#start WRITING things which is a terrifying prospect for me

[spinjitsuburst]

**rolls around** I’m so normal about superstar rockin’ jay I’m SO normal

[vivwritesfics]

Better Than He Ever Was - MV1

This gif makes me feral - I am on my KNEES

Y/N is pregnant and Max is sweating

Related works: Mini Me Prodigy

When Y/N Verstappen found out she was pregnant with Fabian, Max was terrified. He was utterly, utterly terrified.

He played it well, cheering and happy smiles when Y/N showed him the pregnancy test. To everybody on the outside, he was the overjoyed father to be, talking about Y/N and their baby on the way any chance he got.

There were very few people who saw beneath the facade Max was putting on. The first was Christian Horner, who himself was like a father to Max. The next was Charles Leclerc, who was way too excited at rhe prospect of being an uncle that he forgot he wouldn't actually be related to the baby.

Both said the same thing: that Max should talk to Y/N about it.

But where was he to begin? How did he tell her, after seeing how happy she was, that he wasn't ready to have a baby.

When she started showing? Oh boy.

It was never something Y/N wanted to keep hidden. As soon as she had all the tests she had taken come back positive, she posted something to all of her social media's. Max did, too, playing his part well.

Y/N didn't wear baggy clothes to hide her bump; she showed it off with pride. At every single grand prix she'd be standing beside her husband, hand over her stomach and the press took pictures of them.

Most husbands, when their wife's baby bump began showing, would be over the moon. But when Y/N started showing, it just made Max more fearful.

Y/Ns very first proper indication of the was when they were discussing baby names.

Any moment she got, Y/N was writing down potential names. She had at least twenty of each.

"How do you like Felix?" Y/N asked him as they watched a movie together. Max had been sim racing all day; this was the first proper moment she'd had to spend with him. "Or Daniel?"

"Daniel can be the middle name if it's a boy," Max said as he fed her a Malteaser.

Y/N moved over to her list of girls names. "If it's a girl, I liked Mila. Thought Mila Verstappen had a really nice ring to it."

Max just hummed.

It was two weeks after that Y/N finally sat him down.

"What's going on with you?" She asked, her hand resting on her bump. That morning her snack of choice had been stroopwafels, and she'd accidentally finished the entire box (but who could blame her? They're addictive).

"What do you mean?" Asked Max as he lifted the box to see what he was inside. Nothing, empty. He made a mental note to buy more.

A terrible, horrible feeling settled in Y/Ns stomach. "Please, Maxie," she placed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb over his wrist. "Tell me what's going on. I'm begging you!"

Max let out a huff. He hated himself. "I love you," he said, which definitely wasn't concerning. "I love you so much and I know how excited you are to have our baby, but I don't know if I can do it."

Her heart was beating so loud she was sure Max could hear it. "Wha-what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I'm so fucking scared, Y/N. I'm terrified of being a dad. What if I raise our child like my dad raised me and the kid ends up like me? I'd never be able to forgive myself if that happened."

Oh. This wasn't a dire as Y/N thought it was. This was something she could deal with. "Come here," she said softly and tried to pull his chair closer. Max shuffled over. He let Y/N wrap her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you remember last summer, when we went on holiday with my sister and her kids? Do you remember how they loved you so much that they wouldn't leave you alone?"

They'd rented out a villa. Max and Y/N had just come back from their honeymoon when Y/N's sister had invited them away.

As soon as they had their things unpacked, the kids grabbed their uncle Max's hands and dragged him into the pool. "Let's race!" The oldest shouted. Max was more than happy to oblige. He raced them to the other side of the pool and back, letting them win, of course.

When Y/N and his sister started on lunch, Max was blowing up the inflatable pool toys and looking after the baby. He was a natural with all three of them. Y/N watched them out of the window as she buttered the bread and passed it to her sister. That was when she realised how wonderful of a father Max was going to be. That was when she realised she wanted to have his children.

By the end of the holiday, the children were obsessed with him. According to Y/N's sister they didn't stop talking about him until at least two weeks after the holiday.

Max nodded his head. At first he'd been secretly reluctant to entertain the kids. But he loved it, and he actually found it fun. Of course, it wouldn't be the same when it was his own child.

"You're going to be an amazing father, Max. You're so kind and caring and kids love you. Plus, you're aware of how shitty your dad was to you, you know what you have to differently," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I'll be there with you every step of the way," Y/N whispered and kissed the top of her head.

Max was still terrified, but he was trying not to be. But Y/N saw him change. He really did become that cheering and happy father he was pretending to be at the start.

Aside from Formula One, Max's life became getting Y/N whatever she and the baby were craving. Stroopwafels, mostly.

They discussed names more when Max became more comfortable. He was a big fan of Nora. Nora Sophie Verstappen. It had a very nice ring to it, Max thought. Little baby Nora.

They'd struggled to settle on a name for a boy. After Max had suggested his mothers name for the baby's middle name, Y/N was afraid Jos' name was going to be thrown into the mix. Not after all of Max's fears and anxiety. They'd decided Hugo, Hugo Verstappen was to be his name.

If it was up to Y/N, Jos wouldn't be in the child's life. But, of course, it wasn't just up to her. It was a decision she and Max had to make together.

When they found out they were having a little boy, Y/N and Max were over the moon. They decorated the nursery, painting the walls to be like a Formula One track. The bottom third was all grass, the middle was the track and the rest was blue skies with fluffy clouds.

The track went all the way around the room, with little race cars painted onto the track. There was a little Red Bull with a 33 on it, and a little Ferrari with a 16. It was a friend who painted it for them, going into intricate details for the cars and garages.

And then Y/N went into labour.

All of those fears Max had managed to get past came flooding back. His wife was about to give birth to his little boy.

Max wasn't much help through the delivery. Actually, through most of it he wasn't allowed in the delivery room, since he was panicking too much.

He wasn't a Hugo. That was what Y/N and Max decided the moment he was born. He was a Fabian. Fabian Hugo Verstappen. He was the most gorgeous little boy in the world. That was all Max could think as he stared at him, cradles in his wife's arms.

His son. His boy.

"Welcome to the world, Fabian Hugo Verstappen."

[hannieehaee]

omg first of all i want to say that i love your writing, you’re amazing 😫

secondly, i saw that you opened your request for 1k followers, so i was wondering if you could do and angst-to-fluff reaction including hip hop unit? the specific one i had in my mind was about finding out that you’re pregnant and some initial anger/shock/disbelief coming from the boys, but i totally understand if you won’t do it, because i know not everyone may be comfortable with this topic. if so, feel free to ignore it or do whatever else you want 🫶🏼

lots of love, anon 🥰

finding out you're pregnant - hhu

hhu, vu, pu

content: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of marriage, established relationship, initial negative reactions, fluffy outcome for all of them.

wc: 635

a/n: thank u so much for ur kind words anon T-T and tysm for requesting!! sorry i took so long ;-; it was a lil hard for me to gauge a negative reaction out of them tbh i like to assume theyd be supportive straight away but i hope u liked what i came up with anyway <3

masterlist

seungcheol -

he had always wanted to be a dad. it was one of his biggest dreams ever since he could remember. the moment he met you, he was sure he wanted to be the father of your children, often even daydreaming about it whenever he'd see you play family with him and kkuma. he was unsure as to why his first reaction upon you skeptically telling him you might be pregnant was to ice you out. he felt like a total asshole, not knowing how else to react to such life-changing news. he knew it was just the initial shock of it. he did want kids. he was ecstatic. he was just too shocked to react properly, hurting your feelings in the process.

it would take him a lot of apologizing to get you to forgive him for bis stupidity, having grown terrified that he mightve been mad at the news. he'd reassure you that he was happier than ever, almost crying at the thought of a daughter to raise with the love of his life. would eternally feel guilty he had made you doubt how much he'd love a family with you even for a second.

wonwoo -

this was all he had ever wanted ever since the two of you got together. he had immediately envisioned a family with you, a house, a long future together. he would've unfortunately reacted a bit too shocked at the news when you had first broke them to him. it was just .. you hadn't planned it. yes, he wanted it, but he didn't think it'd come this soon in your relationship. he would be initially too shocked to show any genuine happiness at it. in no way would he express disappointment or any negative feeling, but his lack of enthusiasm would have you rethinking things.

it wouldn't be until later in the day when he'd snap at himself, realizing how good these news were. would uncharacteristically begin getting emotional from how happy he was at the prospect of starting a family with you, apologizing for not showing his true emotions to you immediately after hearing the news.

mingyu -

he'd enter a state of shock, which was very out of character for the usually excitable man. his immediate lack of reaction would have you retracting, feeling like you'd somehow done something wrong. he'd immediately feel terrible about it, lightheartedly reassuring you that he was happy about it and that he'd support you no matter what.

i feel like he'd be the type to ponder over it for a few days, probably even coming to the conclusion of proposing to you if he knew you decided to have the baby. at that point he'd be happier than ever to know he was now starting a family with you.

vernon -

he was still so young. yeah, he wanted to be a dad, specially to your children, but he was at the height of his career, meaning that the time he was home was already limited as it was. he had always assumed he'd get to have a few years off after being an idol for as long as he was, allowing him to lock himself away and start a family with you. this was not how he planned it, something he had stupidly let you know when you told him the news, completely forgetting to tell you how incredibly happy the news of starting a family with you made him.

he'd feel devastated at the dejection in your demeanor after his stupid reaction, immediately backtracking and telling you how happy he was, how badly he wanted to start a family with you. there would be a lot of hurdles considering his life, but he would be willing to go through all of them if it meant building a family with you.

[sunshineandspencer]

Much needed apology (Iridescent, Part 8)

Let me stress, this is not Maeve from the show, but my own Maeve just named the same to send Spencer into hell whenever he thinks about it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!OC.

Summary: Thanks to the love and genius of one Penelope Garcia, Spencer knows exactly what to do to get Maeve to accept his apology and start forgiving him.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: swearing, spencer gets over himself finally

Parts: Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6, Pt7, Pt9

be added to the taglist

He knew he needed to go all out. With how badly he fucked up, just turning up and grovelling wouldn’t be enough. So he took Penelope’s advice.

Rushing down - and having to walk since Ava took the car - to the nearest store that he knew sold some decent wine. Glad that they only lived about fifteen minutes from work so that it wouldn’t take too long to get back to her apartment. The less time it took to apologise, the less time she had to stew and get angrier.

Finding the best bottle of rosé that money, and taste, could buy. Dragging an attendant along with him to make sure that he’s definitely getting the right thing. All the way to the card section, which was absolutely shit, so they swiftly abandoned that and went for the chocolates instead. Of course, she’s not a fan of American chocolate since she visited the UK, and so he gets her a bar of dark mint chocolate. The poor attendant quizzed on everything for their input, barely able to keep up with the genius whirlwind.

As they finally got to the tills, and the attendant rang up his items, she gave him a look. To be fair, he was desperately begging her to tell him where the nearest florist was.

“.. just how badly did you piss off your girlfriend?”

He hesitated, only a moment, but that gave him the time to realise how bitter his mouth had suddenly become at the prospect of having to say “not my girlfriend”. So he didn’t, giving a sheepish smile as he picked up the wine and the chocolate.

“She might not let me into her apartment.”

“Good luck man.” Laughing at him goodnaturedly as she gave him the receipt. “Florist is down the street, make sure you remind her that you were stupid, she’s perfect and you love her.”

Even as he walked out onto the street, it stuck to him in a way that he wasn’t sure he knew how to shake off.

‘You love her, you love her, you love her.’

But he doesn’t, he can’t. He’d only just come to terms with liking her for fuck’s sake. Surely he can’t love her yet - he definitely would’ve realised by now. He can’t.. he can’t be that oblivious to his own feelings that he fell in love without even fucking realising, right?

Absently, he wandered to the florists and bought a bouquet of lilacs, even letting the sweet old man behind the counter wrap them in brown paper, adding a ribbon around the chocolates and the wine.

When asked if he wanted to put a card with the flowers, Spencer nodded, and the man waited patiently for the message to write.

“Write.. I’m an idiot, you’re perfect and..” I love you “.. I’m sorry.”

The man gave him a look, probably for the less-than-romantic message. Nestling the card safely between the flowers and handing the items back over. Clearly, however, the man didn’t need to be profiler to realise Spencer was going off to apologise to someone.

Patting his hand softly as Spencer tried to manhandle it all into his arms, terrified of dropping the wine.

“Good luck.”

Thanking him, he hurried back out onto the streets and started walking. Once again realising just how shit of an idea it is to piss off the owner of the car they drive into work, having to walk home as quickly as possible. Dammit, it’s their car.

It had been nearly an hour now, and that was too long for her to think that she actually thinks that way about her. He needs to make this right.

Passing the little blue mini, which he has come to adore just as much as Ava, and going straight past it into the building. Using his own fob - which he had specially made after she purposely left him out in the rain - and irritably waited for the lift to get up to her floor.

Resisting the urge to use the spare key he had, knowing that barging in uninvited wasn’t the best idea, and knocking on the door.

Waiting, heart heavy and suffocating in his throat, as her footsteps got closer. The door swung open and.. she’s already glaring. How the hell did she know it was going to be him?

Thankfully, however, he watched her eyes drift down to the offerings he had for her, softening incrementally until they nearly looked like how they had before. Carefully handing over the bouquet so that he didn’t drop the wine or chocolates. Her eyes flicked to his, accusatory.

“These are my favourites.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She blinked, clearly she didn’t expect him to apologise so quickly. Especially not without teasing her first - she knows she had flour on her face.

“Spence, I-”

“No, please, let me apologise.” If his hands were free, he would’ve already been holding hers, damn chocolate and wine keeping his hands busy. “I was way out of line. I am worried about you taking on more work that you should, especially from people only taking advantage of how sweet you are. But it all came out so wrong. I didn’t mean to shout, or do it in front of so many people, I was going to say something on the way home tonight. I was overwhelmed and lashed out, but that isn’t an excuse and I shouldn’t have done it at all. I won’t do it again, ever.. unless you deserve it.”

The way she had been looking at him, clutching the flowers to her chest and just gazing at him through the apology, morphed into her usual smile at his teasing lilt returning at the end. Just what they both needed.

It did make him feel a hell of a lot better, seeing her smiling at him again, but she still hadn’t said anything.

Until she stepped aside and held the door open for him.

“Come on, I made too much pasta for myself.”

Stepping in, he can’t pinpoint why this feels different to when he comes in the morning, besides the obvious of course. Maybe because he’s going to spend (hopefully) more than ten minutes with her. 

“You’re making pasta?”

“Yep.”

“Even when half the flour ends up on your face instead?”

Ava pouted softly and swiped his arm as he stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. But it was nice to have that little thing between them back. Considering he’d been pulling away from her, and then lashed out, she was sure they were going to have to go back to hating each other.

Not that she’d be able to do that now, or ever.

“Rossi gave me the recipe when I joined, this is the first chance I’ve had to make it.”

It’s incredible, really, how he’s able to hold such a casual conversation with her while his subconscious is screaming that he loves her for everything.

He follows her into the kitchen, he loves her. He sets down the wine and chocolates on the counter, he loves her. She shows him the recipe that she’s following, complaining all about Rossi’s vague measurements, and God, but he loves her.

His loving mantra being stopped short in its tracks when he spots the little pink elephant on her couch, seemingly waiting for her to come back.

“You kept the elephant?”

Once again, he gets a sharp look, as she finishes up the sauce, and he wonders what the hell he managed to do now. Giving her a soft, sheepish smile to hope that it would placate her a little - it worked.

“His name is Clementine, and he doesn’t like you right now.”

Scoffing, Spencer went through her cabinets to look for the wine glasses and plates. Giving his own little look, which she challenged immediately. What kind of idiot was he, thinking he could give her up?

“I gave him to you, he can’t hate me, I’m his father.”

“Well, you upset his mother, and I’m the favourite.”

When she caught his gaze again, he was pouring the wine, and she stuck her tongue out at him. Which he returned and made them both laugh, a sound that blended so well together and eased some more of the lingering irritation in her chest.

Oh who’s she kidding, she couldn’t ever be mad at him for too long. Him and his stupid face.

Whereas he was stuck on her words, he’d upset her. He hated that.

They’d decided to eat on the couch, their ‘child’ between them, which they kept trying to subtly drag closer to themselves and away from the other person. Each of them wanting to prove that they were the favourite. Ava switched on the tv, putting on Married At First Sight Australia, claiming it was the superior version, and he willingly indulged her this time. During an ad break, he gently nudged her shoulder with his.

“We’re alright, aren’t we?”

“You bought me wine, chocolates and flowers, you’ve been forgiven, Spence.”

“So.. we’re alright?”

She laughed softly, meeting his little grin with one of her own. Nudging his shoulder back, but staying there, leaning into him and resting her head on the shoulder as the reality show kept on playing in the background. 

“Yeah, we’re alright.”

Oh, he had to focus very hard on his breathing to make sure that she didn’t realise anything was different with him. Carefully laying his own head on top of hers.

“Great, good! I’m really sorry Ave, I take back everything I ever said that hurt you.”

“Even about my driving?”

Bastard didn’t even hesitate, spinning the spaghetti around his fork as his eyes flitted to the screen, finding himself getting into her show.

“No. You drive like a lunatic and I won’t let you behind the wheel.”

“.. little shit.”

Want more?! Good!

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 5

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Thank you for all the love on this little series guys! Literally makes my day seeing you guys interact with it. Little bit of a shorter one, but I hope you like it. Been thinking about maybe taking requests? Obviously I am still quite new to this so I may not be good at writing everything. But if you have any ideas feel free to throw them my way :) The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Challenges only happen once a week, so the next few weeks I continue to feel Imogen’s gaze on me every time we’re in the same room. Which is only a few times a day for meals and battle brief. But every single time I feel her eyes on me, watching my every move. I get the feeling the only reasons she hasn’t tried to start a fight already is us being on the same squad, and the fact I am Xaden’s sister.

As we stand around the mats watching the matches take place, I can practically hear my heart beating in my ears. I know I can hold my own on the mat, but something about the prospect of me being called up with Imogen terrifies me. The boys have assured me its nothing and I am over thinking. But the looks they give each other, mainly Garrick, do not convince me in the slightest. And despite how many times I had asked Garrick directly, he would not budge. I hadn’t talked to him or the others in the last few days, mostly keeping to my fellow first years in my squad. I wasn’t the only one who had noted their annoyance at me ignoring them. With Violet and Rhiannon commenting on it. Multiple times Garrick had tried to get me alone between classes or at the end of the day.

The moment I’ve been dreading is here. Emetterio points a finger at Imogen and I with a smile on his face. “My two best female fighters. Lets see what you can do.”

I’m kind of glad Garrick and Xaden are busy with their own fights to see us called up. But Bodhi is not. He goes to move but I give him a look, trying to convey I do not want him to interfere. He falters for a second before nodding and staying in his place. He’s probably going to get an earful from Xaden and Garrick later. But I don’t care. I need to know why she’s been acting the way she is. And if Garrick and Xaden get involved before the fight starts, they have the power to call it off.

Imogen starts circling the mat as if I am her prey. As if she’s out to kill me. As much as I would like to think my squad and being Xaden’s sister keeps me safe, the reality is people die in the riders quadrant. Nothing keeps you safe here.

”You need to keep away from what’s not yours Riorson.” She spits out at me.

What's not mine? Her eyes flick to Garrick a few mats away who is still focused on his fight to see Imogen and I have been paired up. That’s when it clicks. There is either history there, or she wants him. And here I come, essentially back from the dead and either put a divide between them, or wrecked any hopes she had of being with him. She’s jealous. And honestly who wouldn’t be. As per usual he is fighting without a shirt on, and its definitely a site to see. All the girls near his mat are watching him. She thinks I’m his. If only her words were true.

I don’t get a chance to respond back. In a blink of an eye Imogen has run at me and starts berating me with punches I can barely keep up with. Occasionally she gets a hit on my ribs, stomach or the side of my face. She’s coming at me with every thing she can. She tires for a second and I step back before launching a well placed kick to her stomach, sending her stumbling back before I am on her again. She not as lucky as I was when it comes to blocking punches and I manage to her a few decent hits on her. One of them lands on her nose, sending blood down her face and across the mat.

I vaguely hear male voices yelling that sound like Garrick and Xaden. But I block them out, focusing on the fight at hand. My luck runs out and she gets a well placed knee into my stomach causing me to double over, earning me a knee to the face and a sickening crunch to my nose. The familiar taste of blood trickles into my mouth. She pushes me to the ground and I have enough time to shield my face before she’s punching me again. Someone tries to pull her off but they are pulled away. I use the distraction to flip us over so I am on top. She comes at me with her knees and elbows, and manages to get a foot up and kick me off her. I land on my back and my head hits the hard ground in stead of the mat with a loud thud. I barely hear Imogen approaching me with the ringing in my ears. I look up in time to see her foot coming for my face, barely rolling out of the way in time. Her eyes flare with anger as I get away and am able to get back on my feet. I need to end this fast. The knock to my head has definitely given me a mild concussion paired with the knee to the nose I received earlier. If she gets another good hit on me I’m done. I need to win this to get her off my back.

She screams and runs at me with all she’s got. I can use her anger against her. She won’t be thinking straight. I plant one of my legs between hers, duck under her arms and use my ground foot to pivot around her locking my arms around her neck in a choke hold and locking both her legs between mine. My extra weight throws her off and we land on the mat with her on top of me, but I manage to hold on.

She claws at my arms and tries to kick her legs out. It takes all my energy to keep her locked in place. But slowly I feel her become weaker and weaker. Around the mat others yell for her to fight back and yield. If she’s anything like me, she wont yield. This is personal. After another minute her arms fall away and she passes out in my arms. I don’t even hear Emetterio call the end of the fight due to the ringing in my ears. But I know its done. I push her weight off me and do my best to sit up.

I look to my right and see Imogen coming to on the mat next to me covered in blood from where I got her in the nose earlier in the fight. We just stare at each other for a few second before she nods her head at me. Once we’re both healed and recovered I’ll have to find her and talk to her. A few other second years come and help her up and lead her towards the doors, most likely to the healers quadrant.

I go to stand but a big pair of arms wrap around me and pick me up as if I weigh nothing. I don’t even have to look up to see who it is as their familiar scent invades my senses despite my nose feeling like it should no longer work. I look up into Garrick’s hazel eyes as he walks with me bridal style in his arms out the doors and towards the healers quadrant.

Part 6

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt

[themetaphorgirl]

where I've been

hello friends! it's me!

I know my presence has been really hit or miss over the past year and change. if you want the short version, life has just been really tough, but I'm at the point where I really want to feel like life feels more normal again, which includes writing and posting and being more active.

if you'd like the deluxe edition of what's been going on, I do feel like I want to share what's been happening. it's been really rough and the next steps are only going to be more difficult, so knowing I have friends rooting for me will really help.

you don't have to read if you don't want to, it's kind of a bummer! the biggest takeaway is that I've been going through a garbage time but I want to start writing regularly again, so hopefully you'll see a lot more of me moving forward.

everything else below the cut!

tw: pregnancy, pregnancy loss

okay so. y'all know I got married in December 2022 (and we are still very happily married!!). we've known from the getgo that we want a family, but hadn't quite pulled the trigger.

well, there was another situation that happened that made me realize that I really wanted to start trying now, but it also unlocked a really deep trauma. when I was 23 I was in a really horrible relationship, and I got pregnant. and I ended up miscarrying pretty early on. and I got zero support. that's the short version.

I ended up, I guess for my own sanity, blocking it out. there's big gaps in my memory that just. don't exist. and for a long time I told myself it didn't happen. later, when I acknowledged that it did happen, I told myself that it was for the best, that I would have been a bad mother at that point in my life, that I would have had to maintain contact with my ex, that it just wasn't the right time and it was a good thing that I lost my baby.

the problem was I never grieved. I never healed. it was all just locked away and festering and killing me slowly.

so I ended up spending a good part of last year grieving and trying to deal with pain that I should have dealt with years ago. which...let me tell you, it's a rough process.

and at the same time, I realized that I wanted to start trying. my whole life I've wanted to be a mom. I've wanted five kids for as long as I can remember. Every time I pictured the future I pictured children. And I didn't want to wait anymore. which...is extra complicated to start that process when you're also in the midst of unpacking trauma.

and as you might have guessed...I'm not pregnant yet.

I'm very lucky that my work has a great medical program and they don't have waiting periods to see fertility specialists, so I started seeing doctors last April. And there's nothing wrong. I've done bloodwork, I've done ultrasounds, I've done so many tests, Shane has been tested. We've done three medicated cycles with trigger shots. They can't find anything wrong. They keep shrugging and saying that it's just the matter of the right time.

Unexplained infertility is a bitch.

It's so painful. It's so unfair. And because of my job I'm constantly doing orders for pregnancy announcements and gender reveals and baby's first Christmas. I cannot tell you how many times I've run to the bathroom to cry because I just can't handle being surrounded by reminders that I'm not anybody's mother yet.

I'm currently on cycle 17 of trying. which. that on its own hurts so much. s e v e n t e e n.

we have to hold off on starting the next steps because Shane lost his job (which is another absolutely insane stressor) but he's in a new job that he loves and pays better, and I'm getting a referral for a new clinic for a second opinion. but it looks like we're going to move forward with IVF.

I'm very very lucky that my work will pay for a significant amount towards IVF, but there's still payments we have to make, so we're working on getting our ducks in a row. and it's a terrifying prospect. medications and egg retrieval (my first surgery ever) and transfers. and the crippling fear that they won't get enough eggs or none of them will fertilize or the transfer won't be successful. it's eating me away. I've been feeling like such a shell of myself, every failed cycle feels like another piece of me has faded away.

right now I'm trying to focus on getting myself in as healthy as a place as possible, emotionally and physically, before we start procedures. am I still hoping that I'll get pregnant without IVF? oh, desperately. but at this point, nearly a year and a half into trying, this is probably going to be our best bet.

so moving forward, I'm hoping I can start doing things that make me happy again. I've spent most of the past year and a half being incredibly depressed and not really doing anything other than laying around in bed. I did discover Lockwood & Co thanks to Maeve, and that's helped so much because it gave me something new to think about and fixate on (and write for), but it's still been rough and sporadic. which, actually, is a good describer of how the past year has gone. I need to get back into living again.

in the meantime thank you for everybody who's checked in on me, especially QuiddoDitto. I haven't really had the energy to message back, but I've seen the comments and messages and it's meant so much to me while I slog through this.

hopefully things will get better soon! hopefully I start feeling like a person again! hopefully I'll be writing and posting regularly because I miss it!

and hopefully there'll be a baby in my arms soon.

[imagine-darksiders]

DUDE your bowser fics are keeping me FED. I so appreciate the work u do, thank u for existing <33

Do you think we could see the scene where reader sprains her ankle? I am in love with your writing!!

Ah, I can't believe I'm joining this Bowser train, choo choo!!

Here's part one of the ankle sprain. Pt 2 is in the works <3

Bowser X Reader

-----

This is a bad idea.

This is a very bad idea, and you've known it would be a bad idea from the moment you started tying your silken bedsheets together, fastened one end around a column of the four-poster bed and tossed the other end straight out of an open window.

While certainly not the most creative method of escape, you're well aware that time is of the essence.

The ruler of this wretched castle – King Bowser – is nothing if not your most frequent visitor.

The last of the sun's rays have slipped back down behind the horizon, stealing away the day's warmth and light, which suits your plans just fine. Less light means you'll be harder to spot as you shimmy your way down the side of the tower, clinging to your unconventional rope like a limpet clings to rocks on the shore.

Of course, as seems to be the case with your recent run of bad luck, there is another major factor you hadn't accounted for that has already proven more of a hinderance than a help.

In your haste to make a quick getaway, you hadn't considered the rain.

A relentless onslaught of water cascades down from the darkening sky, lashing against the side of the castle and drenching your flimsy nightdress until it's plastered against you like a second skin, offering little protection against the icy downpour.

The bedsheets you're scaling are already as sodden as you are, and your rain-slicked hands squeak and slip precariously against the fabric as you ease your way down inch by terrifying inch.

The breath in your lungs heaves out of you in crisp, white clouds of white air.

Quivering, you cast a glance down at the ground, still so far below your dangling feet and utterly barren of foliage or grass. Just a desolate wasteland of wet, churning mud.

The ground isn't the only thing that's churning.

Your stomach rolls over itself at the prospect of how far you still have to go before reaching solid ground once more. You must be several storeys up, right at the tip-top of Bowser's Northern tower.

Twisting your fingers and toes desperately into the sheets, you drag your gaze away from the perilous drop and squeeze your eyes shut, scrambling down a little further.

Time is not on your side. There's an awful burn in your arms that's starting to spread like venom to the rest of your muscles, and you're not sure how much longer you'll be able to hold onto the slippery sheets before your strength gives out.

And that's when you hear it.

That dread-inducing, booming knock - A damning sound that stops your heart in its tracks and draws your descent to a halt as you instinctively freeze up against the wall, your white-knuckle grip crushing the sheets between your fingers.

"No... No, no, no!" you whimper breathlessly.

Why is he here now!? He's only visited you every hour, on the hour. By your count, he's at least twenty minutes early, he shouldn't be here!

Not yet...

Even from several storeys down, you can hear the thunderous voice of your captor calling to you from beyond the doors of your prison - a plush and luxuriant little corner of the castle that he's been trying to convince you is your bedroom.

“Princess?” he calls out in that gravelly rumble you've come to fear, “Are you decent? I'm coming in...!”

A vicious shudder travels down the length of your spine that has nothing to do with the cold seeping like ice into your bones. You have to move.

Now.

Urgency and adrenaline compel you into action, driving you to move hand over hand, inch by agonising inch, down the rope of bedsheets. High over your head, you hear the ancient, wooden doors creak open, announcing Bowser's entrance.

“Princess?” comes his muffled call once more.

You drop another few feet, pulling a face at the false title he's given you. You may not like it, but you suppose it's better that he thinks you a princess than a queen.

There's silence for a time, lasting a scant few seconds as you presume he's giving the room a cursory sweep, until, inevitably...

“Princess!”

It's far more urgent than you expected, and his shout is immediately followed by the clatter of several objects being dropped to the ground, smashing to pieces across the marble floor of your prison-come-bedroom.

You realise that by now, he has to have seen the open window and the sheets you've tied to the bed.

The whole tower seems to shudder as he lumbers across the room, and in a thoughtless move borne of fear, you crane your neck back and squint up through the rain until your gaze lands upon the golden light that spills out through the window, what had once seemed like such a beacon of hope.

There, through the darkness, a colossal snout pokes out into the downpour, swiftly followed by a thick, fiery mane.

For all of a second, you find yourself gaping up at the underside of his chin.

But of course, as was bound to happen, he tips his nose and finally looks down.

The dark does little to hide the striking gleam in those wild and crimson eyes. They lock with yours, and for a moment, you both stare back at one another, unblinking, each as apprehensive as the other.

Somewhere far in the distance, a growl of thunder almost supersedes the Koopa's deafening roar. “WHAT'RE YOU DOING!?” Bowser bellows, loud enough to spur your stiff muscles into action once again.

Gasping for a breath you hadn't realised was trapped in your throat, you recommence your mad dash down the side of his tower.

“Wait! Stop!” His tone is suddenly miles away from its usual, authoritative lilt. “You're gonna get yourself killed!”

You pay the King's threat as little mind as possible and begin to clench and unclench your fists, allowing the weight of your body to pull you down in jolting, jarring increments. The sodden palms of your hands burn as the fabric pulls through them, rubbing the skin raw, but you don't stop.

You're nearly two storeys from the ground when, all of a sudden, you feel the sheets in your hands jerk and there's an odd swooping sensation in the pit of your stomach as gravity gives an unexpected shift.

It takes your brain a moment to realise what's happening.

One, rapid glimpse of the ground confirms your fear. The mud below you is falling away again, getting further instead of closer with each passing second.

“No!” you gasp hoarsely, snapping your head back to see that Bowser has stuffed his arms and torso out of the window and fisted his enormous, meaty paws around the bedsheets, hoisting them back into the room, one armful at a time.

“Just hang on!” he belts out, spraying rainwater from his rubbery, upper lip, “I gotcha! I gotcha!”

He's pulling you back up, you realise with a sinking sense of dread tugging your heart down into the soles of your feet. He's taking you back to that prison, back to the confined and claustrophobic walls of his fortress.

Heaven knows what he'll do to you when he gets his hands on you after this, but you can't imagine that anyone who is willing to kidnap a person is going to pull their punches if said person attempts to escape.

You can't let him get you back into that room.

Right now, you're more afraid of the Koopa King's wrath than you are of a fall.

Dropping your head, you watch the ground sink further and further away below your bare toes.

Two and a half storeys... at least... and steadily getting higher....

You can't stop to hesitate.

Besides, you've already had several bad ideas today, what's one more?

Your breath stills as you try to override your natural instincts and pry your trembling fingers from the bedsheets. One moment of courage, that's all you need.

“Come on!” you whimper to yourself, slamming your eyes shut tight.

At last, with every synapse in your brain shrieking for you to hold on, your hands spring open and you finally let go.

“NO!” Bowser's almighty clamour is lost to you in the abrupt rush of air that screams past your ears.

There's a gut-wrenching second of free fall, and then..

'SPLAT!'

The muddy earth is eager to greet you with a sickening squelch.

You land feet first, letting out a shrill yelp of pain as you instantly crumple over onto your front in the muck. It oozes between your fingertips as you clench your fists and bite down hard to keep a sob trapped behind your teeth, eyes burning with unshed tears.

You feels as if someone has taken a red-hot poker and shoved it straight through your ankle.

“Y/n!?”

Your own name sounds far away to your ringing ears, and you deduce that distance must be the reason why the voice sounds so frantic.

It won't occur to you until later the significance of Bowser calling you by your name instead of 'princess.'

Mud clings stubbornly to the front of your night dress, caking your thighs and arms as you tenuously peel yourself up off the ground and rise to your hands and knees whilst the rain hammers down on you from overhead, plastering your hair to your skull.

Wet, freezing cold and sporting an ankle that sings with agony, you drag yourself away from the wall on shaking limbs. If you can just make it beyond the castle grounds and into the Dark Lands, you might stand a chance of finding a place to hole up in until the worst of the storm passes, proverbial and literal.

The odds are slim, but right now, you don't have much of a choice. You have to go home. You have to get back to your people.

It isn't lost on you that you're far from your kingdom, separated by vast oceans and unfamiliar biomes. But as you struggle through the mud on hands and knees, you resolve to cross that bridge when you're out of immediate danger.

Another grumble of thunder rolls across the swiftly-darkening sky.

“Stay there!” Bowser hollers from the window, “Don't move! I'm comin' down!”

You risk a strained glance over your shoulder to see how far you've crawled, but when your eyes land on the Koopa far above you, your efforts to drag yourself forward are put on temporary hold.

Blinking through a mixture of raindrops and your own salty tears, you see the Koopa bracing his hands on either side of the open window, but he doesn't retreat into his castle, as you assumed he would.

By your count, it should take him at least five minutes to get out here to you, which would subsequently give you precious time to put some distance between you and his terrible fortress.

Sadly, your hopes for that outcome are promptly scuppered when the king hoists his hefty bulk through the window and, to your shock, pushes himself out of it, foregoing your bedsheet rope entirely.

Mouth hanging agape, you're too stunned to do anything except watch as Bowser drops like a meteorite, plummeting towards the earth with his knees bent and his arms held out at his sides, mane whipping around his horns in the rain. He hits the ground with an almighty 'BOOM!' that sends shockwaves rippling out through the mud around him and shakes the ground below your fingertips.

Nothing but a low grunt is torn out of him at the impact.

Horrified, you reel back as he lifts his head, and his bright, blood-red eyes slide open, zeroing in on you with the immediacy of a honing beacon.

Gods... he doesn't even look winded.

You wonder how you must seem right now to a tyrant like him – sopping wet and bedraggled, mud-caked from head to toe, and shivering like a leaf in a hurricane. You're far from the proud, adventurous person who first landed on the shores of the Mushroom Kingdom.

You're given no more time to your thoughts however, as Bowser starts towards you, stomping easily through the sloshing mud.

With a sudden flare of alarm, you whip yourself around and struggle valiantly up onto your one, good leg while the beast's resonant breaths drift closer and closer, urging you onwards like spurs to a horse's flank.

The moment you're upright however, sharp agony crawls up from your ankle to your knee and you cry out in pain, half stumbling, half hopping awkwardly through the slippery mud.

“Hey, stop!” Cumbersome footfalls are almost upon you.

You make it all of a few steps before your ankle suddenly crumples under your weight and you let out another bleat of anguish, toppling backwards with your arms pinwheeling to try and right yourself again.

At your back, Bowser makes a sound of alarm, but you don't see him lurch towards you, his colossal hands outstretched. There's an almighty 'thud!' behind you as something enormous hits the ground.

Gravity pulls you greedily backwards and you brace yourself, waiting in anticipation to feel the earth connect painfully with the back of your skull.

So it comes as something of a shock when, instead of a cold, hard landing, your backside hits a warm, spongey surface...

Stunned rigid, you pry your eyelids apart and find yourself blinking straight up into the falling rain.

“What...?” Reaching behind your head, you try to feel for the ground underneath you, only to further baffle yourself when your probing fingertips meet a layer of smooth, .

A hot gush of air suddenly blasts against your thighs and you squeal involuntarily when something groans under your rump. With a gasp, you hurl your torso upright and twist yourself around to peer down at the soft surface you've landed on.

Oh... Oh, you really wish you'd just fallen in the mud...

For reasons utterly beyond the scope of your imagination, it seems that Bowser has thrown himself to the ground just in time to spare the seat of your nightdress from further mud, but evidently, he'd overshot, enough that you've ended up landing right on top of his head, not in his outstretched hands.

You're sitting on Bowser's muzzle.

His muzzle, your brain helpfully reminds you, and you're dreadfully aware of the little puffs of breath that blow from his nostrils and warm the backs of your thighs. All of a sudden, the gargantuan body underneath you lets out another groan and a single, red eye peels itself open, swivelling up to meet your stupefied gaze.

“Ngh, you okay?” the King mumbles through his lips, half of his jaw squashed into the mud.

It takes you another second to register your mortifying position. And another second entirely to react to it.

You're not sitting there for long. With a scandalised squawk, you hurl yourself off the koopa's snout at the speed of a bullet and twist yourself around in mid air to face him. The seat of your dress eventually collides with the mud but you don't care for the ruined fabric, too preoccupied with gawking up at Bowser as he starts to heave himself onto his feet.

“You!” you blurt shakily, “How... how dare you!” Trembling hands drag yourself backwards, but Bowser, it seems, is hardly paying attention.

In another second, he's stepping forwards and leaning down towards you, wholly undeterred by the feeble slaps you land on his outstretched arms.

“Don't you dare!” you bark, wriggling with fervour when his huge, scaly hands slide around your back and slip easily underneath your kicking legs, clamping your knees together.

“Quit movin' around! You wanna make that foot worse?” The King's rumbling timbre does nothing to dissuade your struggles. With far too little effort, Bowser clutches your squirming body against his chest and rises to his full height.

You regret tossing yourself about so much when a wayward kick sends spasms of white-hot fire lancing through your ankle and you promptly go rigid in the koopa's arms, hissing a breath through your gritted teeth.

Bowser lowers his colossal head over you, covering you from the worst of the weather as he curls around you until you're almost lost from view behind his broad biceps.

“C'mon, Princess,” he thrums, his throat so close to your ear that you feel his voice more than you can hear it, “Let's get you outta this rain...”

[deathsbestgirl]

scully's memento mori voiceovers. her love letter to mulder. leaving him something because she can't be there.

"i feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden, as i have come to trust no other. that you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now..."

trying to unburden herself, to leave him with the love in her heart and free him of the guilt of her death too.

"a faith shaken and strengthened by your convictions, if not for which i may have never have been so strong now."

telling him how he's changed her world, made her stronger and is the only reason she can face this.

"hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you"

she wants to finish the journey with him but she can't. asking forgiveness for something that isn't her fault. leaving him is the worst thing she can imagine.

"that it starts as an invader, but soon becomes one with the invaded, forcing you to destroy it, but only at the risk of destroying yourself."

this is the whole show. scully sent to spy on mulder, to debunk his work. the pilot is about them developing trust and becoming a team. becoming so intertwined that they are one, two sides of the same coin. it's the whole conspiracy and why they'll never win. to do so would mean to destroy themselves and lose their innate goodness. to be like the men in the shadow government they're desperately trying to expose and to stop.

"it's science's demon possession. my treatment, science has attempted exorcism"

connecting science & her faith. her beliefs & her skepticism. somehow one and the same when seemingly at odds.

"and if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was a possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done. and though we've traveled far together , this last distance must necessarily be traveled alone."

she doesn't want to be his next crusade. the next one he uses to nail himself to the cross. she doesn't want him to walk into every room with his eyes closed, hoping that when he opens them she'll be there. she knows him. she knows his pain and his guilt it, and she tries desperately to absolve him. love as absolution in the only thing she can give him now. these words before her death.

"mulder, it's difficult to describe to you the fear of facing an enemy which i can neither conquer nor escape."

the vulnerability she is consciously handing to him.

she writes of penny northern, a woman she loves and fears, envies and respects. because she faced what she knew to be true and tried to pass the strength and wisdom onto her.

"mulder, i feel you close, though i know you are now pursuing your own path. for that i am grateful, more than i could ever express. i need to know you're out there if i am ever to see through this."

she speaks as if he isn't out there searching for answers to help her, to save her. as if it's just his quest for the truth he's continuing. as if scully isn't the most important thing to him right now. as if his life doesn't depend on hers. but she knows. and she needs him to know everything he does is worthwhile. that she can't go into the darkness if he isn't there to light it up, even from afar. that he is light & love and making a difference in the world. in her world.

--

every time scully says "mulder" addressing him directly as she pours her heart out on page after page. leaving him with no answers, leaving him alone, dying before they reach the truth. it's a living nightmare. lying on her deathbed unable to help him, unable to give him what he needs. what he deserves. the prospect of leaving him with no one to trust, no one on his side, no one to love him and follow him. terrified he will follow her to the grave. that's what she believes her role is supposed to be, the end of their never ending line and she needs his to keep going.

[velvet-vox]

The dark side of Steampunk: Nox (Part 1)

There is this video made by the Youtuber schnee about Hazbin Hotel, and how its grimsical art style serves the purpose of forming the setting and dictating every writing decision through the usage of its thematic connotations.

It's a pretty interesting video to watch if you are a fan of that series, but I'm not here to talk about that.

No, I'm here to talk about a specific part of that video.

There's a certain timestamp in the video where schnee all of a sudden starts to talk about a movie named "Aeronauts", and how it perfectly nails the Steampunk aesthetic through its understanding of the themes of Steampunk and the historic/social connotations of his it's existence. Here:

For the purposes of his argument, schnee explains to us what Steampunk is all about and compares it to grim dark. While this was fascinating and all, after I've learned the meaning behind the Steampunk aesthetic I couldn't help to think about Noximilliem Coxen the Watchmaker from Wakfu, and how the show writers and character designers twisted the positive vibes of the style to create a more impactful and terrifying antagonist that swims confidently in his own aesthetic.

Today, I'm going to break down how Nox's story uses and twists the meaning of Steampunk to help him stand out.

There's going to be multiple parts to this analysis, so expect me to add their link in the future, but for now, I'm going to focus my attention entirely on the OVA episode and I'll tackle the main series at a later date.

The OVA:

Noximilien is a brilliant inventor specialized in the creation of clocks. His over excitement at the prospect of being the one to find the next big thing is very reminiscent of the classic Victorian scientist present in many stories, usually on the protagonist's side: at the start of his character arc, Milien is the embodiment of the optimism native of the XIX century from which Steampunk stories often take place.

Characterised by the industrial boom, Steampunk (Nox) seeks out to revolutionise the rigid lifestyle of the Victorian era through the wonders of machinery and science. This right here seems like the classic setup for any story of the genre, surely it can't vary more than this?

Unfortunately for our Watchmaker, this is the part where another genre of storytelling is introduced into the mix: the Eldritch horror.

Stories of Eldritch Horror are often characterised by the fear of the unknown: humans going insane trying to understand things that were never intended to be understood, some light ho######ia and ra###m sprinkled here and there, but you can't blame Lovecraft for being a bigot when he was so much worse than that.

Nox finds a mysterious object coming from outer space, it acts weird and suspicious, and he can't understand it, so he takes it back home where he can study it. (I don't know what the bubbles emitted from the cube and the following psychosis are meant to entail, but I think it's up to interpretation).

Immediately, Milien sees the cube as an exciting new discovery, already picking apart its effects on his clock and quickly brushing aside how it affected Igôle. It's honestly not that uncommon in stories of this genre, the inventor tends to be pretty self centered and not particularly emotionally intelligent, it's a flaw that tends to go undeveloped, but it's usually never a problem for these people (Unless they are the villain 🌚).

But here, it's where unfortunately the rift between his family and his desires starts to form: at the beginning of the episode, Galanthe was nothing but supportive of her husband's passion for his inventions and the future, but here, when she asks her husband to let go of his current hyper fixation, she, quite literally, puts a stop to the Industrial dream, one of the cores of this genre; basically rejecting Nox himself, whose the personification of Steampunk.

Naturally, Milien is at fault here, he shouldn't be taking her response too dramatically, but this is going to be the base to his later turn towards the obsession.

While we're here, I might as well mention the beggar and the puppet show.

They're not all that important to Noximilien's character arc (aside from the money problem giving him a ticking clock to all of his actions🌚🌚), but they do provide important pieces of character building and themes for our analysis, so I'm going to briefly touch on them.

The beggar and the puppet show serve to better establish and build up our Steampunk narrative before it can later be destroyed by the Eliacube.

The beggar, is our representation of society. More specifically, Victorian society. He's naturally unimpressed by Milien's creativity and ingenuity, and only seeks to get his part of the bargain. He's strict, rigid, and he's clearly intended to be the obstacle in this situation.

The conflict between the beggar and Milien parallels the conflict between the Victorian society and the positivity of modern science; said tension is the bread and butter of Steampunk and the reason why this aesthetic gained so much popularity in the first place.

The puppet show, created by our inventor, is, again, another establishing piece for our setting, it's the original direction Nox's character was supposed to take, becoming someone who uses their brilliance and generosity to better the world and brighten their family's lives.

If only Milien stayed in bed that night instead of going to temper with the Eliacube, who knows what could have happened.

Maybe, he wouldn't have found the Cube to be all that shiny when he woke up the next morning......

Next part>>>>

Want more Wakfu analyses? Give your vote here.

[sealochs]

Hey girl! How does the evidence for evidence against exercise work? Would love to try it on my own anxiety lol

hello! so the evidence for evidence against exercise is like taking your anxiety to court. put her on trial! cross-examine her! she's a liar, your honour!

on the face of it, it's very simple, like it's so simple i can't believe it works so well; it makes me feel simple every time it works. i will say that it does sort of rely on you focusing on one (1) fear, on one main thing that's causing you to be anxious; but there's nothing to stop you doing it multiple times for multiple anxieties, one by one, if you find it hard to separate or identify a principal cause. although, even the act of doing that can help; what are you principally anxious about, & which extra anxieties are you recruiting to that cause? i often find my seemingly generalised anxiety is actually a pretty specific one when i sit down & force myself to be honest on paper, but that doesn't mean that's true for everyone!

when you have your one (1) fear, you basically sit & you write a list of evidence for that fear coming true; a list of evidence for your anxiety being entirely reasonable and founded in a rational reading of reality. when you do this, & i think it helps to do it by hand, you realise you have much less hard evidence than your brain has led you to believe. last night, i discovered a lot of mine were starting with the word 'maybe', & what followed was just wild conjecture. objection, your honour! sustained! strike that last from the record!

then, you write a list of evidence against. this might be a list of actions or words from someone that would indicate that they do not, in fact, hate you. or a list of previous achievements that would indicate that you are not, in fact, doomed to fail the challenge you're currently facing. or a list of facts about a situation that act as alternative explanations for something bad having happened, and so indicate that it was not, in fact, all your fault. this list might also include reasons why things on your 'for' list may not, actually, constitute hard evidence. the jury are nodding their heads, they're murmuring approval, they're casting nasty glances at your anxiety in the witness box.

you can stop there, but i've found that writing that second list of evidence against often turns into a general free writing exercise where i start to explore the thing that's making me anxious from a far more rational perspective; i've found it works as a way into empathy, into generously & in good faith imagining what another person might really think, might really feel, or how a situation might really turn out, without the ultimately self-centred & distortive lens of anxiety blinding me. i am literally always stunned when it works in this way, when my brain - which was just one hour ago already spiralling into a grief process for something that hasn't happened yet - manages to do a complete one-eighty & see the situation entirely differently.

which is probably the final thing to note: i've often found that doing this exercise is in itself a terrifying prospect, & i've often put it off or simply not done it, & Suffered instead. because it's like: but what if i prove myself right? what if i do actually come up with a lot of hard evidence that this thing that i am deeply anxious about is, in fact, something i have due cause to be deeply anxious about?

& yet, with one glaring exception*, i have never yet proven myself right with this exercise. i haven't always definitively proven myself wrong, but i've always been able at least to realise that there are many alternative explanations or possibilities for something beyond the one worst case scenario that my anxiety has decided is the most likely, & to temper my anxiety with an acceptance of those.

this got weirdly long, but i hope it helps somewhat! i'm sending you love <3

[agirlandherquill]

Written In Smoke - The Travelling Letter

it's been a very busy couple weeks, so to make up for my forgetfulness of making a letter last week i'll be combining the two together this week!

A Glimpse Through Time - little bits about me and what I’ve been up to this week

as the letter's name this week tells you, it's a travelling one, and also the biggest thing to happen in these past couple weeks, so here goes!

i went to bath! it was GORGEOUS and everything i hoped it would be

so, dear reader, i'm assuming you're wondering what i did on my trip, and what did i do? well:

I visited the Jane Austen Centre (it was the hottest day of the year so far, so of course i bought a fan, among a few other bits)

I also visited Mary Shelley's House of Frankenstein (timed it so i finished reading frankenstein on the train there which was pretty awesome)

I obviously popped into Waterstones (snagged a copy of the maze runner, since i haven't read it in forever and my kindle copy has since been gifted to a relative)

and if you're interested, here's some of my pics from the trip! (a fair few are on my kodak, so until i fill the film roll and get those developed those ones are under wraps i'm afraid!)

I don't want to spoil the experience for anybody so I'll just show a couple from the jane austen centre:

me, ink, and a quill (very ironically) don't mix, i ended up covered which wasn't a surprise at all, but it was very fun to do (and difficult, and i thought fountain pens could be challenging)

and mary shelley's house of frankenstein:

being the only one in the room at the time was a strange sensation to say the least but when this giant starts BREATHING it's a fright

super cool movie posters

and if anyone else attempts the 'touch if you dare' electrocution bit this is me giving you a heads up - my phone ended up flying out my hand onto the bare wooden floorboards of the house (that shock HURT)

and then some of the things i was lucky enough to see - it really is a beautiful place

needless to say i'm so, so glad that I went on this trip (even if it was terrifyingly exciting to do on my own, when my trains got cancelled and delayed and i nearly got stuck in london for a night (just had to go when the computers crashed globally didn't i? and a heatwave to boot)

now for the rest of this section!

books: of course I had to prep for my trip by reading frankenstein, sense and sensibility, and northanger abbey, and while i've been recovering from 11km of walking (so worth it) i've been reading it happened one summer which is so, so good!

shows/movies: i started rewatching the boys, finished watching the original star wars trilogy and i finished s5 of Dexter, so a bit of a busy couple weeks too

music: this one's a bit tougher since i've been so busy reading/watching things, but here's a few of the tracks i've been listening to this time round: bleachers by haiden henderson, animals by maroon V, and lilith by halsey

Spills From The Ink-Pot - writing, writing, and more writing

where do i start?

the calendar project is going well - this is day 9, and i've made a good start on chapter two

ruin's reprisal, i'm ashamed to say, hasn't been touched this week since i've been so busy, but i'm determined to finish the draft by the end of july (utterly terrifying)

also started dabbling in fanfic again (if such a thing is possible, it's been such a long time that i don't really know) which is a really daunting prospect but i'm looking forward to exploring it and how i write it some more

now, i usually include some snippets here but since all of my writing time has gone into the calendar project this week that's all I've got, so feel free to check out the most recent pages from my master post!

bit of a double whammy to make up for my lateness but here you go! this week's letter is all typed up, compiled and heading your way!

~ A Girl and Her Quill

Tag List! (if you want to be notified when a WIS post comes out, interact with this post :) )

@lead-to-code @catwingsathena @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @thestorywitch @lunaeuphternal

@theaistired @frostedlemonwriter

[bugflies00]

au crimeboys make me so so insane

it's not dadbur per say, even though wilbur does get custody of tommy and raise him, but tommy doesn't see him as his dad.

if anything, for a long time tommy didn't understand what a dad (or any parent) was supposed to do, because for him that was what wilbur did. so people would be like "dont you have a mum and dad?" he'd be like "no i have a wilbur" not because he sees wilbur as a dad but because wilbur is . wilbur. yknow? like his own category that's impossible to define by """normal""" family standards. wilbur is all of tommy's family at once, because he's all he's got, and he's his brother and his dad and his best friend.

because wilbur raised him, put him to sleep, put bandaids on his knees when he fell, taught him how to read and write and tie his shoelaces and not to chew with his mouth open and how to ride a bike and picked him up from school and went to parent teacher meetings.

but wilbur's also his brother, they're constantly roughhousing and punching each other and tommy's always trying to steal his stuff and get on his nerves and wilbur's always trying to get tommy a babysitter so he can go party and get drunk without his lame little brother.

but also wilbur is like. the most certain constant of tommy's life. i mean he was just two when they were put into foster care, he doesn't remember his parents, definitely not the social workers or foster parents who cycled every couple months, and he didn't make any true long-term friends until tubbo when he was about 9 or 10. so wilbur is like. the only person he's always known and will always know and that he's never doubted will be here forever. he's the first person he remembers!!!!

and so obviously tommy is absolutely ride or die for wilbur, even though he'd never admit it because he remains tommyinnit. they're also very codependent as you can guess.

tommy's really clingy but so is wilbur, and they kinda have a shift in their dynamic where like. when wilbur was a teen and tommy was 10-11, wilbur was trying to push him away for a while because yknow he was going through it (it being depression addiction the whole deal) and lashing out while tommy was trying to cling on. but then when they're a bit older, wilbur is the one who clings onto tommy because he's terrified he'll leave him too, especially when the prospect of tommy going away to college starts profiling itself.

that's something that wilbur takes a loooooong time to accept, because for a while he was flat out forbidding tommy from going off to college anyway further than a half hour ride. which is obviously. not very healthy. eventually he accepts but he completely motherhens the whole time to the point where tommy has to be like "im literally 18 ill be fine im not leaving forever" but wilbur still has a hard time the whole period tommy's away.

and anyway tommy doesn't cope well with it either, he had this whole idea of going off to college to try something new and make new friends, but once he's there he hates it. he realises it that he hasn't actually made friends since tubbo when he was 9 (he met ranboo through tubbo), because having his two best friends and his brother was always enough for him. and so he's completely alone with all these people he doesn't know how to talk to, and he starts spiralling and his grades start dropping, and he has the whole thing with dream. so eventually tommy does come back home because really he's just as clingy and he couldn't stand being away like that.

eventually when they're older they grow into something that's less... desperate i want to say? obviously they still love each other so much but they're able to hang out and spend time together in a way that doesn't feel like. "if im separated from you for more than two days i will literally die because i've been relying on you and defining myself around you my entire life" yknow?

it's a very complicated situation because they care so so so much about each other and would both kill and die for the other, but they've also hurt each other a lot. wilbur especially lashed out a lot when he was a teenager, and tommy often felt like it was his fault they couldn't stay in a good house for long, because he was too loud and rambuctious etc. there's also a whole bit with their last foster home that i want to explore but that is its own post

there's also an element of like. tommy feels guilty that wilbur had to put his whole life on pause to take care of him but wilbur doesn't see it that way. one day when they're having a really messy and bad argument he shouts something along the lines of not wanting the responsibility of tommy in the first place, which is something tommy takes a looooooooong time to heal from, and it's not even true. not just because he loves tommy, but because if it wasn't for that responsibility he doesn't think he would be alive. not in a metaphorical sense, as in very concretely, 12 to 20 yr old wilbur was in a daily mantra of "you can't kill yourself tommy is relying on you." and then it became "you can't kill yourself tommy and fundy are relying on you." and wilbur doesn't want to share that with tommy because in general he tries his best to never tell him anything dark like that (which on one hand yeah your 15 yr old brother isn't your therapist but on the other hand Do You Understand How Emotional Communication Works no he doesn't lmao) . but in the end he does end up telling him when he understands that tommy feels so guilty about him taking care of him and it's a very . important conversation in their lives . They cry a lot 👍

[thelordofgifs]

tfs essay? tfs essay. Today I would like to go on a lengthy lengthy ramble about Maedhros and Maglor’s relationship in the third arc and literally nobody can stop me.

Dedicating this to @and-the-times-we-had both because I promised an essay in an ask game thing and because you have been the most encouraging enthusiastic kind reader since literally part 1! 💕

Spoilers up to part 30 below the cut.

One of my favourite things about the third arc of tfs – i.e. parts 21-30 – has been examining the dynamic between Maedhros and Maglor, which following the events of part 19 and 20 has actually changed quite significantly from their dynamic in canon, in my opinion. (It is, it turns out, possible to take one of the most codependent claustrophobic relationships in the entire book and make it even worse.) This is mainly because Maedhros stabbed Maglor, and they’re both rather traumatised by the whole incident. Maedhros, in particular, spends all of part 19 having a breakdown about it and then an identity crisis in part 20:

But he always thought – he always thought he was, if nothing else, beyond reproach as an elder brother.

It was only ever a delusion. Amrod and Celegorm both died because Maedhros failed to protect them, after all.

But this is different. He has killed Maglor himself – no need for metaphor. He held his little brother with one arm and drove a blade into his side with the other.

Who is he, if not that? What is left of him if Maglor is gone – if he cannot be Maglor’s protector anymore, because Maglor is dead – because Maedhros killed him?

Although Maedhros does find the strength to do the right thing in part 20 – he finds Maglor in the cave, and asks him to stay – he finishes that section of the story with these questions unanswered, and spends most of the third arc quietly grappling with them. The way I write them, both Maedhros and Maglor define themselves very strongly by who they are to each other (PSA! this is not healthy!) and Maglor, too, bases a lot of his identity on the fact that Maedhros needs him, and has needed him since Angband. It is, I think, the only way he can attempt to atone for what he thinks of as the worst thing he ever did: leaving Maedhros there. Curufin, who is very stupid and also occasionally very smart, points this out to him when he tells him, “You don’t know who you are if you aren’t someone he needs,” – a line which rather haunts Maglor, later, because he doesn’t really have a way to refute it:

You don’t know who you are, said Curufin, if you aren’t someone he needs.

But I am, Maglor thinks now, with Maedhros’ head resting on his knee, I am, I am.

(part 22)

and

You don’t know who you are if you aren’t someone he needs, said Curufin.

What does Curufin know about anything? Maglor asks himself angrily.

(part 25)

And it's true! Maedhros does need Maglor. He tells Maglor so via ósanwë in part 20, and Maglor clings to that knowledge all through the third arc, as Maedhros' mental state slowly deteriorates, and he relies on Maglor more and more heavily. But Maglor is still scared! He's still defining himself far too much as Maedhros' Support Person:

“Will you not reach for me?” Maglor says, desperately.

What will he do, if Maedhros walks away? What good is he, if Maedhros does not need him?

(part 29)

So! basically. they aren't very normal about each other. But, importantly, Maedhros starts to realise this! He realises that he asks a lot of Maglor, and that Maglor is unable to deny him anything ever, and that Maglor is absolutely terrified by the prospect of Maedhros not needing him anymore. So in part 22:

“I ask so much of you,” says Maedhros, “and you keep on giving it—”

Maglor begins the painstaking work of unravelling the messy braids he has scattered through Maedhros’ hair. “I will,” he says, “I always will;” and Maedhros shudders.

those last three words are important: and Maedhros shudders. I tried to keep a fairly consistent theme running through this arc that Maglor keeps telling Maedhros, in words and actions, I love you I love you I love you, and the more he says it the more upset Maedhros gets: both because he doesn't think he deserves Maglor's love after he stabbed him, and because he is beginning to realise that this relationship is deeply deeply codependent. (I deliberately avoided Maedhros' POV for most of the arc, both for suspense reasons and because being inside his head would have been... upsetting, so a lot of this had to be subtextual, but I hope it came through a little bit!) So we get weird exchanges like this one:

Maglor stares at his fingers. "It isn't the right answer," he says. "I don't know if I can explain why. Yes, that Silmaril does not belong to Thingol, and yet..." He looks up at Maedhros. "But I will ask her, if you command it."

Maedhros takes a sharp step back, and then another. "No. No!" His face is white. He takes a breath and smiles, with noticeable effort. "I am not your lord any more, Káno. Himring is fallen. You need not take command from me."

and this one:

“All right,” he says. “I will not fight if you do not wish it, Nelyo. I know your heart will be easier if I am safe.”

But when Maedhros steps back to look at him there is a flash of wild despair in his eyes. Maglor cannot understand it.

(Maedhros: please please please do this thing for me

Maglor: I don’t really want to but for you anything

Maedhros, internally: WHY ARE YOU DOING WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO THIS IS TERRIBLE)

When the idea of Maedhros willingly going to Sauron first came to me, I was both intrigued and rather intimidated by the obvious question: why on earth would Maedhros do this when he knows how deeply it will hurt Maglor? I think the answer I settled on is quite satisfying – he is doing it because it will hurt Maglor, because Maglor’s forgiveness causes him extreme distress and he wants his brother to hate him instead. This is why he keeps telling Maglor that he does not deserve to be forgiven, and that Maglor should hate him; and Maglor keeps trying to reassure him by telling him that he does forgive him, and will never hate him, and Maedhros keeps getting more and more upset by these reassurances. I don’t think there’s anything Maglor could have done differently! It is the very fact of his love that is hurting Maedhros, and it’s not like he’s just going to stop being weirdly unhealthily devoted to his brother. That’s been the cornerstone of his identity for coming up on five hundred years, after all.

Anyway, Maedhros is beginning to understand this, and in part 30 sums up the situation pretty concisely:

That, of course, is the problem: that Maedhros needs Maglor, and hurts him by needing him so, puts shadows under his eyes and an anxious cast to his sweet melodious voice – and that he cannot stop taking from him, and Maglor will never stop giving it.

Will you not reach for me? Maglor said, his voice jagged with fear; and so Maedhros reached. He always reaches. Because Maglor needs Maedhros to need him, and so they bind themselves ever tighter to each other, and it cannot – it cannot go on like this, not when Maedhros looked upon the person he loved more than anything and readied himself to kill him.

Maedhros needs Maglor, and Maglor needs Maedhros to need him: the root of the problem. They're both perfectly aware of this situation! But Maglor is... honestly not that concerned by it, whereas to Maedhros it has become untenable, both because he doesn't think he deserves Maglor's devotion and because he can tell the dynamic hurts Maglor.

("Will you not reach for me?", for the record, is the third arc's equivalent of part 19's "Ask me to stay and I'll stay" - both lines that Maglor says to Maedhros, desperate attempts to get Maedhros to reaffirm that he needs Maglor. In part 19, Maedhros' response is to tell Maglor he cannot do that, and then in part 20 he does ask Maglor to stay. This sequence of events reverses in parts 29 and 30: Maedhros does reach for Maglor in part 29, and then decides not to in part 30. You only ever had to ask – but he doesn't.)

... You can love someone very deeply, and understand them better than anyone else does, and still hurt them terribly, I think.

[wordsandrobots]

Had a pretty bad day so I'm going to boast about something.

I didn't mention it at the time but posting Chapter 14 of Ragnarök in G Minor on Friday took it past the previous high bar for individual Wishing on Space Hardware fic-length set by The Ares Affair (72,872 words vs 69,850). And this latest story isn't even halfway done. That'll come next week, and take the total word count for the series over 550,000 words.

(I'm hoping to land at about 555,000 because who wouldn't?)

Which is nice, and a good reminder of why, exactly, it took me half a year longer than expected to get Ragnarök finished. Because that did kind of disappoint me, but looking at it like this, it makes sense. There was a *lot* to get through to tie the overarching story together and give everybody some sort of key moment. My problem with writing fic for Iron-Blooded Orphans is that I want to write about ALL of it, and every single character, so it was probably inevitable that it wouldn't conclude with anything less then a doorstop of a fic.

Chapter 14 also marked the end of the character arc I started with the first IBO fic I wrote and I want to write a brief commentary on that. I'm planning a proper 'author's note' essay when the whole series is done, but this . . . this is something more specific.

(Behind a cut because it is talking about endgame stuff for Wishing on Space Hardware, which is already a post-canon fic for Iron-Blooded Orphans, so, yeah. Take heed and beware ye spoilers.)

I can't remember when exactly I decided one of the climaxes was going to be a three-way fight between fun-house mirror versions of the Devil of Tekkadan. Like much of WoSH, it fell out of the ever-expanding churn of ideas IBO left me with. But it's an obvious thing to do: take the legacy of the anime's protagonists and fracture it against itself for the sake of drama. Because whatever else, we are talking about a group of deeply traumatised child soldiers and there remains the potential for a lot of bad things to follow the hopeful ending of the show.

Embi is all the worst parts of Tekkadan. Violent, arrogant, selfish, reckless -- he's the vessel into whom I poured all that and more, to the point of having him actively reject the better parts. Heart-sickened by the death of his brother, the bonds of comradeship fray until he can't stand the sight of his former squad-mates, much less the miraculous returnee from the dead who catalyses the events of WoSH. At the same time, he can't stay at his worst. He struggles with new connections because they threaten to pull him from his grief. He doesn't want to move on. Embi roots himself in an old dream of being like Mikazuki, in the life of a mercenary soldier. Fighting is all he knows and beyond it lies the terrifying prospect of hope and trying. He'd have much preferred to burn up over Mars. At least that would have been a safely familiar ending.

Ordsley suffers the myth of Tekkadan, transformed by people who saw what a group of Martian children 'achieved' and wanted to surpass them. Yet the curse inflicted on him -- for he is of course a werewolf, turning with the influence of the crescent moon -- is to become unwilling legatee of Mikazuki's reality: the beast and the boy, the contradictory dreams of someone trapped by a system that sees people as raw material. For the smart young man at home on the proper side of history, it's a hell of a shock to reckon with the humanity of those condemned for their rebellion. Here, finally joining the survivors on the battlefield they once called home, the pieces click, for at least a moment. There are no easy answers in a world that offers children a choice between killing and starvation, but perhaps in the middle of the fray, it is easier to understand why they call each other friend.

Then there's Shino. The lovely, blood-thirsty himbo I thought it would be interesting to pluck from his canonical fate.

I know when I decided to shatter his prosthetic. The middle of last year, after reading writing by amputees, talking about how they are depicted, how that feeds and feeds off narratives fundamentally disconnected from their lived experiences. Still, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not trying to speak to those experiences. The canon has sci-fi prosthetics. It's detached from the real world. It's just, the ways it also problematises them . . . the way, particularly with the addition of 598 and his cybernetic eye, that dovetails with the propaganda drive from militaries to gift high-tech limb replacements to those mangled in the course of fighting . . . I don't regret pushing myself to dip my toe in those waters.

You see, I wanted to tie together the strands of Shino's trauma. His instinctive reach for quid pro quo in his relationship with Yamagi, finally answered with the truth of everything positive he left behind on his first 'death'. His great bête noire, that failure of his last-ditch effort to save Tekkadan, coming full-circle as he's given another chance, another challenge, met this time with greater experience and maturity, and the knowledge of when not to fight. Third-best no longer, bolstered by all those who taught him what it takes to fly.

And as he gets to prove his mastery -- in ways beyond Embi's suicidal commitment and Ordsley's engineered supremacy -- he also reckons once more with that pernicious belief he is only fit to fight.

There isn't an answer, you know. Those doubts about ourselves, those demons, don't go away even when we let them go. We just learn to carry on regardless. To accept the possibility that we can live anyway, and to stop throwing the best parts of ourselves under the bus in our rush to distance ourselves from the worst.

So the arm is smashed to bits, the fate of the mobile suit pilot, the soldier, the body spent in violence. But Shino finally sees his younger self in a positive light and does what nobody else was able to for Embi: tell him it's OK to leave. Whatever it takes to be happy, even if that's a million miles away. He treats Ordsley as Ordsley, not Mika 2.0, reinforcing Ordsley's newfound balance. Above all, throughout everything, he is not alone. This final fight is spent with Eugene right at Shino's side, backing him up, trusting him. The Ryusei-Go is Tekkadan as a community, the part that truly never wilted. Because the reason Shino can have this moment of catharsis is that he is loved. So many people, building him up, giving him a future.

Everything he would do for them, unhesitatingly, and has, more times than he will ever realise.

I don't know if it's character development, exactly. Honestly, I don't know if the chapter actually encapsulates these things the way I wanted it to. I've read it too many times to see it straight any more and, even with a lovely band of readers I am privileged to have commenting, I'm doubting myself a lot these days. I don't sit well on my laurels, with the things I've completed, the word counts and the tick-marks. I worry it's still not enough. Put a fair of myself in Shino, there.

But I think it's good. I think it came out the way I wanted it to. I think it's the right thing for the story, to take a giant mecha battle, the tragic, inevitable conflict, and flip it around into an act of firefighting. I think I should be proud I got here, even if I never expected to when I first sat down at my keyboard to explain why the hot bisexual anime boy was still alive, actually.

So I'm make a note, to myself, that I did. That I should be proud. That I am, of me, for doing that.

And if you're reading this and you're going to be reading the rest of the story -- I'll just say, Shino himself is going to tell you why his vivid pink robot arm needed to be demolished by a giant sword. There'll be another, eventually (they do have a cyberneticist on speed-dial), but for now, well. You'll see.

[clever-and-unique-name]

I know I've been pretty quiet on tumblr lately and honestly it's largely because things in life have been going well. And that's a good thing! But when it comes to sharing Good, I am 1) terrified that as soon as I start talking about good things then they'll get messed up/taken away, 2) not particularly versed in talking about good things so it feels like a foreign language at times, 3) prone to nitpicking negatives from otherwise-good situations which feels like it poisons them.

And like, there are still some sources of Stress that crop up, and I'm still working on my own backlog of trauma and Issues. That's still a thing. Obviously.

But my daily life is...good. Comfortable. Peaceful. Nice. I have things sprinkled throughout the day/week that I look forward to quite a bit. I don't find myself feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of facing another day when I wake up (something that's been ever-present since...ever.)

I feel quite a bit like a dog standing guard over something precious. Like I don't want other people to know about it, or get too close, because this little peaceful life full of love is mine.

So I dunno. Maybe I'll get back into the swing of writing and sharing more eventually. I'm just going to continue doing the things that feel correct for me.

[pixlezz]

monkey kid disease pt 3

[snipit of a oneshot at the end of rambling]

guyz the monkey kid brainrot iz so bad 😭 i am currently in the middle of writing a bsd story (dogs hunt dogs) however yesterday i was only able to write 100 wordz because i had like. no inspiration for it and then i turned around and am writing an mk oneshot with slight shadowpeach and tell me why i already have like 600 wordz... like thiz iz not writerz block anymore itz just bsd block 😭

do i miss bsd? 100% im still very into it but i happen to only really be into it whenever new chapters release. i feel like im just heavily burned out from having that hyperfix for 3 yearz straight. itz still a spintrest but dot dot dot monkie kid! i have continued to talk peoplez earz off about it and i am not okay in the head. anyway! season 5 july 29th /j

“ ‘m not gawking.” MK retorted with another eyeroll which made him pause as the Monkey King raised his eyebrow. Taking a deep breath, MK composed himself before he went off on his mentor. He wasn’t one to have too much of a temper, even if he got annoyed and had a sharp tongue he was usually able to hold it in regards to his mentor. However… ever since… the incident, he found his tongue and action getting him into more and more trouble. 

It started with a few snappy retorts at monsters and demons he was fighting before it escalated to him being far more rude and careless around Pigsy and Tang. What really was the slap in the face was when he seemingly snapped at Mei for something relatively harmless. Like, a literal slap to the face.

He returned to his mentor with a handmark on his face as he explained how he had been feeling. More caged… like his body was numb and didn’t belong to him. How in the back of his mind he felt that… that thing taunting him. Pushing him and willing that he would lose control. Terrified of that prospect, that’s the only reason he was sitting with his mentor mediating. He didn’t see the effect or how it would realistically help him but… he trusted that maybe it could be the start of something.

“Then stop staring.” The Monkey King started with a swish of his tail as he opened his eyes and stretched his arms before turning towards MK with a neither annoyed or upset look. Instead, it was a watchful look with just a twinge of concern. “I get that you’re bored out of your mind, but if you don’t put in the effort then nothing will amount to what we’re trying to do.” 

MK frowned as he uncrossed his legs and stretched them as his fingers drummed silently against them. “No offense Monkey King, but I really don’t see how this is supposed to help me not…” Be a monster? No, that’s not right. Destroy? No. No, that's not it either. Cause mayhem? Get out. 

“Lose control.” Is what MK settled on after the voice disappeared. It still clung like ink, it still clung like a parasite. 

explodez.