for him to give it the same attention that he’s so brazenly paying to your hand. He maintains eye contact with you, the pupils of his green eyes dilated in the dim light of the pub.

“Cormac, I know you’re joking about being bad but I - I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never even seen a - “ you mouth the word ‘penis’ “- before.”

Cormac stops kissing your hands and places them on the table with a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. Mine is like this- ” He gestures with his thumb and forefinger, almost pinching them together.

You narrow your eyes. “Shut up. I felt what you were packing on the stands.”

“You don’t need to worry about it anyway. Don’t feel like you need to do anything you don’t want to.”

Oh, you want to alright. But when you asked Cho and Marietta what to do with one that night you came back from the Quidditch stands it sounded complicated - beyond terrifying. And the pressure you put on yourself to be great at everything doesn’t make it any less daunting.

But God, the way his cock felt when you were pressed up against him kissing him the last time you saw each other - it was as if your body was begging you to have him put it inside you. Your pussy clenches, imagining the feeling of rubbing up against him again.

“Are you finished your drink?” you ask, the heat between your legs aching for him now. 

“Almost, will I get another round?”

“Maybe later when I’m finished sitting on your face.”

“You are something else.” He doesn’t need to be asked twice and abandons his drink, letting you lead him upstairs.

You open your room door, turn and grab the front of his jumper and drag him inside. You stand on your tiptoes again to kiss him furiously. He kisses you back, shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck,” you say between kisses. “You are such… an arrogant… git.”

“Yeah?” he lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. “Well, you fucking love it.” He says, carrying you over to the bed where he throws you down and climbs on top of you. You feel the hard bulge underneath his jeans pressing into you under your skirt and you raise your hips, pushing yourself up against him, pressing your clit against the protrusion.

He lifts your t-shirt up over your head and unhooks your bra before tossing it carelessly aside. McLaggen swirls his tongue around your nipples, desperately sucking and slobbering all over your chest like a starved man. 

“I mean the picture was good but fuck, your tits are perfect in person,” he groans, trying to fit as much as he can into his mouth. His neediness makes you grind harder into him -  you’re practically humping the fabric seam of his jeans.

“Fuck, Cormac…” you whimper helplessly, the burning friction from your pussy pressed up against him is all you can think about. You can already feel your orgasm flickering in the pit of your stomach.

“I need you to stop saying my name like that. I’m gonna cum right here if you do.” He grips the bottom of his jumper and pulls it, along with his t-shirt up over his head. You breathe heavily, looking at his muscular chest and abdomen in the low light of your candle-lit room. 

He watches you hungrily as you slip your skirt and underwear off and he lies on the bed to pull you on top of him, directly over his head. You sit on his chest, your knees bedside his ears and look down at him, biting your lip - it’s like he was made to be here like this between your thighs.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he says, running his hands along the back of your thighs and settling them on your hips. 

“How do I do it without suffocating you?” You’ve never had anyone go down on you in this position.

“Do whatever feels good. If I die, I die,” he grins up at you. “Just let me taste you.”

You shimmy forward and he grabs your ass so he can press his face against you.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. McLaggen sucks and rolls his tongue all over your pussy like he’s kissing your mouth. He laps up your juices, wet warmth enveloping your already soaking-wet slit, making you feel even slicker. 

He pauses to kiss your inner thigh. “Play with your tits for me.”

You do as he asks, pushing them together and pinching your nipples as you keep your eyes locked with his. His technique maybe isn’t as deft as you’re used to but, oh my god, he’s enthusiastic. McLaggen’s tongue flicks back and forth over your clit but you want his whole mouth again, so you leverage your hips slightly.

He feels your adjustment and moans in encouragement, fingers kneading into the flesh of your ass. This is what he wants, he wants you to lose yourself completely like this on top of him. So you decide you will.

“You feel so good,” you whimper and lace your fingers through his dark blonde curly hair, grinding yourself on him. On his lips, his wide tongue, his stubbly chin. He keeps licking sloppily as you use his face to get off.

“Fuck, Cormac…”

“Don’t or I’ll cum,” he warns between licks and while the thought of making this huge, hulking man under you cum just from eating you out and hearing you say his name sends a jolt of electricity through your body, you want to make him feel how you feel right now. 

“Can I suck your dick first?” You ask, halting your hips from moving.

He pauses. “You’re sure?” You nod. “Just keep sitting on my face. Please.”

You flip around to face the other way, sitting backwards on top of him. You undo his jeans and he pauses, anticipating your reaction. The feeling of his hot breath on your skin makes your hands tremble as you push his jeans and boxers down. 

His cock springs up, hitting his toned stomach and your eyes widen. You already knew that it wasn’t what he had implied earlier but…

“Jesus Christ, Cormac.”

“Oh come on, don’t react like that. I thought you said I was arrogant enough as it is”

Fuck. 

You extend your hand tentatively and grip the length of his cock. It’s prettier than what you’d imagined from Cho and Marietta’s vivid descriptions. Not that you’d tell McLaggen that - his already inflated ego really would be unbearable if you did. You could never have thought you’d actually want to suck it, from the details they’d given you when you asked them nervously how to do it. But you really, really do.

You lean forward and, still gripping him in your hand, you swirl your tongue around his head. There’s a pleasant vibration as presses his lips against you again to moan against your pussy.

“Is this okay?” You pull back to ask tentatively.

“Fuck… Yes.”  

The shakiness in his voice encourages you to open your mouth wider and swallow as much of him as you can. He’s so tall that you can’t reach the base of his cock without moving forward and when you try, he clamps his hands down on your hips to stop you from moving away from his face. 

And then you feel his mouth devouring you again, his lips and tongue attacking your clit without mercy. Fuck.

You try to whine but your mouth is full. From the way his fingers dig into your hips, you can tell he appreciates the noises you’re making all the same.

You bob your head up and down, gliding your tongue around his cock. His own tongue moves in firm circles round and round, bringing you closer and closer to the brink. Pulling your head back, you gasp for air but keep jerking his length, now slick and wet from your saliva with your fist. “Fuck, Cormac… I’m…”

Bliss floods your body and he groans loudly but keeps pace as your cunt twitches on his face. Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and tingling. You can’t help yourself repeating his first name over and over until it becomes a babbling stream of words, feeling his face pressed right into your pussy, his tongue dragging all over your clit and his nose between your folds.

Cormac tries to keep licking through the aftershock but you wriggle away from the overstimulation. You move down his body and this time swallow his cock as far as you can, lips almost reaching the base.

“Wait, I’m… fuck…” He grits his teeth. “Careful, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Baby. It’s the first time he’s dared to call you that. 

And you like it. 

You feel his thighs tense under your grip. He makes a conscious effort to stop his hips jerking upwards, letting you continue to take the reins at your own pace.

“Mhmm,” you hum in encouragement - ready for it.

He stares at your beautiful pussy in front of him - all flushed and rosy and wet in the low light. He did that. He made you a mess like that. It drives him over the edge as the sounds of you sucking and swallowing around his cock fill the quiet room.

“That’s it. That’s - Oh, fuck -” He swears incoherently and it’s your cue to take him as deep as you can. Cormac empties his load directly down your throat, and you suck, draining him of the hot, salty liquid. You swallow and gasp for air. You had needlessly braced yourself for it to taste much worse.

Exhausted, you slide off him and cuddle into his chest, practically glowing with pride. The two of you lie there, your hearts still pounding as you listen to each other breathing raggedly for a few moments.

“You’re… fuck. Unbelievable,” he pants eventually, interrupting the silence. 

You smile, tracing your fingers along his chest, silently adding 'sucking cock' to your list of achievements. It feels like you’ve passed an exam with flying colours. 

“Well, for the record, you weren’t awful at that.”

“Compared to your comments about my flying, that’s as good as praise from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” You tilt your head up to look at him as he stares at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat under your hand slowly returning to normal. “What is it about your own name that gets you off, by the way?” 

He laughs. “I know I can be a dickhead but you don’t think I’m that bad, do you?” You run your fingers through his tousled hair, a bead of sweat glistening on his brow. “It’s not just my name, it’s when you call me Cormac. You only call me that when you’re turned on.”

What? “I- I do not!” You splutter.

“Yeah, you do. You did it on the Quidditch stands, then in your letter and then again tonight.”

He’s got you there. “Or maybe I only call you McLaggen when you’re irritating me… McLaggen.” You laugh and kiss the crook of his neck. 

He squeezes you tighter and presses his lips to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo.

“Yeah, that makes sense too.”

Chapter 7: Fine

[goodluckclove]

Migration Pattern Sneak Peek: Scott and Edgar

Is this spoilers? Kind of? I mean, if you don't want to know any cute developments in the relationship between Scott and Edgar you can skip this one. This does reveal a small element of their shared past, but if you don't consider spoilers to be literally any element of the story give it a shot.

I don't know, man. It's cute as fuck and I want to share it. Read more below!

Edgar’s mouth quivered in a hesitant smile. It broke free a while after that and he grinned fully, staring down at the bed. Scott willed himself to remember this moment and its entirety. The fading light of an early winter’s evening. The musky warmth of the room around them. His lover’s hands, still lightly squeezing his leg. If he had to crystallize one inch of the wild expanse of feeling he was capable of on an hourly basis it would be this one – the pride and affection, the shy hope like fresh-peeled oranges.

“What are you going to do with it?” Scott asked.

“Huh?” Edgar looked up at him, still blinking away the daze provoked by his praise. “Oh. Hah. You...You can have it. If you want.”

Scott smiled. “No. I mean – yes, obviously. But,” he looked down at the words again, almost as if confirming they were still there. “You’re going to submit it somewhere, right?”

“Submit –?” Edgar made a breathy scoff. “Come on, Scott. I haven’t written poetry in years, I’m not about to publish it.”

“There’s a birthright literary journal. Two of them, actually. I’ve only been checking the online one, but I think the magazine is still sold in Witch Town regions,” something occurred to him, and Scott perked up. “And the elders organize a yearly grant for emerging creatives! They used to, at least. When I was growing up.”

Edgar relaxed into curiosity. Maybe in hopes that he could change the subject. “Did you ever get it?”

“No. Yes – well,” Scott frowned, a little embarrassed. “They tried to, at least. I said no.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Scott allowed himself to drift into the grounding lucidity of Edgar’s presence. He thought of those snapshot moments – all he really had left of his past at the moment – where he woke up from sleep and immediately dove for his notebook to write the words fresh from his dreams. That time, alone in the silence of his small bedroom, was a completely different kind of inspiration than what he felt playing the piano. It felt like being cold and having someone who loves you wrap their coat around your shoulders.

The words weren’t his. He always knew that. When he tried to explain it to others they took it as the ravings of a muse-crazed artist. Scott didn’t know how to explain it any clearer than what he said. He had no idea how he arranged the lyrics that he did, but he knew with abject certainty that those were not his words.

“Can I show you something?” Scott asked.

Without waiting for an answer he shifted out of Edgar’s touch and went to his bookshelf. He knew in the back of his mind what he was looking for, but it took him a long while before he found where he left it before leaving home. Then it was there – the thick, battered composition book that contained every song he – or they – ever wrote.

It was so old. The spine was long ruined and held together by duct tape frayed along the edges. A lot of the black and white splotches on the cover were worn into soft, blank card stock. There was a mailing label stuck to the center where Tenzin drew a little doodle of him with his hair put up the way he liked it as a teen.

The shyness was odd. He was sure by now that he wasn’t showing Edgar anything he’d seen before, and yet his chest felt tight with anticipation. Because once Edgar would see this, he would know. He of all people would know. And even the thought of his understanding how Scott spent years weaving together their minds so intimately that he barely understood what he was doing...it brought a physical quality with it. A hand on his waist or the small of his back.

He took a deep breath and turned around. It was time they understood each other.

“Here,” he said.

Edgar didn’t look like he understood what was about to happen. Still, he took the book, and after smiling at the state of the outer cover he opened to the first page.

His smile didn’t fade. He wasn’t upset. Edgar’s expression did freeze in place for a while, and for a moment or two it was clear that he stopped breathing entirely. His eyes didn’t blink as he carefully flipped through the pages. A few times he stopped like he was about to read through a page, but then he would quickly swipe away.

After some time he closed the notebook and put it down on his lap. Edgar still stared down where it once laid open. He wasn’t upset. It just looked like he was thinking.

Scott felt naked. Skinless. Just bare, shamefully-pulsing meat shivering in the still air of his bedroom. It was unbearable.

“These are your songs?” Edgar said, quiet and a little vague.

“I know they’re…” Scott coughed softly into his hand and tried again. “I know they’re not…”

“Are these the only ones you wrote down?”

“No, I – I’d think of more. But…” he smiled weakly, even though Edgar wasn’t looking at him. “Those were my favorites. They were the ones that I could think of a good melody for.”

“Because you’d...sing them,” Edgar’s voice got even softer. “You would – would sing my...sing your…”

Edgar’s chest was beginning to rise and fall at a slightly faster rate. Scott wanted to touch his chest. He craved the heat of his bond’s skin warm against his cheek and the sound of his heart beat thumping in his ear. But if he did that now Scott would leave damp, sour-smelling stains on Edgar’s shirt, because at the moment he was still a pile of skinless meat.

“You…” Edgar let the word grow, bloom, ripen and fall in the air above their heads. “You liked it?”

“It meant everything to me,” Scott said.

A small smile touched Edgar’s face. “I-I’ve never – I mean, I never showed my poetry to anybody. But some of this…” he made a noise that was between a laugh and a sigh. “A lot of this are things I’d rip out and burn as soon as I finished them.”

“They’re so precious to me,” Scott whispered. “You’re so precious to me.”

Edgar lowered his head. He took one hand and ran the thumb up and down the inner crook of his opposite elbow. Scott remembered the first time he did that, right as they stood by Edgar’s open bedroom door on the night they meant. He could still feel the ghost of what he felt back then, but overlaid on top of that was the new determination of what he had to do next.

He crossed the small space between them and got down on his knees in front of Edgar. Just as his lover started to lift his hand, Scott carefully took his hand from off his arm and pressed it to his lips. He held it there, then cupped the palm against his cheek. Scott closed his eyes and felt the slight roughness of Edgar’s touch, the grazing of callouses, the raised line of his bond scar.

In the darkness of his closed eyes he head Edgar’s voice begin to tremble. “You’ve been waiting for so long…” he began.

“I’d do it again.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You survived,” Scott said.

Edgar huffed a derisive laugh through his nose. “Look at you, Scott. I’m nothing like you –”

“I know,” Scott breathed. “That’s my favorite part about all of this.”

He felt Edgar’s hand move on its own, fingers tracing down the side of Scott’s face. He opened his eyes when he felt Edgar tilt his head up to look at him.

“It isn’t fair,” he said. “It’s not fair to you. I’m pretty much a normal human being, and you’re this goddamned painting –”

“Then let’s be normal together.”

Edgar furrowed his brow. “What?”

In a sudden burst of passion Scott rose up higher and kissed Edgar, gentle and long with his lips relaxed. He pulled back enough to see nothing else of reality other than the vibrant brown of Edgar’s eyes. Scott smiled, immersed in the color.

“Teach me how to tie my shoes,” he said.

Edgar was torn between laughter and charm. “I – you know, I had a feeling…”

Scott kissed him again, moving forward until he had Edgar fully reclined across the middle of the bed. He felt Edgar’s hands on either side of him – not obstrusive, more stabilizing than anything else. Which only fueled his fire even more.

“Let’s go grocery shopping together,” he whispered in Edgar’s ear. “I want you to show me how to drive a car.”

He heard Edgar shudder a breath and tighten his grasp on Scott’s waist. Just weak – no, not weak. Not Edgar. Just surrendering.

Scott kissed his forehead. “I want to register to vote,” he said.

“Are you not..?” Edgar’s breath hitched as Scott kissed each of his cheeks. “Have you never voted?”

“Security measures.”

He started to kiss Edgar again when his bond stopped their faces from fully meeting. Edgar steadied his face about a foot above him and stared deeply into his eyes. Scott felt his fingers graze the bridge of his nose and run across his lips. Edgar took every part of him in, seeing with such clarity that Scott could almost use him as a mirror.

Scott let this happen. He let himself be seen.

“I don’t want to go back,” Edgar finally whispered.

“Okay,” Scott said. “Then you won’t go back.”

“I don’t know what else is out there,” Edgar lowered his hands and let them fall on the mattress above her head. “You’ve been all over the country, haven’t you? What’s it like?”

They were lying across the bed, Scott straddled over Edgar’s waist. In another life, and with another person, Scott would be stripped and in the middle of ravishing or being ravished by now. But Edgar was apparently open for a casual conversation. If the depths of Scott’s devotion for him in that moment had a physical presence it would be an ocean without a bottom.

He moved off from on top of Edgar and laid down beside him across the bed. They stared up a the ceiling. After a moment, Scott moved to interlace their fingers.

“Vermont’s nice,” he said.

[sakuraoora]

I love you (from afar, but do you love me back?)

Ships: Kazuha x Reader

Synopsis. You've cut clean from Kazuha. At least, that's what you think. Some days, you still long for him, his love, his affection, but you'd never go back to him. Kazuha, on the other hand, is falling apart without you.

Word count. 1.8k words.

Warnings. Major Character death (reader dies), angst, mentions of a bad relationship with your parents, reader is a writer, reader has a vision + can heal, mentions of Tomo, marriage is implied, sort of a continuation of My Dear Liyue Lover,

Notes. Part two of My Dear Liyue Lover! I highly recommend reading it before this one, for the sake of context. This was ALSO written at 1 AM in the morning, so it might be... scuffed. Enjoy!

ALSO !!! HERE YOU GO @xiao-xiao-forever AND @quazkers (good luck with that juicy angst) ♡♡♡

Everything was fine.

Fine.

It had been several months since you’d officially cut clean from Kazuha, and you probably shouldn't still be thinking of him on a day to day basis. After your breakup, you kept to yourself, and haven’t even seen Kazuha since that fateful day when he was at your door.

You were visiting your parents for the first time in months. They usually were alright when someone else (namely Kazuha) was there with you, but that wasn’t possible this time. Beidou was on another trip, probably to Inazuma again, Ningguang was busy with her affairs, Xingqiu and Chongyun were somewhere in the mountains of Liyue, clensing monsters, Xiangling was busy working at her restaurant, and you’d broken up with Kazuha for good- and it didn’t even end on pleasurable terms. You weren’t sure what feelings you had for him, or him to you, anymore.

Of course the only day you could visit your parents was on a day where nobody else could be with you. Totally fine.

As you walked down the path to the village where you grew up, watching the wheat sway in the wind on either side of the road. Looking up, you saw two cranes flying in the skies above, one white and one (color). Just like you and Kazuha, only… that didn’t end well.

You finally spotted the cottage you grew up in, which was in no better condition since you had last seen it. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. “Hello? Mom? Dad? I’ve come home to visit you!” you called out.

After a hot second. The door opened and your mother, her hair the color you had remembered it to be, but with much more streaks of gray. “Come in, and you better make this worth our time. I don’t want you to waste our time like you wasted so much of yours as a child, doing whatever that… thing it is that you call writing.”

She led you into the abode, and the first thing you saw was a sturdy, round wood table with your father in one chair and two empty seats on either side of him. “…Hello again, (name). How are you?”

You and your mother sat down, you on his left and your mother on his right. “I’m doing good, Dad. How about you?”

Your father let out a chuckle, his white hair shaking with his head as he replied, “I’m also doing fine. Now tell me, did you finally leave that awful job you had, writing… what was it again?”

“It was short stories, Dad.” you replied, watching your mom shuffle around the kitchen, making tea.

“Right. Short stories about blood, violence, and war. So, did you?” He asked.

“I have a job at the Adventurers’ Guild now. I don’t fight monsters, but I heal and support them. I’m essentially their doctor.” Yes, you did still write on the side, but no way in hell were you going to willingly tell him you still were a writer.

“Good, good. An honorable job, right (mom’s name)?” Your father chuckled.

“Yes, very. It was such a ridiculous thought you had when you were younger, to think you could truly be a writer and make a stable income. I’m glad you finally came to your senses.” Your mother poured tea into your china cup, and you nodded in return.

“Thank you for the tea, Mom.”

“You're welcome.” she replied, and poured herself and your father their own cups of tea. “Where’s that poet-boy? He was with you the last few times you stopped by. Wasn’t he your boyfriend? Where did he go?”

“I… broke up with him.” you replied.

“Good lord, you did? He was the only man in Liyue Harbor that could’ve wanted someone as useless as you, who can’t even make a cup of tea without burning yourself.” she scoffed.

“Mom-”

“You’re useless. All you do is waste time on writing those silly stories of yours, and never academics. If you studied harder, you might’ve had a chance at going to Sumeru Academia!” she rambled, and you tried to keep the tears from coming. “I was right to limit your access to fantasy books, and rip up that one prototype draft you had.”

This can’t be happening, you thought. Your past memories welled up within you, your passion for writing, how your mother had brutally ripped it into shreds without warning.

You didn’t want to relive that.

“I’m sorry I have to go--” you said, walking to the door and getting outside before your mother grabbed your arm, her grip stronger than a snake suffocating its prey.

“Where do you think you’re going, (name)? We aren’t done talking with you.” she said, her grip somehow becoming even stronger, which would probably leave an ugly purple bruise for the next few weeks.

“I- just remembered I have a job around now.” you mumbled, your fib easily detected by your mother. But anything to get away from this house sounded nice around now.

“Family first, right (name)?” your father’s voice boomed from the doorway, scaring away the birds that were trying to steal the chicken’s food.

“They’re clearly uncomfortable, sir, with all due respect. And ma’am, your grip is making (name)’s arm turn purple.” you heard a voice call out, and the hand at your side immediately let go, your hand dropping to your side. Wait a minute… you knew who this was.

Before you could stop yourself, you called out his name. “Ka…zuha? What are you doing here?”

Kazuha smirked, his smile lighting and sinking your heart at the same time. “At your service, (name),” he said, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I was passing by when i happened to hear your sign of distress.”

“Likely story,” you said. “You almost never travel the same place twice, and you’ve been here too many times to count already.”

Kazuha took at deep sigh. “Do you want to get out of here with me or not?” he asked with a playful smirk. “Because I could always just leave you behind, you know.”

“You’re obviously avoiding the question, but lets spring.” you said, “I can’t stand staying here a second longer,” and just barely after the words left your mouth, Kazuha effortlessly picked you up, bridal style, and pushed you both up into the air.

As you looked down, you saw that your parents had long gone inside after Kazuha had shown up.

“Why?” you asked him, as he carried you through the sky. “…Why did you stop writing back to me?”

“I… didn’t mean to make it seem like I liked the Traveler…” he replied, his eyes shifting away from yours. “It was just-” he cut off, before suddenly landing you at the edge of Liyue harbor. “I have to go,” he said, before giving you one last longing look and dissapearing in a swirl of red, white and green.

Heartbroken was officially your favorite writer.

How did they capture so much emotion, akin to what you were feeling at the moment, in a single sentence?

How did they convey heartbreak because of a misunderstanding with a single line on a page?

How did they remind you so much of Kazuha?

No.

They couldn’t be Kazuha.

After all, Kazuha had left you for the Traveler.

That’s what it seemed like to you, anyways.

Did he really though? You pondered as you walked along a familiar trail, the one to the beach with several ruin guards you and Kazuha had defeated together when you were still in a relationship with him. You watched the dead parts of the ruin guards which were carelessly littered on the beach, watching how where the water met the parts, it rusted badly.

Whilst you were so focused on the water, you didn’t realize one of the ruin guards had booted up partially and blew bombs at you. Too late, you noticed the projectiles heading your way and tried to dodge unsuccessfully. You crashed against the salty sea-water, and grimaced wherever the water touched the newly opened wounds and burns on your body. It’d be useless to try to overexert myself by trying to heal myself right now… but I should at least get out of the water to somewhere safe.

You crawled forward, your whole body groaning in complaint due to how injured you were. When you finally reached a little alcove, you sighed and attempted to use your vision to heal yourself, even if it was just the slightest bit, but you couldn’t muster the strength to call upon the power of your vision. “…Kazuha…” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

The last thing you saw was Kazuha plunging down onto the ruin guard, fully dismantling it before your vision started to fade. If you had stayed conscious a moment longer, you would’ve seen a fearsome look on Kazuha’s face before it melted into panic with a (terrible, honestly) mask of calm.

Kazuha leapt over mountains, praying that he was just dreaming about the fact that your body was growing colder and colder in his arms. He refused to look down and check to see if your vision was still alive; refused to see another one of the people he was closest to fade out of life, and into death.

When will you face your responsibilities, Kazuha? The back of his mind whispered to him, and he forced himself to look down.

Your face was covered with burns and blood.

He froze. What?

Before he could plummet into the ocean below, he landed you on a beach, stumbling after spraining an ankle in the fall. He stumbled to the nearest place he could safely set you down on, which happened to be a beach where you first took him stargazing when he arrived in Liyue.

The pounding of his heart in his ears being the only thing he can hear. He desperately placed two fingers at your neck, trying to feel a pulse, any pulse, before he lowered head down to try to hear signs of breathing, but his normally sharp ears couldn’t hear anything except the pound of his own heart.

Badump. 

Badump.

Badump.

Kazuha pried his head from your body and saw an electro vision, burning, flying towards him.

Tomo? Kazuha thought, his body convulsing, and he caught the vision out of instinct.

He looked down at what was supposed to be a burning and dying vision… to your vision, cold and limp in his hands.

“No…” Kazuha whispered, despair cracking into his voice. “No, no no no no no…”

They’re dead Kazuha, the back of his mind thought. You can never say sorry or clear up that misunderstanding now.

Kazuha held your body closer and closer, a box with a music box engagement ring jabbing into his side, but he didn’t care. He just kept holding you closer, as your blood painted the sunset a brilliant scarlet.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

I love you.

Reblogs help more than likes! Thank you for reading :)

[sturkillerbase]

I wanted to give this post a title, but “Hi, everyone!!!” just didn’t seem appropriate after so long. So I’ll just… start?

Well, first of all, how are you??

Second – I’m sorry for vanishing. Things went downhill. I was very down. I got very ill, both physically and mentally.

Ever since October I’ve been thinking about writing this post. But life kept getting in the way. And, to be very honest, I didn’t know how to come back. What to say. “Should I say something? Or should I just show up and reblog something like nothing had ever happened?” The latter didn’t seem fair.

Moving away from tumblr was an unconscious act in the beginning. It happened slowly enough for me not to notice it. And when I realized what had happened, it just made me feel worse, leaving the friends I’d made here with zero clue about me. But coming back was hard then. I couldn’t do it and I would be lying if I said I did.

I know it sounds like a lie, or at least cliché, but I did think about you all on a constant basis. I missed this. I missed the great times I had here. But my mental state kept me from coming back almost like a physical force. And, as I said before, I had no idea on how to do it. I was, and I am, ashamed actually. Even though I am aware that there’s no need to.

I wanted to make this brief post to re-introduce myself to the website. To say hello again. Still, I made this post where you can read – if you want to, obviously – about what has happened that made me stray away.

So…

HELLO!!!

It’s super unfair to tag people in here after so long, but I’d like them to know I’m here again and to see who’s still around. Hopefully your usernames haven’t changed, but if they did and I ended up not tagging you, I’m sorry!!! If you see this and I did forget your username, please make yourself known!!

Also, I would like to leave a special thanks and a loud kiss and the tightest hug to @scorpio-marionette and @boliv-jenta for, to this day, not giving up on me, always tagging me in their posts. I also leave you two my biggest apologies. I miss you dearly!

I miss you all!!

I’d like to mention that this is not a comeback to writing – at least not yet. I do have a story written that only needs a couple paragraphs and a grammar review to be posted, but I can’t promise you a post. I can’t say when I’m going to start writing again either, because I have no idea myself. I just know I want to, and I hope it can happen soon.

I hope you have an amazing day and a great week,

Ana xo

@mandoblowmybackout @supernaturalgirl20 @ezrasbirdie @oonajaeadira @grippingbeskar @misspearly1 @thegreenkid @writer-darling @becksxoxo @eylaudie @harriedandharassed

[addicted-to-dc]

Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader - The Archives

Hello hello! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope to make it into a mini series (I’ll keep telling myself that). I’m expecting 2 or 3 more parts for this, but damn I’m in love with this story already. I know that I’ve written too many Jason Todd fics, but I can’t help that he’s my fav.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: Paranoia, fluff, etc. 

If it weren’t for your full ride to Gotham University, you would have left Gotham in the dust a long time ago. It has a pretty good program for your major and you get to live here for free, but the negatives are obvious.

There are insane and super powered individuals that like to cause panic and ruin everything. Maybe it’s because you’re not from Gotham and are just hyper aware of everything. The University tries to reassure its students, especially the out of state ones, but you can’t help it. You’ve been lucky enough to avoid everything that’s happened so far, but you have a feeling that your luck will run out soon.

The library has always been your go to safe place no matter where you went. Most students stuck to areas that they knew, but you tend to wander. Finding an empty spot is difficult until you know people’s habits, which led you to the archives. There are plenty of tables, hiding spots, and knowledge to entertain you when you’re bored of your assignments. Anything from old newspapers to unpublished works could be found. Besides, the smell of old paper beats the musty smell of your dorm room. No one visits much, not since the archives were all uploaded to an online database.

It became your safe space, a home away from the dorm that you could always rely on to clear your mind. It was undisturbed until October hit. You guessed that he was researching for a history project. Why else would someone be here?

Every time you see him, which is on a daily basis, you just move to your side of the archive and try to finish your work. There’s a sadness that your space has lost its secrecy, but it’s nice to have company. You two soon get used to each other’s schedules, and soon enough it’s an unspoken agreement to see each other. Despite all this time spent together, you haven’t even said one word.

You can’t help but crush on the guy. At first, you only saw a mauve blur as he ran between areas to find whatever he was looking for. Then the blur evolved into a dude wearing a hoodie and jeans, and a good looking one at that. Whatever his name is, he’s doing a very intense investigation. That was the first clue that made you think that he’s getting a higher degree. He shows up at the weirdest times, but you do that so you can’t say much, and is researching enough to write at least one book about it. He always cleans up after himself and has everything cleared by the time you’re ready to leave. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious about your work, but he takes it to a whole new level.

Your courage disappears as soon as you walk past him, giving a smile and a nod before exiting the room. It kills you every time, but the way he looks at you whenever you leave just makes your mind go numb. Everything you rehearse crumbles to dust, replaced with silly soliloquies and poetry that no guy would ever be into. Your love for literature made you into a huge sap, and you couldn’t help it when you melt as soon as you look into his eyes.

Just as you think it’s another failed attempt, you hear his voice.

“Hey, uh, you forgot this last time.”

Gods, even his voice was amazing. You turn around and see your beat up poetry book. The cover was long gone when you found it in a discount bin, but its writings drew you in ever since the first page. You can’t believe you lost it and didn’t even notice.

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, smiling so wide your face hurts. “I guess I was in a rush yesterday.”

You can’t believe you’re talking to him.

He laughs, “Yeah, I guess we both didn’t realize the time. It’s an interesting book you have there, though. I hope I didn’t intrude by reading…”

Oh, oh. You swear your eyes turn into hearts at that admission.

You wave the hand that has the book in it, “It’s fine, I’ll finally have someone to talk to about it. Did you like it? I mean, whatever you read?”

Mystery Man laughs again, gesturing to the book, “It’s intriguing. I pride myself on finding weird stuff like that, but it seems you’ve picked up something even I haven’t seen before.”

“Oh, really?” you ask, looking at the beat up book. “You know what it is? I just bought it ‘cause it looked… sad. It needed to be read, y’know?”

“I understand completely,” he smiles, moving to your side to open the book to a certain page. “This right here? This line tells me who this mystery poet is.”

You stare at the line as if the answer would pop out at you, but you just look at him for it.

“Amadeus Arkham, a pretty famous person if you know your Gotham history,” he replies, flipping a few more pages. “This is a copy of his original works, but it’s rare enough as it is.”

You couldn’t believe it. All this time you’ve been reading this and it’s the words of the man who founded Arkham Asylum. A man that went through so much only to die a madman in his own asylum. Mystery Man sees the recognition in your eyes.

“You could have kept this,” you said, focusing on him, “but you didn’t.”

He shrugs, “It’s yours, not mine. Plus, I’ve already taken a few pictures of the book so…”

A laugh escapes from your lips. You would have done the same thing, and the look on his face tells you he knows.

“Not to be that kind of person, but after spending weeks together in this room,” he starts, and your heart begins to race, “would you like to go out sometime? I know a few of the spots Amadeus references in his works and-”

You nod, probably a little too hard since it makes him unable to continue his sentence. Sometimes it kills you that words don’t work for you sometimes, but this time it’s different. You don’t even know his name and he can read you so well.

“If you don’t mind, can you solve one more mystery for me?” you ask, placing the book in your bag.

“I could,” he replies, the playful tone nearly rendering you speechless again.

“A name for my mystery man?” you ask, biting your lips to stop you from laughing.

“Only if I can yours.”

“(Y/N),” you respond.

“It’s Jason.”

Damn, it fits him so well. How in the hell is this happening right now?

“Well, Jason…” you trail off and tilt your head, squinting your eyes. “You seem like a Jay or Jayce type of Jason.”

“Jay is fine,” he chuckles, flashing that damn smile again.

You don’t know how you’re going to finish this conversation. This man completely shuts off your brain. How do you turn it on again? Wow, that needs rephrasing.

“I would love to see what he wrote about,” you answer, your face heating up as Jay’s face lit up. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do tomorrow. Same time?” Jay asks, his hand reaching for the door handle.

You nod, “Yeah, you wanna meet here?”

Jay opens the door and follows you out of the room. You look at the time and notice how late it is. How is it already 9 p.m.?

“Sure, near the statue?”

“Near the statue,” you agree, walking side by side until you finally see how dark it is outside.

The looming darkness reminds you where you are. It’s almost Halloween, and you’re sure that some sicko is probably waiting out there to lure you into a van or something. Your roommate needs to stop roping you into watching horror movies.

“Hey, uh, you think you can walk to my dorm with me?” you ask, nervously looking outside. “I forgot how dark it gets here in the fall.”

You adjust your bag and tighten the straps, mentally preparing yourself for the trek. Jeeze, he asks you out on one date and you’re already latching onto him like a crazy person.

“Yeah, it’s just a block away, right?”

Nodding, you push the door open and firmly grasp his arm as you start walking. It’s ridiculous that you’re already showing your paranoid side to him, but it’s nice to finally have someone to walk beside.

“You’re not from Gotham, aren’t you?” Jay asks, guiding you to the sidewalk.

“It’s that easy, huh?” you sigh, looking around you. “I love this place, I love its history, but it has a reputation. My parents nearly made me go to a different university, but this one always had my attention.”

You pass by the first street, your body relaxing as the conversation continues. It doesn’t hurt to learn more about Jay, especially his recommendations in novels. You’ve never learned this much in a single conversation, and you hope that this will never stop. You can get used to this.

Continued in part 2

[nyxshadowhawk]

The Red Book, Liber Primus: Part One

This is going to be a long series of posts in which I interpret Carl Jung's Red Book! Jung has been a cornerstone of my mystical practice for basically as long as I've been practicing, and a major inspiration for my creative work, so imagine my surprise when I learned that Jung had his own grimoire of mystical experiences! This is maybe the most important book I've ever read.

Introduction

I owe a lot to Carl Jung. I read one page about him in a book about symbols that I received when I was about twelve, and something just clicked. In particular, the idea of the Shadow Complex really stuck with me, and has absolutely defined the last decade of my life in terms of my personal spirituality, my approach to interpreting media, and my creative writing. It’s kind of hard to overstate the impact that Jung has had on me, but despite that, I haven’t actually read that much Jung. You all know how much I care about primary sources, so I was uncomfortable with the fact that I was using Jung’s ideas as the basis of my own work without being intimately familiar with his.

I’ve made some missteps. I originally really loved the idea of interpreting gods as archetypes, and claiming that all of humanity worshipped the same gods under different names. I saw that as a beautiful uniting feature of humankind. But the concept did not hold up under scrutiny, for a long list of reasons; the short version is that I was ignoring nuances that distinguished gods from each other, dismissing some of their defining qualities as cultural quirks, as if entire human cultures were “hats” that gods put on and not the thing that makes them what they are. I didn’t start having real relationships with gods until after I started viewing them as individuals, rather than archetypes. And then there’s Joseph Campbell, and his whole “Hero’s Journey” idea, which seemed extremely profound until I actually read The Hero with a Thousand Faces and realized how flawed the Hero’s Journey framework really is. (Spencer McDaniel has a great article about that over on her site, so I recommend you check that out.) So, that was all another strike against Jungian ideas. The third strike is that people like Jordan Peterson use his ideas a lot. That in particular has made me afraid that I’ve been misinterpreting Jung this whole time.

There’s also the fact that Jung’s ideas are difficult to understand and apply, and frequently misunderstood. Clinical psychology has mostly disregarded Jung’s ideas of the collective unconscious and archetypes as more mystical than empirical, despite Jung’s efforts to prove his ideas empirically. Fans of Jung will sometimes downplay his mystical leanings to try to lend more scientific credibility to his ideas. But to me, Jung’s mysticism is a feature, not a bug. Turns out, Jung was a mystic. Jung had mystical visions and prophetic dreams since he was a young child, and his entire brand of psychoanalysis was developed specifically to explain said mystical experiences (which honestly explains a lot). Not only was Jung a mystic, he was basically the William Blake of his day! He chronicled his mystical experiences in what is basically a personal grimoire, written in the style of an illuminated medieval manuscript, with stunning illustrations.

It’s called The Red Book, or Liber Novus, and it was published in 2009 (translated by Sonu Shamdasani). I got the really expensive version that’s about two feet tall and contains a facsimile of the actual illuminated manuscript. To call it an eye-opener would be an understatement. Reading it is infinitely more valuable to my spirituality and my writing than reading any of Jung’s psychological essays. The Red Book is the real source of most of Jung’s ideas and theories, and the purely mystical nature of them explains why the concepts themselves resonate much more for me than the psychoanalytic application of them does. Reading it is immensely validating, because it proves that I was right all along! Not only were my interpretations of Jung’s ideas spot-on, but my UPG aligns with his — though some of that alignment is undoubtedly a result of his influence on me, I’ve also come to many of the same conclusions entirely on my own.

I hope that the field of modern psychology will eventually do mysticism its due diligence using modern methodology, but until then, Jung’s attempt to ground all of this weirdness in psychology is the best we’ve got. I’m no psychoanalyst, so I’ll interpret Jung as a fellow mystic, because that is what I am most familiar with. I can compare his own experiences against my own, and hopefully get something valuable from my interpretation of them.

Disclaimer: These are mostly my notes and impressions; I’m not responding line-by-line (because that would take forever), I’m responding to what stood out to me. This is my interpretation of The Red Book based on my own mystical experiences and mystical knowledge, not based on Jung’s other writings. I’m using Jung’s name as shorthand for “the person writing this” or “the dreamer” — I don’t mean to suggest that what Jung expresses here is indicative of his personal spiritual beliefs. I know he had a complicated relationship with mysticism, science, and religion, so I won’t even touch that here. I’m going to be looking at this from a strictly mystical angle, and everything that follows is subjective.

The Way of What Is to Come

Jung began by introducing two spirits. One is “the spirit of this time,” a literal translation of zeitgeist (Jung’s manuscript is in German), which represents the conscious mind and conventional thought. It’s a reference to Goethe’s Faust: “What you the Spirit of the Ages call / Is nothing but the spirit of you all, / Wherein the Ages are reflected.” It’s called “the spirit of this time” because the times that we live in influence what and how we think, and form the foundation of our conscious faculties. I might define the Zeitgeist as the set of assumptions we make that defines our base-level interpretation of the world around us. So, when I complain about “latent Christianity,” I’m calling attention to the Zeitgeist. To put it in my own mystical terms, the Zeitgeist is the part of you that thinks like a human, instead of thinking like a god.

The opposite of the Zeitgeist is what Jung calls “the spirit of the depths,” which represents the unconscious mind. The Spirit of the Depths is both a personification of and Jung’s guide to the unconscious. It is something like a collective Shadow combined with a chthonic god, that encompasses all of the hidden and buried parts of humanity (or at least of Jung) that can be accessed through dreams and mystical visions. It operates independently from the Zeitgeist, and therefore can introduce Jung to secret information and concepts that fall outside of the Zeitgeist’s purview. A lot of what it tells Jung is harsh, but he understands that it’s necessary to listen to the Spirit of the Depths and internalize what it tells him.

Only a page in, and we’ve already got a mention of the Shadow concept. Since everything has a Shadow, God also has a Shadow. Jung defines God as “supreme meaning,” so God’s Shadow is lack of meaning — nonsense, void. The Spirit of the Depths tells Jung to notice the small things in life, which is pretty banal spiritual wisdom for most of us nowadays, but it’s very hard for Jung to accept. He writes, “It completely burnt up my innards since it was inglorious and unheroic. It was even ridiculous and revolting.” Everything has their own thing that they’re working through — I have to work through issues related to power and sexuality, and what Jung has to work through is issues relating to meaning vs. meaninglessness, greatness vs. mediocrity, sensibility/respectability vs. foolishness. The Zeitgeist of early-twentieth-century Germany insists that only great deeds, great men, and great ideas are the ones that matter. Jung was taught to think that things must be “glorious” and “heroic,” larger than life, for them to matter. The Zeitgeist encourages Jung to dismiss the little things as part of God’s shadow. The Spirit of the Depths informs him that the small things are still part of God and not God’s Shadow because they are not nonsense. The mundane is still divine, because it is not nonsense.

The Spirit of the Depths tells Jung, “all the last mysteries of becoming and passing away lie in you.” It’s a big deal to be one of the people of this time who can experience the Mystery the way the ancients did, or near enough. Actually, wait — Jung isn’t quite a person of this time. There’s a solid century between Jung and me, which is enough time for the Zeitgeist to have changed considerably, but not that much time. He’s essentially my immediate ancestor, the most recent entry in my mystical tradition. It is absolutely wild to be reading the Mystery filtered through a specific, named person who lived only a century ago, as opposed to ancient mystics of Antiquity who didn’t write everything down so I have to blindly guess at what they might have experienced or how they might have interpreted it. But there’s enough time in there that I keep wondering, am I in the time that is to come? Is Jung receiving this information so that I can be primed to receive it?

Jung says, “It is true, it is true, what I speak is the greatness and intoxication and ugliness of madness.” Yeeeeah! We’ll get back to divine madness, but I love that it’s being brought up this early. However, it’s a lot harder for Jung than it is for me to admit that these words or visions might come from a place of madness, because Jung is a person who really likes for things to make sense. On that note:

I must also speak the ridiculous. You coming men! You will recognize the supreme meaning [God] by the fact that he is laughter and worship, a bloody laughter and a bloody worship. A sacrificial blood binds the poles. Those who know this laugh and worship in the same breath.

Hmm, this doesn’t sound like any god I know at all… I love that phrase “a bloody laughter and a bloody worship.” That’s Dionysian worship in a nutshell, right there.

My speech is imperfect. Not because I want to shine with words, but out of the impossibility of finding those words. I speak in images. With nothing else can I express the words from the depths.

That checks. Mystical experiences often come as floods of insights and images, but few words, I think because words are literally processed differently by the brain (don’t quote me on that). Putting it into words literally requires a translation, and it can be very difficult to find the right words to do it justice or record every aspect of it. I’m also reading an English translation of Jung’s German, so that’s another degree of separation, but two degrees of separation is relatively little.

Jung has a vision of a sea of blood blanketing Europe, which is obviously a premonition of WWI. He also dreams that he returns to his homeland (Switzerland) from a “remote English land,” to find it covered in frost in summer; he makes wine from iced grapes, which he shares. The first part of this is a premonition — he was in Scotland when WWI broke out, and hurried home. As for the second part, “…I found my barren tree whose leaves the frost had transformed into a remedy. And I plucked the ripe fruit and gave it to you and I do not know what I poured out for you, what bitter-sweet intoxicating drink, which left on your tongues an aftertaste of blood.” Not sure exactly how to interpret this, but it’s a striking image, especially to a Dionysian like me.

Reassuringly, Jung insists that he is relaying his own experiences, not mine or anyone else’s:

It is no teaching and no instruction that I give you. On what basis should I presume to teach you? I give you news of the way of this man, but not of your own way. My path is not your path, therefore I cannot teach you. The way is within us, but not in Gods, nor in teachings, nor in laws, Within us is the way, the truth, and the life. Woe betide those who live by way of examples! Life is not with them. If you live according to an example, you thus live the life of that example, but who should live your own life if not yourself? So live yourselves. The signposts have fallen, unblazed trails lie before us. Do not be greedy to gobble up the fruits of foreign fields. Do you not know that you yourselves are the fertile acre which bears everything that avails you? Yet who today knows this? Who knows the way to the eternally fruitful climes of the soul? You seek the way through mere appearances, you study books and give ear to all kinds of opinion. What good is all that? There is only one way and that is your way. You seek the path? I warn you away from my own. It can also be the wrong way for you. May each go his own way.

Thank the gods for this! It’s too common for mystics to assume that their own personal revelations apply to everyone else, because mystical experiences really do make you feel like you have all the answers to life, the universe, and everything. Hearing straight from Jung himself that he is only speaking for himself, and that what he says here need not apply to me or anyone else, ironically makes his words more validating. Also, my biggest criticism of Jungian psychoanalysis is that it seems to apply the same symbols universally (the gender essentialism in the anima/animus concept comes to mind), so I assumed that Jung was extrapolating from his own mystical experiences. It seems as though he actually had the wisdom to admit that these symbols apply only to himself.

Refinding the Soul

Jung feels distanced from his soul, because surprise surprise, 20th century patriarchy is spiritually bankrupt. At the time he had the bloody-flood vision, Jung was forty years old and had accomplished everything that patriarchy says you should want in life — he had honor, power, wealth, knowledge, and happiness. He succeeded. He won the game of life. All he was left with was abject horror and the question of what to do with himself, a midlife crisis. (From a quotation in the footnotes, Jung defines the midlife crisis at the moment at which the Shadow first asserts itself: “A point exists at about the thirty-fifth year when things begin to change, it is the first moment of the shadow side of life, of going down to death.” Buddy, I’ve gotten way past that and I’m not even twenty-five!)

Jung thus came to the realization that he had dedicated his life to the wrong things:

I had to accept that what I had previously called my soul was not at all my soul, but a dead system. Hence I had to speak to my soul as to something far off, and unknown, which did not exist through me, but through whom I existed.

“A dead system” is a great way of putting it. It reminds me of the Fight-Club-esque dissatisfaction of having ticked all the boxes within the system and done everything you’re supposed to, and receiving absolutely no real fulfillment from it. (I bet Fight Club also owes a lot to this.) It also reminds me of my new favorite Terry Pratchett quote, from Small Gods, “People start off believing in the god and end up believing in the structure.” A structure by itself is completely hollow — what’s scaffolding for if it doesn’t support anything? I also like that second line. You exist through your soul, by means of your soul, and not the other way around… That suggests that it’s more real than you are.

Jung explains to the reader that if you seek external things – money, success, validation from other people — then you will not find your soul, and will enter midlife crisis. The soul is only found internally. So go inward, and do the work. Pretty self-explanatory at this point, but must have been earth-shattering back then because he spends a lot of time justifying it. It’s the Spirit of the Depths who tells Jung to look internally and reconnect with his soul:

Therefore the spirit of the depths forced me to speak to my soul, to call upon her as a living and self-existing being. I had to become aware that I had lost my soul.

I think it’s interesting that Jung uses feminine pronouns for his soul. That makes sense, since I use masculine pronouns for mine. I’m not sure how this relates to the anima/animus concept, whether it’s the same thing or a slightly different thing. It’s probably the same idea, because “anima” is the Latin word for “soul.” I checked, and Jung uses “seele” and not “anima,” possibly because he hadn’t developed the concept yet.

I interpret Astor as my Shadow and associate him with my repressed personality traits, but Jung would say that he was my animus, because I’m a woman and Astor is the man that exists in my mind. Jung conceived of the Shadow and anima/animus as separate figures — the repressed aspects of the personality and repressed femininity/masculinity, respectively — that need to be integrated separately. For me, they’re the same figure. The anima/animus is one of the concepts that I think hasn’t aged well, not because the concept is inherently bad (internal repressed qualities that one associates with the opposite sex) but because the way it’s presented and describes falls along strictly gender-essentialist lines. This is especially because the anima/animus is less personal and less “universal” than the Shadow, which inevitably means projecting Western gender norms (such as “women are more emotional and men are more logical,” which Jung expressed as Eros and Logos) onto everyone in the world and calling it an inherent psychological feature of humankind.

I think it’s is one of those concepts that was progressive for its time but regressive now with our more nuanced interpretation of gender. For example, the anima appears in men’s minds as a sex symbol, but the animus apparently does not appear as a similar sex symbol in women’s minds: In Man and His Symbols, Marie Louise von Franz says “…the animus does not so often appear in the form of an erotic fantasy or mood [as the anima does for men]; it is more apt to take the form of a hidden “sacred” conviction.” Yeah, that’s bullshit. I’m willing to bet anything that this interpretation is the result of women being sexual objects from men’s perspectives (as the “anima”) but denied any access to or expression of sexuality within their own minds. Women aren’t culturally allowed to desire men, so the animus is the unsexed voice of her father giving her very judgemental advice and rigid solutions, instead of a seductive incubus. That doesn’t check. Astor is basically a sexual fantasy with a mind of his own, and if Lestat, Rhysand, Edward Cullen, and Azhrarn exist, I’m clearly not the only woman who has a relationship with this specific archetypal lover.

Actually, I also have the “nightmare woman,” a separate entity from Astor that is a textbook example of what Jung would call a “negative anima”… if I were a man. Maybe having an opposite-sex Shadow and same-sex anima/animus is another sign of my gender identity being a bit screwy. Or maybe the reason why Jung’s soul is female is because his gender identity isn’t that straightforward, either. Either way, I think the anima/animus concept needs to be redefined to make it less cishet. It’s not universally applicable to say that your Shadow must be the same sex as you or that you have repressed femininity/masculinity. That was probably true back in the early twentieth century when anyone would repress any inclination towards cross-gender expression for fear of social disembowelment, but now? “Hey, turns out men/women have feminine/masculine traits, too” is not an archetype.

I digress. Back to The Red Book.

I came upon an interesting revelation while reading this section — if Jung’s soul is feminine and he has to “refind” her, then that’s why the hero of every fairy tale gets his princess at the end of the story. The princess is his soul, which he is given a right to by having completed the self-actualization process through the events of the story. The “half a kingdom” part of the Standard Hero Reward could represent control over part of the unconscious mind. I got a prince and half a kingdom from this process (maybe it’ll be a whole kingdom if I ever finish a version of the map that I’m happy with). It’ll quickly become apparent that this whole book chronicles Jung’s own Hero’s Journey. That means… in a manner of speaking… the the Hero’s Journey isn’t based on Jung’s ideas – Jung’s ideas are based on the Hero’s Journey. Because the Hero’s Journey is the ancient mystical process of self-actualization.

[Edit: I was getting ahead of myself here. Pretty much all of this will be addressed later when we get to Liber Secundus.

If we possess the image of a thing, we possess half the thing. The image of the world is half the world. He who possesses the world but not its image possesses only half the world, since his soul his poor and has nothing. The wealth of the soul exists in images. […] My friends, it is wise to nourish the soul, otherwise you will breed dragons and devils in your heart.

I interpret this as meaning that in order to “possess” the world in full, to have our princess and half-a-kingdom, you have to have both the internal and external aspects of it. To put it in alchemical terms, unite the fixed and volatile. (Unification of opposites is going to be a big theme throughout this book.) If you don’t “nourish the soul,” then it festers like a wound and you start projecting unaddressed Shadow aspects on the external world. (We’ll get back to that, too.) Without your Shadow or your unconscious mind, you’re half gone.

[reigningmax]

Max/Daniel fic recs (1/?)

Here are some amazing fics I’ve read and loved over the past few months. Thank you always to the fic writers, they are the backbones of society (fandom).

* Favorites, ** Smut, // ABO

***bees and butterflies by @toastandvegemite Daniel asks Max if he’d like to top. Max says no. It turns into a whole thing.

*i need a map of your head (translated into english) by toastandvegemite  Sometimes it feels like Daniel and Max are speaking different languages.

***let me know if I'm reading this right by toastandvegemite Sometimes it feels like Daniel and Max are speaking different languages.

[Honestly, Danni’s fics can take up 80% of my recs. Go read every single fic she’s written, but especially Maxiel. No one does them the way she does]

//*so happy i was invited by blinkiesays "I just wanna drive a fucking race car," Daniel says, after he's let the moment go too long to keep the joke up in the air. "That's all I want to do, is drive a fucking race car." The smile drops off Michael's face. "Yeah, I get it," he says, not getting it at all.

**steal the air out of my lungs (make me feel it) by nacho3  “Hey,” Daniel says, sauntering into a work room balancing a green smoothie and two large coffees from the caf. He puts one in front of Max. “You ready to save lives, Maxy?”

***make a wish that weighs a ton by rickybobby What they had was akin to a circumstantial partnership. There were few people in the world that could understand the things Daniel worried about on a daily basis, even less so the people who were willing to stick around to hear it. Through nothing other than convenience and circumstance, Max fulfilled the basic requirements of Daniel’s social needs, along with the perks: available, attractive, attentive.

***careful fear and dead devotion by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)  Daniel's already having a rough year; then Max dumps him.

**like ribbons by heroics  Here they are now, over halfway through the season, and at least one of them’s gotten off after almost every race.

**throw the keys back to me by thermocline But Daniel gets texts from Max more and more often. Links to TikToks. Selfies from the paddock. Snapchat memories of Daniel under the rumpled blankets of Max’s hotel bed in Melbourne, hickies blooming over his chest, at which point Daniel thinks: maybe it’s time for them to try again.

***house fires by tobabylon @geluksalig  Max gets a new performance coach. His name is Daniel.

***my kind’s your kind (series) by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy) It’s the fourth time: Daniel shouldn’t pretend that he doesn’t know exactly how many times it’s been, that these nights in Monaco haven’t become the way he tracks time, replacing his ten years of living by the F1 calendar. There’s days when he doesn’t know what race is next, but he always knows exactly how many weeks it’s been since he’s done this. The chair is closer to the bed now. Daniel had made Max move it, asked him how he expected to learn anything if he was all the way over there, did he even want to learn.

***all over you (and me) by TheNorthRemembers Or: Max starts lactating and dealing with it turns out to be both more and less fun than thought.

***comeon, star boy by @yekoc Daniel’s just slinging his bag over his shoulder to head out to the parking lot when there’s a noise behind him, the hollow metallic echo of a locker door slamming. Turning, he sees that kid. Max. The running back who always fumbles.

***chemical highs and clear blue skies by yekoc “Did he offer you enough,” Daniel says. Max looks over at him, sharp and surprised. “For whatever it is you need,” Daniel says. “Your car payment this month. First and last, for rent.” He thinks about the kid’s odd accent, the slight awkwardness to his words. “A plane ticket home.” Max shrugs. He kicks at the white t-shirt that’s on the ground near his foot.

***heaviness when I move (everything belongs to you) by Aurelia (Lily_rizzy) Or: Max has many feelings about Daniel with babies and about him and Daniel having a baby.

***second soul by @screwstyles The morning of the last day of the season, Max asks his assistant to book him a one-way ticket to Bali.

***with the sun in our eyes (series) by screwstyles A fake dating AU set in 2025: It’s bad enough that Max is outed by an ex in the middle of racing season, and then his team suggests he pretend to date Daniel to soften the blow. It’s as bad an idea as it sounds.

***//Hart to breathe inside my ocean by screwstyles Realistically, Daniel knows he’s aging, and he’s not in denial about that, but processing three separate incidents in the space of four weeks where his age has come up has made him think about it more than usual.

[Honestly, everything by screwstyles is golden]

***anything to get to the rush by kingsguarding  Every year, the World Champion gets to choose another driver to … celebrate with. It’s an old tradition, apparently. As old as the sport itself. Part of the prize of winning, part of your reward.

***figure me sweetly by @love-leah Daniel had just been thinking he’d tell Max "good season," "next year I’ll be the one fucking beating you, mate." Maybe, "but seriously, I’m proud of you," if Max's vibe was really desperate. Instead, he ended up standing out in the open, in front of the Haas garage and probably Mick’s poor fucking virgin eyes, tilting the champagne bottle up for Max, and watching the muscles of his throat as he swallowed a long, clean pour of it.

***//hold it to the sun by love-leah When they get home, Max strips his shirt off right away, the fabric of it harsh against his nipples. Daniel drops their bags inside the door and looks at him, hungry and exhausted, and says, “I don’t want to think about racing ever again,” and Max’s whole body feels cold and sore, like after a crash, even while Daniel’s hands press into his waist and he leans in to kiss Max’s chest.

*Cupid by eefiplier Max and Daniel making loooove

**lions in the wild by anaesthetist  He drops his face into Max’s hair, nosing at it, inhaling the putrid-sweet smell of Red Bull, champagne, and dry sweat. He didn’t shower before he came, tired and sticky with Martin in tow, turning up at Daniel’s hotel room with nothing more than an insolent you promised.

***kissed her, now you’re seeing double by @ricstappen​ It’s Max and Dan. Dan and Max. But very occasionally, it’s Max and Dan and Carlos.

**MV33 by Whippasnappa Daniel finds out Max is on Grindr. He's curious. He's just going to download the app, just to see. Just to look at Max's profile. He's curious how Max picks up men, curious if Max puts his real face out there. He's definitely not going to message Max. He's definitely not going to do that. He messages Max.

***all your days by @goldenhourhimbo​​ They’re in love. That’s it, that’s the plot.

***for you, my sacrifice is too by highyellowleaves @blamemma  One of those private booths at Cirque Le Soir. That’s where the boys wanted to go. Was booked ages ago. Daniel rolls his eyes. It’s one of the last places he wants to go. Influencers in heels pretending their interested in who he is and what he does. Prying eyes everywhere, paparazzi at the front door. McLaren’s afterparty options aren’t much better. They’re all heading to Tape, where a commercial DJ will be playing some dodgy remixes, and he’ll have similar problems as Max. It’s not how he wants to celebrate. But he knows he has to show face. To thank the engineers and the strategists and the media team for all they’ve done so far. He’ll show face. I’m heading to Tape. Keep in touch tho? We can head somewhere else. It’s normal for him and Max to find each other. They’ve stumbled into this pattern of locating one another, finding excuses to leave their other friends, enjoying each other’s company, being responsible for one another, ending up in the same hotel, same room, same bed.

[ninazadzia]

Why I ship Bucklena, and I hope the Thunderbolts movie pairs them together

https://twitter.com/Gothamette/status/1488939466852945923

Link to the fanmade trailer this screenshot is pulled from here. 

Okay, so I’ll start off by saying this - if the execs at Marvel Studios have the cojones to make Yelena asexual/aroace, like she is in the comics (at least from what I’ve seen online, haven’t read all of the comics so I can’t speak to how canon this is), I am 100% on board, and give the studio a lot of credit for showcasing asexual representation in a *huge* property.

However, as this twitter thread delineates way more eloquently than I could ever hope to, there is a very good chance that either Yelena’s sexuality will not be addressed at all in the Thunderbolts movie, or they’ll pair her in a heterosexual relationship - in which case, if it’s the latter, Bucky Barnes is the obvious (and, imho, only) choice. But before I say anything else, I just wanted to get that out of the way - I am all for asexual representation in Marvel properties, and genuinely, if Yelena being asexual is explicitly made canon in the MCU, I’m on board. *Editing to add, because this was an oversight on my part ~ if Yelena is confirmed as lesbian/bisexual, and the writers decide to pair her with a woman (like, say, Kate Bishop or Wanda Maximoff), I’d support that as well. FOR THE RECORD*

But until that happens ~ Yelena Belova and Bucky Barnes are the best potential pairing in the MCU, imho, possibly ever.

In case you’re new here + haven’t been spammed by the Bucklena fanfiction writing kick I’ve been on these last couple of months - hi, I’m your resident 27-year-old fanfic writer, and I’ve written fanfic for over half of my lifetime, for just about every fandom you can think of. I generally veer towards pairings that are canon-adjacent (not quite crackships, *could* feasibly be made canon, but it likely isn’t gonna happen), and in the MCU have shipped ScarletStrange, Romanogers, Kate Bishop x Peter Parker, etc. Given that Bucky and Yelena are about to be in a movie together, and not currently engaged in existing romantic relationship - of the list of pairings I’ve outlined above, they’re the most likely to wind up having some sort of romantic relationship. And I’mma tell you why I’d be excited to see that happen.

#1) They have similar backgrounds, and can relate easily to one another

This one is fairly self-explanatory - their stories have obvious parallels. Both were brainwashed by Russian organizations, turned into assassins against their will, and defected/escaped later on in life. While Bucky has displayed clear signs of PTSD, from what we’ve seen, Yelena is a little tougher to read/more stoic, however this could be a front - regardless, their respective ways of dealing with their past traumas could be an interesting dynamic to explore in the Thunderbolts movie, particularly since of the two of them, Bucky is going to take on more of a “Team Leader” role, if you will. Maybe part of Bucky’s job is going to be to get Yelena to open up? Whatever it is, I’m game.

#2) While they have a hard exterior, both are not-so-secret softies, and are sentimental when it comes to their found families

Case in point: Yelena’s reaction to Alexei calling their family unit back in Ohio “fake,” and Bucky’s reaction to Sam giving up Cap’s shield in Falcon + The Winter Soldier. They’ve both lost so much (their biological families, friends, years of their lives to evil organizations, etc.), and neither of them have much of a support system + family unit. And while that alone shouldn’t be the basis of a relationship, the way they view their “found families,” and the respect they both have for it - Bucky with Steve, and Yelena with Melina, Alexei and Natasha - shows they have similar values, and want the same things, even if they don’t state it explicitly.

#3) Yelena is effortlessly charismatic, and Bucky - while a bit out of practice - can be quite charming, too

Look no further than Yelena’s scenes with Kate Bishop in Hawkeye, and Bucky in just about all of the first Captain America movie - Yelena isn’t necessarily flirty, per se, but she has a natural charisma that radiates in her conversations. And Bucky, while definitely rusty and in need of some of some practice, is a complete flirt when he’s interested in someone, which could make for some entertaining banter + chemistry between the two. 

And, finally ~

#4) They both deserve love + happiness, probably more than any two characters in the MCU

This is another one, imho, that’s pretty self explanatory - Bucky and Yelena have both been through A LOT. They’ve both lost people, spent years of their lives brainwashed, and somehow, they’re still standing - and beyond that, they still live by a moral code, and aren’t villains/didn’t allow their traumas to make them evil. They deserve some happiness, and if it’s as a romantic relationship, awesome.

[pretentiouswreckingball]

20 questions for fic writers!

thank you for the tag lovely kay @xjustakay <3

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

Six so far!

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

57,991 —which might not seem much but still, very proud of it, specially because a year ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed writing that many words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

So far only marauders, but I have some drarry/golden trio era in the making, as well as some PJO and GO so, we’ll see!

4. What are you top 5 fics by kudos?

Since I don’t have that many I’ll only put my top three:

Archenemies (or so he thought) -> Sirius hunts down his bestie James for ditching him on a prank and finds him cuddling with the enemy (a black cat) who turns out to be more of a pain in the ass than he expected, especially because for some reason, the little shit acts a lot like his brother.

Don’t threaten me with a good time -> Ah, Black cats, mischievous little things, aren’t they? Known for being a pain in the ass for older brothers, a good companion for best friends and devil incarnated for lovers and love ones alike.

When it rains -> It all comes down to a certain bus stop on a rainy week. Between interesting chats, pastries and being almost ran over by a purple car, there’s something about the person they share the bus stop with that seems familiar. (Basically a bunch of meet-cutes and pinning idiots being, well, idiots)

5. Do you respond comments? Why or why not?

I do, yes! I love responding to comments but sometimes I tell myself I’m going to answer later in the day and I forget :( but I do love comments, they make my day every time. 💘

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hands down it will be slow dancing in the dark, the whole fic is quite angsty, at least for me, but I wouldn’t say it has a angsty ending, maybe a little— nvm I just re-read it. Yeah, it’s sad.

7. What is a fic your wrote with the happiest ending?

My babygirl some sunny day, that fic is my go-to when I remember this fandom is based in death, angst and misery hahaha. Some sunny day is like a, well, a ray of sunshine lmao. It has my favorite setting, my fave pairs and some Spanish here and there. Love it dearly.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no, maybe some weird ones but nothing that I would count as hateful. Really grateful for that, dunno what I would do if I were to receive those on a daily basis, never post again most likely lmao.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Haven’t post smut yet but I wrote some, still in the doc and everything but is there, waiting to be posted 😈

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest you’ve written?

Not really my thing, no. but maybe! who knows

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, haven’t looked Wattpad yet tho.

12. Have you ever has a fic translated?

No, but if anyone would want to, it would be lovely!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

It’s in the making, actually! @sequinhaze and I are doing a drarry fic, so there’s that 😌

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

All-time favorite is a not easy to answer, i mean currently it’s drarry and jeggy but my first was Percabeth and Solangelo, I was a sucker for them and still am. So maybe them.

15. What’s a wip you what to finish but doubt you ever will?

The empire of the sun trilogy jsjsjs maybe I’ll finish the first one but the other two seem pretty far away for me right now, but one never knows so.

Also copying Kay’s answer here because my google docs also looks like a graveyard of unfinished works lmao.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I believe I give a solid characterization and maybe storytelling (?? Inner monologue maybe? love to see the chaos i created in my little puppets.

17. What are you writing weaknesses?

Run on sentences, I’ve been told I tend to do that a lot hehe and comas —also it costs me greatly to just write, if I’m not in the mood it’s hard for me to just go for it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

1000% I’m favor. Some of my fics have French/Spanish in them, I like the idea of leaving non-spanish speakers to go to the end notes or to google translate or straight-up wonder what the hell I’m talking about jsjsj

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Some 1D and JB back in the day, so you bet your asses y/n and I were besties

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

About time, scars and the brightest stars is my absolute favorite. That fic is the love of my life, it has everything I love and more and rn I can put the link bc I took it down so I can finish it all and post it in one go but yeah, that one.

no pressure tags: @sequinhaze @a-fiery-fox @residentrookie @magswrite @fruityindividual @nevvaraven @inevitablestars @arakhnee

[shadowfiredemonwolf]

makorra were compatible with each other (korrasami has no real compatibility without korra being ooc

the notion that makorra breaking up in b2 means they could never work is idiotic ( neither of them would have worked with anyone they broke up due to mutual flaws  that led to them breaking up flaws which they overcame by book 4 ( its korra and asami who couldnt work out without korra bieng ooc in the last 2 minutes

makorra is more comparable to kataang ( and mako showed that he could support korra the way she needed it asami didnt

 I have seen people try to go well mako told raiko he did the right thing the notion that he should have just went along with korras plans when the only issue was that he didnt speak up sooner ( which is his problem he holds things in too much till they get to the breaking point  he should have confronted korra much sooner) you can be sympathetic to korras issue and acknowledge that korra was in the wrong trying to take another countrys military away

(mako sees korra the person asami only sees the avatar)

makorra is far more comparable to kataang then zutara ( mako has the same position in krew  he supports korra like katara supported aang , etc and is the talented bender) katara and mako both had some jerk moments and their flaws acknowledged and treated as such  i feel korrasami was only popular because of desire for lgbt rep and the irrational hate for mako so they shipped it to spite and punish mako for daring to have flaws which had led to asami getting hurt when mako didnt do anything that required punishment

 his flaws and mistakes were acknowledged as such bryke already handling his flaws and issues the way they needed to be people over reacted due to asami getting hurt

 sorry but korrasami is more comparable to zutara the popular same sex ship  that was popular despite not having a basis in canon

they had to twist the most minor moments to claim evidence along with piling up headcanons to try and claim a moment its evidence

the claim that korra chose asami to help her  in b3 finale when that has no basis 

and korra only smiled with her father and air babies and bolin when she was in that state

or claiming korra and asami sent each other letters  for years  when there was only one letter  sent

and it doesnt mean korra is closer to asami ( korra sent one letter to vent and put a sense of closeness ( saying that korra sent the letter  to someone she isnt concerned about  makes way more sense)

while mako talked about korra the person asami in remembrances went youre the avatar we need you which was a failure tenzin needed to comein and bring up korra the person and how she grew as a person

while mako supported korra the way she needed to be supported in the episode where they went to confront zaheer ( while asami did nothing ) which adds to the list of many reasons korrasami was a last minute retcon. censors wouldnt have prevented them from interacting or bonding  or showing a close relationship in anyway

ikkinthekitsune .  tumblr . com/post/111124581145/you-said-that-korras-dialogue-implied-she-sent

Anonymous asked: you said that korra’s dialogue implied she sent asami only 1 letter could you make a post that shows the dialogue/script for it so I can see that

It’s not directly stated, but I think reading between the lines of the letter itself and Korra’s explanation of it makes it seem unlikely that she sent more than one:

“Dear Asami, I’m sorry I haven’t written to you sooner, but every time I’ve tried, I never know what to say.  The past two years have been the hardest of my life. Even though I can get around fine now, I still can’t go into the Avatar State. I keep having visions of Zaheer and what happened that day.  Katara thinks a lot of this is in my head, so I’ve been meditating a lot, but sometimes I worry I’ll never fully recover.  Please don’t tell Mako and Bolin I wrote to you and not them. I don’t want to hurt their feelings, but it’s easier to tell you about this stuff. I don’t think they’d understand.”

The thing to note here is that Korra feels guilty about not writing to Mako and Bolin and says she doesn’t want to hurt their feelings, but seems to feel the need to tell someone about her fears.  Considering the circumstances, continuing to write to Asami in spite of that guilt doesn’t make much sense.

She doesn’t really offer any room for a back-and-forth discussion in her letter, in any case — she’s treating it as a confessional rather than as an opportunity to talk.  It seems more like she’s trying to explain why she hasn’t been able to respond than opening a conversation.

The other part of it is this:

“I wrote to Asami while I was away. I asked her not to tell you. I’m sorry.”

I feel like, if Korra wanted to keep up a continuous conversation with Asami, the request not to tell Mako and Bolin about it would have been phrased differently (“Please don’t tell Mako and Bolin I’m writing to you and not them” rather than “I wrote”) as would the explanation (“I sent letters to Asami while I was away”).

Instead, “wrote” is in the past tense in both cases, instead of something less ambiguously repetitive, and the second one mirrors the first, which is clearly only talking about the present letter.

It’s also important to remember that there isn’t much time for her to keep up a conversation even if she wanted to do so — she went off the grid within a few months of the letter, and international mail isn’t exactly instant.

“What irks me is that it’s obvious makorra was the planned ending. there is too much build up to deny it. it’s like bryke paved a road for that ending and swerved at the last second to end with korrasami. I don’t see representation. I see sloppy writing and pandering.fantastic-nonsense answered:Honestly, based on the way the narrative seemed to be heading, I was fully expecing Korra to remain single with the possibility of rekindling the Makorra relationship (as mature adults who have retained their love for each other but have grown, are more levelheaded, and are able to deal with conflicting responsibilites) in the future. But I will agree: a grand total of six interactions post-“Long Live the Queen,” only one of which is truly non-ambiguously romantic (the finale scene), does not proper relationship build-up make. “

shippers try to claim they couldnt show more because of censors but censorship  but  as fantastic-nonsense put it

“Censorship explains why we couldn’t get a kiss and an “I love you” in the finale or blatant romantic scenes, not the utter lack of Korra-Asami interaction as a whole. They had six (to six and a half) minutes of interaction in the last season, spread out over six interactions/conversations. They’ve had nearly no on-screen interaction since “Long Live the Queen,” actually. They had the 5 second “I can come to the South Pole” convo in “Korra Alone” (which Korra refused), the single letter, their interactions in “Reunions,” and then the tea scene in “Remembrances.” After that, they don’t speak again until the last two minutes of the finale. The episode after “Remembrances” is the Korra-Mako field trip to the Spirit Wilds and Zaheer’s prison and the culmination of Korra’s recovery arc. Where was Asami? She had two lines in the whole episode, and they were both to Varrick.”

 the difference is that bryke broke the narrative to force korrasami in at the last minute 

and zutara got actual moments and interactions which would say that they are close to one another

( to be frank toph x katara makes more sense then korrasami

korrasami being the only same sex ship in lok doesnt mean you are homophobic or dont care about the lgbt community  if  you dont ship it or say it shouldnt have happened good writing is more important then representation

good writing and not having a forced ship where you throw away narrative and two characters make no sense to be with each other is more important then filling a quota or publicity stunt. its more important then the genders involved ina ship  

if they wanted to have a show with a same sex ship then make another show with a same sex ship canon with actual buildup etc

like say given that they are making another avatar series they could have not done korrasami and waited for the next avatar series to have a avatar in a same sex ship which would have actual buildup

anyone who trys to go there are tons of shows with a het ship being canon are the people who ship something based on the genders involved not the people criticizing korrasami if they try to go but there are tons of shows with het ships being canon as if its relevant to legend of korra they have no place to complain about queerbaiting or say a het ship is forced.  

people arent mad that a het ship didnt become canon they are mad because korrasami was a forced last minute retcon there not being canon  it being a same sex ship is irrelevant

people would have shipped makorra even if asami was a guy ( or if korra was a guy  korrasami where korra was a guy would be generi pairing mc with a bland love interest with no screentime)

 the idea that because there are tons of shows with the het ship becoming canon instead of the same sex ship becoming canon means we should okay korrasami since there arent any canon same sex ships  in lok besides that or its the first etc is idiotic whats the most important is the characters themselves the writing ofthe story whether or not there is buildup whether the characters makes sense etc

a character or ship whose gay deserves criticism or love or support based on its own merits 

there are plenty of lgbt people who say korrasami is forced 

a same sex ship is just as viable to criticsim as a het ship thats equality

labelling anyone a homophobe/het lenses for saying otherwise makes a joke of the term

ikkinthekitsune . tumblr  . com/post/108144330446/why-do-you-think-bryke-chose-mako-as-the-one-to#notes

Anonymous asked: Why do you think Bryke chose Mako as the one to accompany Korra to Zaheer's prison - which was arguably the most climatic scene in tying up her Book 4 character arc - instead of somebody else? For such an emotion heavy point in the story I feel that they had to have made some conscious thought on who would accompany her. It could have been Asami, or even Bolin. Do you believe that they saw something that Mako offered more to her arc than the others did? I'd love to hear your opinion!

Because Korra’s relationship with Mako is the only one she had that offered her the sort of support that she needed in that situation.

None of Korra’s other friends or mentors has as much trust and faith in Korra as Mako does.  Asami’s support is a bit too insistent and she worries a bit too much for her to have done what Mako did and stepped back when Korra asked.  Bolin is… Bolin.  He’s good at cheering people up, but he’s not the one to rely on when humor isn’t called for.  Even Tenzin couldn’t have taken Mako’s role, because he’d let Korra’s long recovery get to him.

Mako, in contrast, was able to let go when Korra needed him to do so.  Korra needed to confront Zaheer on her own, and she needed to do so without having to talk her moral support down from coming in with her.  Mako was the only one who could fill that role.

Anonymous asked: About Korra's letter to Asami and whether or not it's about Asami meaning more to Korra than anyone else: when I lost someone I cared about years ago, one of the first people I told about it was somebody who was a good friend but not one of my closest ones. This person had also lost someone and dealt with it strongly, especially for someone her age, and I knew she would understand without getting too gushy about it. It wasn't about who I "cared about more" and it definitely wasn't romantic!

Thank you for sharing your own experiences.

It makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?  If you’re dealing with something difficult and uncomfortable, talking to someone who understands (or seems likely to understand) the specific situation does a lot more good than talking to whoever you feel closest to and hoping they’ll respond in a way that actually helps.

Just because you’re closer to/romantically interested in someone doesn’t mean they’re going to be the one with all the answers.  As such, the idea that going to one particular friend for answers about something very difficult implies closeness or romantic interest just… doesn’t really comport with reality.  =/

ikkinthekitsune . tumblr . com/post/117466809661/about-korras-letter-to-asami-and-whether-or-not#notes

[mangobone]

Twenty questions

So I’ve been tag by the magnificent @cupofteaandstars and even though it’s been like a month since she did, I had much fun thinking about the answers so here I’m sharing them:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

9 under my current pseudonym!

2. Whats your total AO3 word count?

Just 21,512. Which is very little for 9 fics in a four year effort but I’m proud of it 😌

3. What fandom do you write for?

Now just for Stranger. I’m really tempted to post for Life and something small for Divorce Attorney Shin though.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

- Into the treeline - Stranger 비밀의숲

-Steady heartbeat - Stranger 비밀의숲

-A deer can jump in front of you anytime - Stranger 비밀의숲

- A whole new face - The Avengers

- The Little Prosecutor -Stranger 비밀의숲

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always dude. Always. If you take the time to write a comment, I’ll take the time to reply.

I understand why some don’t. But I get too happy not to engage 🫶🏼

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending ?

That’s a good question because I love angst and I think it must be either whatever I used to write for Avengers (that Tony Stark can’t be written without some angst) and Longing, though with the last line the angst is lighter.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I suspect it might be The Little Prosecutor.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Haven’t. Hope it remains like that!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I tried once. Longing was suppose to take that direction but decided against it, half because I chicken out and half because I fear the OOC situation.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not usually, no. I admire people who do on a regular basis though!

11. Whats the craziest one you’ve written?

One I haven’t posted, a Stranger story with basic elements from Kafka’s Metamorphosis. I’m quite stuck with that one I’m afraid.

12. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not! I guess that’s another good thing about being in small fandoms!

13. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I’ve translated my own fics, does that count?

14. Whats your all time favorite ship?

Right now it’s Hwang Shi Mok/Han Yeo Jin.

15. Whats a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I only have one WIP published and I’m just hoping to finish that one 👉🏼👈🏼

16. What are your writing strenghts ?

This is the hardest questions of all; I guess Im good at imagining scenarios and I try to get technical details right.

17. What are your writing weaknesses ?

Complete lack of planning which results in slow and short fics and chapters. And sometimes the balance between dialogue and description is elusive.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’d try to avoid it as much as possible though it’s true that some things are near to impossible to fully translate.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Can’t remember exactly but perhaps for The Justice League. I read fics long before but it was years before I’d get enough courage to write AND publish anything.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Funny enough, it’s the least liked fic El Clavo - Stranger 비밀의숲 for which I hope to write another chapter of before translating it to English. That and a fic about a dark Hwang Shi Mok which I won’t post until I finish but again that might take years!

Tagging: well I think practically all my mutuals have been tagged already but if you haven’t, please consider yourself tagged!

[myfaveficrecs]

Creator Spotlight

@beyondthesefourwalls has me absolutely hooked on her newest series but I actually started following her before that. She has a way of describing scenes and emotions that draw you in. You feel like you are in the room with these characters she creates, and I love how you can immerse yourself into it. Go give her masterlist a read!

A Little Q & A:

1: What is your favorite thing you've written or made?  This is a tough one! I’ve written a lot of things throughout the years that haven’t seen the light of day, both fanfiction and original work. I think my all time favorite is something original that I did in one of my creative writing classes many many moons ago called All This & Heaven Too, which explores grief, guilt, and moving on. When it comes to what I’m currently working on, though, Remember You Even When I Don’t definitely wins! Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin have a special place in my heart.

2: Top 3 favorite creators you want people to check out?  There are SO MANY great fic writers in this fandom. Truly. Millie @roosterbruiser​ is the sweetest of sweethearts and crushes me on a daily basis in the best of ways. Landslide is one of the best pieces of art I’ve read, ever. Fanfiction and otherwise. Millie is also a machine and can crank out word count like no one I’ve ever encountered. Nicole @thatlovinfeelin​ is also someone I really love reading and chatting with! Her original stories are so good. I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention Em @roosterforme​ who is the reason I’ve posted anything at all and is hands down one of my favorite people ever.

3: An idea you have for a future work that people should look out for?  Remember You Even When I Don’t is currently the only thing I have in the works! I’m currently writing what will probably be the last two chapters, and then I have a few one shot ideas planned for them. But other than that, I have no current ideas for other stories; I’ll definitely take suggestions if people have them!

@roosterscock​​​​​​​​

@roosterforme​​​​​​​​

@bradshawsbitch​​​​​​​​

@jupitercomet​​​​​​​​

@seresinhangmanjake​​​​​​​​

@fandomxpreferences​​​​​​​​

@wildbornsiren​​​​​​​​

@babyrooster​​​​​​​​​​​​​

@ohtobeleah​​​​​​​​

@callsign-marlie​​​​​​​​

@callsign-milano​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

@oncasette​​​​​​​​​

@topguncortez​​​​​​​​

@topgun-imagines​​​​​​​​

@roleycoleyreccenter​​​​​

@call-sign-shark​​​​​​​

@cherrycola27​​​​​​​

@thedroneranger​​​​​​

@notroosterbradshaw​

@almostgenerallyalways​​​​​​​​

@roosterbruiser​​​​​​​​

@teacupsandtopgun​​​​​​​​​

@endofdays56​

[copper-16]

I started writing my own ingrid/mapi story not too long ago! I haven’t written in ages and I have quite the busy schedule, so I’m only on the first chapter BUTTT so far I have 4269 words and still have lots more to add :) I’m looking to hit around 7000 words for each chapter, but we’ll see how it goes. I’ve written a lot, but I think the hardest part will be editing it and improving it. I’ve found it easiest to write it all down (even if it sounds like a ten year old wrote it) and then editing it after to make it sound better. It’s working so far, so I’m going to stick with it. but I’m not sure if i should post the chapters as I work on it or if I should write it all first and then post chapters on a weekly basis .. im a pretty slow writer! anyway, thank you for inspiring me to write again lol. I love all your stories (and can’t wait for the next chapter of your new ingrid/mapi story to come out)!

Oh my goodness how exciting! What is your story about - tell me more! I can’t wait to read it!

That’s a really high word count for a first story, I’m quite impressed! I started smaller and worked my way up so you’re already doing amazing

I think it depends on how you want to go about your writing, re: post it right away versus waiting. If you post now you can take suggestions into account, and get some feedback/praise from people! But if you like your idea and want to just write and then let people enjoy and not be stressed about having to write on a specific timeline, you can always wait to post it! I’ve done it both ways, and it really is just up to personal preference I’ve found.

I’m looking forward to reading what you’ve written whenever you post it! Make sure to send me a link or something so I don’t miss it :)