#tangent bundle

[isomorphismes]

the cotangent bundle (differential forms) is the feminine side of calculus-on-manifolds; the tangent bundle (vector-fields) is the masculine side.

Shing-Shen Chern, via Richard Montgomery

[bettystonewell]

Whatever This Is

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

You’ve been sleeping with Dean for weeks. You never established what you were doing, just going with the flow, until a vulnerable moment makes for an awkward tangent to ask and find out 2.3k words

Tags/Warnings: fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, miscommunication, menstruation, cramping, embarrassing moment for reader, lil bit of humour, Dean is unfazed and an absolute sweetheart, set somewhere in Season 3

Four AM and you’re freezing your tits off. Miserable. Cramping. You give Dean a petulant pout as he waits patiently on the sidewalk for you. Instant regret when you remember he’s currently the sweetest man on earth, navigating through your wrath in his stride, and doesn’t deserve whatever this is.

It’s not his fault your ovaries are punishing you for another successful thwart at reproduction. Not his fault your body is replicating a thousand knives, stabbing you at once in the same spot, even though you’ve had a dose of tylenol. 

Except it is.

He’s half to blame because he wanted the sex, too. There’s an IUD shoved up in there because you decided long ago that taking the pill was far too risky in this business, and he gets to go in without suiting up thanks to past you. 

You cannot have a kid right now. Not only are you both too young and this is far, far too new, but there’s the little detail about him being sentenced to hell to top things off. And you, stopping at nothing to stop it, when you’re not a whimpering puddle of hormones. 

You’re quite the pair.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He pries your bundle of soiled clothes from your tight grip and offers out his other hand.

“I can manage from here,” you say, but he shakes his head. Pulls you out Baby’s door and through the one belonging to the laundromat, setting you down on the row of chairs in the middle without another word.

He drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth and whiskey. Sweats, also his, that had hung off your hips, now balloon at your sides.

He’s wearing what he went to sleep in. His hair, still road worn at the back as he feeds your laundry into the machine.  

Your cheeks are warmer. You were all for throwing a tonne of salt on your pjs and lighting them up, but his superhuman powers of simply existing had him rapping on the bathroom door before you’d so much as rinsed the evidence away under the faucet. 

He saunters back over to you and sits down with a groan. Makes a spectacle when he throws his arm over yours and kisses your temple. “You good?” he says, and all you can do is nod. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. S’only natural.”

You lean into him. Let his body further warm yours and your nostrils with the added fruity smell of Tide. “You didn’t bleed all over the place.” 

“Not this time.” He shrugs.

But you’re still not convinced. The blood on the motel sheets didn’t come from your arm or your leg. It came from your hoo-ha, and while he’s right, it’s nothing to be ashamed of because it is perfectly natural. It happened in the same motel room you were sharing with Sam. In the bed you were sharing with Dean. And it happened even though you’d been prepared.

Worst of all, he’d put his hand in it, and while he insisted it wasn’t an issue, you’ve only been sleeping with him for three weeks. Came about after a drunken confession that he was scared shitless ‘bout going to hell, and it kind of stuck. You don’t even know if he is that to you, which makes this ten times worse. 

“Hey.” He nudges you with his hip, squeezes his arm tighter. “We’re busting out of this place today. It’s not like they’ll even remember you if we stay here again.” He tries like that’s the problem.

You know it’s to make you smile, and you appreciate it, you do, but, “That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. 

“Then what is?” 

He releases his hold on you. Leans forward and back at the same time. Finds the angle that works for him and narrows his gaze at you.

Green eyes pierce your mortified ones, because now you have to tell him, ask him, and you’re licking over your lips, trying to moisten them so the words have something to slip on.

You’re an adult. You got this. Asking what you are to him should be the easiest thing in the world, but there’s that stigma that you’re not worthy. Just a little girl who messes up her bed. Drags her guy friend out in the middle of the night to clean up said mess and watches on as he cleans it up. 

“This.” You splay your arm out in front of you. Wave it around the general expanse of the room you’re in. 

“What? The laundromat?”

“No.” It’s not the place you’re pointing out. Not the wall of washing machines ahead, thirteen of them empty, bar that one, top centre, tumbling your clothes through its big barrel. Not the driers on the other wall, just as big. 

It’s the being here with him. Him sitting here with you waiting. Him acting like boyfriend material, when you don’t know where you stand.

“This,” you say. “Us.”

“Me and you?” His brow furrows. Voice normal, because he still doesn’t get it. 

“Yeah. Us.” You exemplify the you-and-him part with your still flailing arm. 

“Me helping you with your clothes is the problem?” He sits up, though you still feel his eyes on you. 

“Yes.” 

Thank god he gets it now. Only, “How?” he’s asking next, and you could shake him. Why do guys have to be so dumb?

Your hand is moving back and forth between you. You’re stretching to sit up and match him, but it’s cramping your cramping and you’re trying desperately to calm yourself down before saying, “We’re just fooling around. But you’re helping me with my period? It’s a little—”

“You think I’m fooling around?” Dean stands, and though he doesn’t turn around, you don’t need to see his face to know he’s angry. His bowed legs are twitching like they do when he gets mad. 

“It’s not like you’ve asked me out,” you say, defensive. His hot-temper and the pain are a little too much to handle together, but it’s also a little too late to back off now. “We haven’t sat down and talked about this.”

“About us?” He turns, jaw cutting the air. Sharp lines cross his whole face, actually. His brows, the crease between them, his lips, and god those are perfect, and you’re about to lose whatever this was that allowed you to touch them. Taste them, and all you can do is nod.

“What were you expecting me to do? Take you out to some fancy five-star restaurant and buy you lobster?”

Your head rocks to the side. Cheeks rising to squish your lashes as you stare back at him and blink through it. If they were warm before, they’re as hot as the heat pack you’d used earlier during the night before all this occurred. 

“Why—”

“Saw it in a movie once,” he says, words coming out the quickest you’ve heard him speak. The usual gruffness dissipated like he’s de-aged a couple of years by simply standing there. “Snails look gross.” 

“Another movie?”

He nods. 

You wanna ask what the hell he’s been watching, but you’re more concerned by his unusual demeanor. His hands are fidgeting, smoothing his sides. His eyes have dropped to the floor and there’s the whole eating shell…fish thing?

“Look at me,” he says next, but you are. 

You’re seeing his tentative step forward. His arms splayed out like he’s showing you something more than what’s there, and that’s when you realise you’re the one that’s dumb. You’re the one that’s not getting it. 

He didn’t fuss once. Didn’t screw up his nose at you when he realised you weren’t hurt from the hunt like he originally thought. And you’re not saying all the men that have ever been in your life have been grossed out by periods and bodily functions, but Dean exceeded whatever expectation and stereotype you had. 

He’d insisted you stay at the motel while he came here for you, but you were too embarrassed to allow that. Too prudish to let the guy who’s seen all of you up close and personal do something even more intimate than even you’d prefer and now he’s standing there suggesting he’s not good enough? 

“I am looking at you,” you say. “Guess I wasn’t before, but I am now.” 

And even though it still cramps your cramps, you’re standing up and walking over to him. Feeling his jacket clip your sides where his sweats have fallen. You’re clinging to his shirt and pulling him in close so you can kiss those lips of his and taste. 

You’d put your all into it, but his hands are hovering at your waist and you know his eyes are wide open, watching. So you lean back, chew on your cheek, smooth the fabric of his shirt back from where your grip scrunched it up, and, “Sorry,” you whisper. You’re not sure what else to do, but what you’re apologising for is lost on you, too.

It’s not like it’s the first time. He’s kissed you plenty, and not just the peck on your forehead minutes earlier. His mouth has touched every inch of your body, and every inch of him has touched yours, so why is this so damn hard now?

Your chin drops like a scolded child. May as well have with the silence between you. Can’t say the same for the room, but the tumbling of the drum is only making things worse because the clicking of your clothes is acting like a countdown for the timer on the machine and whatever he’s going to do next.

Do you say something? Do you wait for him? Your cheek is going to have a hole in it soon if someone doesn’t say something and thank god, or not, his mouth opens to, but, “Forget I said anything,” you cut in. Shake your head and step away from his space. “I should’ve—”

“Would you just shut up?” His voice booms, and great, there’s that gruffness you were missing. 

Your nose tingles from his stare, and you’re opening your mouth again, but the look he gives you? Eyebrows to the heavens, green eyes looking more amber, like they’ve been lit by a flame? Yeah. You close it, chest heaving as you wait and listen.

“I just,” he says, and it’s quieter. “I thought we were on the same page.”

His fingers reach for yours and he pulls you back. If you were on a boat, you’d be dealing with motion sickness right about now, and truly, it’s how your stomach’s fairing. Just adding more to the discomfort of your middle, and why not? You’ve already given Dean a conniption. What’s one more grievance between the two of you?

“I’m no good, sweetheart. I’m going to hell.”

You want to interject with why that is. That it was a selfless act, but his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand, teed with the softness in his voice and the continual ‘I’m talking here’ glare keeps your lips tight. 

“Can’t say I’d be happy if I saw you picking up some other douchebag at the bar. Like to think I’m the only guy that gets to do your laundry. Least until,” he shrugs. Gives you a rueful smile, “y’know?”  

And you do know. You’re swallowing the ache in your throat, waiting just a little longer to make sure he’s finished before you try again. 

You nod, and it’s solemn, slow. You don’t want to think about it, but the truth is there, hanging over both your heads. An elephant in the room who’s laughing at you and your complaints. Where Dean’s going, he’s going to be feeling a lot more than any tylenol could alleviate, and it really puts things in perspective. 

So, “Yeah,” you say, and though you want to add you don’t want to pick up anyone else but him, ever, it’s a little too real, too involved than whatever this thing is now. You’d rather be trying that kiss again, but first you add, “As long as you’re not doing the same.”

“Cross my heart.” His mouth opens wide as he tugs your arm. Pulls you in and plants his mouth over yours.

It steals your breath away. The way he holds you. Wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing, gentle enough to not cause you anymore discomfort, but present enough to soak in his warmth and solid form.

His tongue clips your teeth, spreads his morning breath and a taste that you know only from him over your lips. 

Your gut calms. The cramps overpowered by the tingles from his nose, his fingers, chin and arms surrounding you, touching you, and you don’t want it to end. 

But Dean lets go, only by a little. His face stays hovering inches from yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“So have I made myself clear?” he asks. Chuckles when you rap his shoulder. His hand lets go and swipes at a strand of hair that’s probably been sticking out since you woke. Tucks it behind your ear.

You’re a bigger mess than you’ve been letting on, but the gesture returns his grin. 

“Not fooling around?” you say, and he repeats it. Places a kiss on your forehead again, and drags you back to the seats. 

His arm wraps around your shoulders once more and your head leans into his. 

Four AM, and you’re no longer freezing your tits off. Cramping? A little, but the pouts, no longer there. There’s a warmth in your cheeks and one in your heart, though, and you’re sitting with the sweetest guy in the world.

You won’t label it. There’s no need. You know he’s hanging around, at least as long as he can. You just gotta find that loophole. Keep him here with you and Sam, and then who knows? 

Maybe one day you’ll leave this life of visiting laundromats at odd hours because you’ll have a place of your own. 

And then, the only red you’ll see will be the one you’re dealing with now, and the shade that crosses Dean’s nose when he says something real and important.

This started out as another idea for Couple Things involving Dean and his red gym teacher shorts, also at the laundromat, but it developed into what it is now. I’ll probably still write the other version as a part two to this eventually.

Dean Taglist #1

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@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

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@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

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If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[cute-sucker]

boxer!rafe holding his baby for the first time, and knowing him he made sure you had a private room and good food.

tell me why he would be so jittery though ??

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

boxer!rafe never had gotten as scared as he did when you had given birth.

waiting. rafe had been waiting for hours, holding a lucky charm that you had given him. the strands of the bracelet were frayed as he toyed with it, over and over again. the smell of the hospital was nauseating, and the feeling of being in a place that smelt like antibiotics and sickness made his skin crawl.

he had gotten the call that your baby was born in the middle of a fight. he was on top of a guy before someone stormed in the middle of the fight. that was uncommon, and the referee quickly had them separated before rafe realised it was your work friend, delany. she looked frantic, as she tried to mouth something.

the minute he realised what it was, he was pulling the ropes of the ring, and yelling at people to get out of the way. blood was splattered across his mouth, and his swelling knuckles stung with pain, as his sweaty t-shirt stuck to his chest.

your water broke.

he was there in minutes, swearing as he tried to close the car. he'd run into the hospital with a huff, demanding to know where you were. to be quite frank it may have been sweet to you - but it was downright scary to the nurses.

a bulky guy with blood splattered all over him, holding a silly pink baby bag. the first nurse let out an uncomfortable laugh before telling him to sit down. now, rafe would have started yelling, but there was this drumming in his heart that made him feel as if he was going to vomit.

he couldn't lose you, no, this was a critical part of all of it. he'd read those stupid books that you had gotten him about pregnancy, and how dangerous it was, and how many mothers had died and how to hold a baby, and, and-

(goddamn it, he was scared.)

"mr. cameron. would you like to come in?"

he looked up to see a nurse with a painful smile, he took a deep breath before nodding his head. rafe felt his hands shake, as he took a step inside the room.

there you were, pretty as always with that discharge night gown, and a relieved sweaty smile on your face. you look so calm, but his eyes zone on your hands. the baby isn't in your hands, and he found himself wondering where the baby was, but he watched you get up to touch him.

"hey, hey baby. calm down. you need to stay like that," he muses, coming closer to rub your shoulders. you close your eyes, a soft gasp coming out of your mouth.

rafe gives you a soft peck on the shoulder, "why didn't you call me?" he whispers in that gentle tone of his. you squirm, peeling open your eyes with those pleading doe eyes,.

"i didn't want to bother you. i knew-" you gasped out, "i knew you had that important match and shit, and i don't know i thought it was like a bad time-"

rafe cursed, "didn't i tell you it was the two of us together? i shoulda' been there for you. shoulda' have held your hand through this shit-" and he knew he's going on a tangent as your lip wobbled and he quickly licked his lips while shaking his head.

"nah, it doesn't matter now. aw, my sweet girl did this all by herself. let me," he muttered, rubbing tears off your cheeks, "where's the baby?" you sniffled, nuzzling your face in his hands, before pointing to the sinks where he saw a small tiny girl.

she's squirming in the nurse's hands, as she gets washed off. her tiny face is squished up as she lets out small squeals. he's struck by how small, how tiny, how he made that little thing with you.

"i-" he choked up unable to take his eyes off your baby, "thank you sweets. thank you." his head bowed down into your lap, the words like worship. he was a devout in your temple.

"here's the baby, ms. cameron."

you looked up at her, a little bundle of joy as the doctor put her in your lap. rafe felt like everything was complete, feeling his throat sting and his hands get clammy. god, what did he do to deserve this?

the baby was perfect, a tiny sweet thing and rafe's hands shook at his sides as you looked up at him with teary eyes.

"do you want to hold her?"

he swallowed hard, his voice that soft whisper you knew so well, "can i?"

you laughed something that was so sweet, ringing in his ear like a song he never wanted to end. yet, he couldn't help but look at you with approval and when he looked into your eyes all he saw was love. all he saw was the truth. finally, he reached for his baby girl, calloused hands cradling her.

he finally had found his family.

[jiuwaves]

Disciplinary Action.

❦ pairing ; prof!choi seunghyun x reader 

❦ warnings ; minors dni. smut written down below.

You were sitting in the front row, turned around in your seat, casually chatting with a couple of your friends. Class had already started a few minutes ago but your professor, Seunghyun still hadn’t shown up. It was strange. He was usually the type to be early.

Maybe he was caught up with something.

You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. Still nothing. A few more students had started whispering, half-joking about him ditching the class. You leaned back in your chair, spinning your pen between your fingers, only half paying attention to the conversation around you.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone, the door creaked open. The room fell quiet almost instantly.

There he was.

He stepped in, setting his leather bag on the desk with a soft thud. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run a hand through it on the way in. The tie around his neck was loosened, hanging just enough to look intentional. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, veins and tendons subtly shifting as he moved.

He scanned the room, eyes sweeping over the rows of students before landing on you. His stare lingered for a few seconds, cold, unreadable, and sharp enough to make you sit up a little straighter. Then he scoffed under his breath and reached into his bag, pulling out a thick stack of papers.

"These papers are quite disappointing.” he said, shifting the bundle to one hand as he started walking down the aisle between the rows of seats.

He moved slowly, heels clicking against the floor with each step, the silence in the room heavy enough to press on your chest. The stack of papers rustled as he flipped through them, eyes skimming over names, lips tugging into something between a smirk and a grimace.

Then he stopped. Right beside your desk.

He didn’t look at you at first, just held out the marked-up paper and let it drop onto your desk with a soft slap. Red ink bled across the margins like bruises.

“You.” he said, finally glancing down at you. “You can do better.”

You glanced over the paper. It was entirely crossed out with red ink every other sentence slashed through, entire paragraphs marked with harsh corrections. The edges were dotted with his scrawl, the ink almost bleeding through the thin paper. 

“Disappointing, huh?” you muttered under your breath but just loud enough for him to hear.

He scoffed, the sound low and almost dismissive, before turning to continue passing out papers. His footsteps echoed across the room as he made his way down the aisle.

You glanced down at your paper once again, your fingers brushing the harsh red ink, and your eyes landed on the words scrawled at the bottom. 

Meet me after class.

After passing out everyone’s papers, he went straight into the lesson, barely acknowledging the noise in the room as students settled back into their seats. You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about what he was saying. You sat back, letting your feet dangle from the edge of your chair, eyes lazily tracking his movements.

Every now and then, you’d toss out little comments just to get a rise out of him, enough to be annoying but not enough to make it too obvious. A casual ‘’Yeah, we get it” when he went off on a tangent or a dramatic sigh whenever he asked a question, as if it was the last thing you wanted to answer.

Seunghyun didn’t respond right away, but you could see the irritation building. His movements became more precise, less fluid, like he was working harder to hold himself together.

The rest of the class felt like a game, one where you kept pushing his buttons just to see how far you could go before he cracked. But eventually, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students started to pack up, eager to escape, including you aswell.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, already half out of your seat when you started to make your way toward the door, ready to leave the tension of the class behind.

“Not so fast.”

You paused mid-step, your heart skipping for a beat, before turning slowly to face him. Seunghyun was now standing near the door, blocking your way. His eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone casual, even though you could feel the tension crawling up your spine. “What’s the matter, Professor? You need something?”

He didn’t move, his gaze never leaving yours. The rest of the room was clearing out, but the space between you felt impossibly still.

You felt a flicker of defiance spark inside you, and without thinking, you tried to push him away, stepping back toward the door but before you could make it two steps, his hand was on your shoulder again, firmer this time, guiding you back to his desk.

You tried to move his hand away, but his grip only tightened, firm and unyielding. The pressure made your breath hitch, and before you could react, your back hit the wooden surface of the desk with a soft thud. He stepped closer, his body almost pressing against yours, and suddenly there was nowhere to go. You felt trapped, not just by the desk but by the weight of his presence.

You stared up at him, a mix of frustration and something else swirling inside you. You tried to push at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His gaze flicked to your hands for a moment before returning to your face, his grip on your shoulder firm and unmoving.

“Trying to run away again?” His lips curved into a slight, almost knowing smirk.

"No..." you muttered under your breath, the word barely audible, as the frustration and adrenaline faded into a reluctant surrender.

"Where did all the attitude go?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he leaned in closer, his face hovering inches from yours. His gaze searched yours, dark eyes unreadable, waiting for your response, but you were too caught in the tension to form words.

“Vulnerable now, are we?” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, almost snickering as he leaned in just a little closer.

“You acted like a complete brat in my class.”

His words hit with the weight of truth, but they were almost playful, like he was enjoying this moment far too much.

"Is that my fault you cant handle it?’’ you responded back, bringing back your cocky attitude.

he softly laughed at your response as he moved his hands down slow and deliberate, tracing the length of your arms with a gentle pressure.

Each movement sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly as his fingers brushed against your skin.

As his hands reached over to your waist, his grip firm, yet the touch was almost tender in contrast to the intensity of his eyes. You could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of your clothes, and the way he held you there felt strangely possessive, like he was marking his territory without saying a word.

You reached up, fingers grazing the fabric of his loosened tie, twirling it between your fingertips before giving it a gentle tug.

His eyes darkened, and you felt a subtle shift in the air around you. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if fighting to maintain control.

"Careful..” he murmured, his voice lower now, each word coated with warning and something else, something dangerous.

“You might not like where this is going.”

“And what if I do like it?” you said, your voice low, laced with challenge as you gave his tie another tug, this time firmer, pulling him even closer.

His breath hitched just slightly, barely noticeable, but enough to let you know you’d struck something. His eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest second before settling back to your eyes.

he leaned in, his free hand sliding up your side again, slow and deliberate, until his fingers were just brushing the edge of your jaw. 

“Then…” he murmured, voice deep and calm like it was meant to undo you, “Can you handle the consequences?”

You smirked, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze without flinching. The corner of your mouth tugged up as you gave his tie another slow, deliberate tug, your voice soft but dripping with mock-sweetness.

“Oh, I can handle a lot more than you think, professor.”

Your eyes didn’t waver, matching his intensity with a defiant spark of your own. You could feel the way his jaw tensed at your words, like he was trying hard not to let that cocky response get under his skin but it did. You saw it in the way his hand flexed against your waist.

You leaned in a little, voice barely a breath now. “Question is… can you?”

“Can I?” he repeated, his voice lower now taunting, like he already knew the answer.

His hand slid slowly down from your waist, deliberately brushing the hem of your skirt. He kept his gaze locked on yours as he nudged the fabric up, just enough to expose your panties.

"You're so cocky, you know that right?" he said through gritted teeth, his other hand resting on your jaw, holding your face in place.

"Well too bad" you said with a playful glint in your eyes.

"You're dangerous..” he said, his fingers trailing along your folds against the fabric of your panties, feeling you grow wet under his touch. His caresses were sure yet teasing, sending shivers through you.

You moaned softly, caught between playful defiance and the thrill of his touch. 

"You're such a brat.” he said, slowing down as he slid your panties to the side, creating the perfect opening to slide his finger in.

You groaned, louder than earlier, his touch was making you go crazy. 

"Quiet now... we don't want anybody walking in, do we?" he said, shoving his finger in and out with a fast, insistent pace.

The air was thick with urgency as his words faded into the background. Every quick movement sent electric pulses of pleasure along your skin. You gasped softly, your body reacting instinctively to his bold rhythm. The small space around you seemed to shrink as the sounds of your quickened breaths and the subtle echo of his movements filled the room.

You turned your face away, trying to break free from his grip, eyes squeezed shut in rebellion but he wasn't about to let that slide.

"Oh no, no..." he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone as his hand snapped back to your jaw with unwavering precision. Sliding in another finger into your throbbing clit as he gently, yet firmly, guided your face back towards him.

"Look at me.” he commanded sharply, leaving no room for argument.

You were an absolute mess, your cocky attitude from earlier completely gone. Groans and whimpers escaping your lips as his godly pace overwhelmed your senses.

You pushed his hand away again before leaning your head against his chest, both your hands gripping the desk to keep yourself stable on shaky legs.

"God, you hate following orders, don't you?" he said, deliberately slowing his pace to a torturous crawl.

The sudden change in rhythm made you gasp, your body trembling with need. His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at him again.

"Maybe next time you'll listen.” he whispered against your ear, his fingers suddenly picking up speed again, pushing you right to the edge.

“Fucking brat.”

Your body tensed as waves of pleasure rolled through you, leaving you breathless and clinging to him. A warmth pooled between your thighs, your legs trembling from the aftershocks.

He held you close, one hand steady on your waist while the other moved gently along your thighs, massaging slow, soothing circles into your skin in an attempt to calm the trembling. His touch was softer now, grounding, almost tender so unlike the way he’d been moments before.

You rested your forehead against his shoulder, letting your breath steady, wrapped in the quiet that followed.

But the moment didn’t last.

His phone buzzed sharply on the desk behind him, cutting through the stillness like a blade. He sighed, jaw tightening as he reached back to check the screen.

A call.

You watched his expression shift as he read the name, and then he cursed under his breath. 

“I have to take this..” he muttered, reluctantly pulling away.

His hand lingered on your thigh for a second longer before he stepped back, adjusting his shirt and grabbing his phone with a frustrated swipe.

You adjusted yourself quietly, still catching your breath as he straightened his tie, finally tightening the knot you’d been tugging on earlier. His eyes flicked back to you, that same sharpness returning, but this time laced with something softer… restrained.

“We’re not finished.” he said, voice low but sure, like a promise more than a threat.

You just smirked, fixing your skirt and brushing past him on your way to the door, your legs still unsteady but your pride intact.

“Looking forward to office hours, professor” you called over your shoulder, not even bothering to hide the grin in your voice.

He exhaled through a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he brought the phone to his ear.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that, you were dismissed.

[stevesgother]

Strange - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.1k

Contains - angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of addiction, mentions of childhood trauma, exes to lovers, second chance romance

AN - Part 2 of 'Little Red Lighthouse' ! for the sake of not having to use “y/n” bc i hate it, reader goes by Lizzy. Use your imagination idk

'Isn't it strange/how people can change/from strangers to friends/friends into lovers/and strangers again.' - 'Strange' by Celeste

There was a biting chill to the air as you sat shoulder to shoulder on a rock overlooking the lake with your best friend. The shadow from the towering lighthouse did nothing to help your lack of warmth, but the heat radiating off Steve’s body beside you almost made up for it. In his hands he held a worn piece of notebook paper adorned with his signature scratchy handwriting, slightly crumpled from hours of reading and rereading; frustration bleeding between the inky blue lines.

“I don’t even know why I'm bothering with this shit,” he sighs, “dad thinks college is a waste of time anyway,” he gives the paper one last squeeze in his fist before chucking it into the water.

“Steve!--” you practically shriek, “what’d you do that for?!”

“Cause’ Liz, we both know I’m not getting accepted anywhere worth going to,” he says with finality, like he’s already made up his mind despite it only being January, “and you’re gonna go somewhere fancy schmancy like Feinburg while I rot here,”

“Well certainly with that attitude you will,” he shoots you a deadpan look from where his head is propped in his hands. “Stop worrying about what your parents want, Steve. What do you want?”

“Right now I want to get off this boulder. It’s fuckin’ freezing out here,” the end of his sentence is muffled by his cupped hands around his mouth, huffing into them in an attempt to bring some warmth back into his numbing fingertips.

“I’m perfect, actually.” you feign self-assuredness just to tease him. He knows you’re cold too, the tip of your nose is bright red and frozen to the touch, giving you away.

“Oh, are you?”

“Yeah” you chirp, “I am,”

“Oh, okay,” just then he slides what could've been an icicle but really was just a frigid hand up your shirt and presses it firmly to the small of your balmy back, earning a squeal from you.

“Asshole!” you shove him away playfully and he removes his hand, deciding for once, to spare you. 

You spend the rest of the night bundled under layers of quilts, watching movies your mother rented from Family Video that afternoon as snow falls from the pale sky in big, fat flakes. At some point during the second film, you feel yourself curl into his lap where he’s seated on your sofa, fighting and losing a battle with sleep. Just before slumber overtakes you, you note the feeling of his hand tracing soothing circles over your spine. The arm that isn’t holding you against his torso snakes around to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear, selfishly so he can steal an unobstructed view of your peaceful expression.

He almost enjoys being with you more when you’re sleeping. Not because he doesn’t adore listening to your winding tangents or your infectious laughter, but because you can’t see him unabashedly staring at you when your eyes have drifted shut like they are now. It’s as if the world has stopped spinning on its axis and time has halted just for him. His own personal sleeping beauty. You looked like the rest of his life.

Memories have a mortifying way of appearing gold in hindsight; nostalgia like a knife that’s gutted him, leaving him emptier than he was before. Now, whenever the air gets older, Steve is reminded of how your presence used to feel.

–

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Stepping into his orbit for the first time in all these years, the love you still have for him beats inside your chest like a second heart. You long to reach out and touch him, to weave your fingers through the hair at the back of his head and nuzzle your face into the tender skin of his neck, to cry how sorry you are and ask “How could you let me leave you?’--

“You look well,” the low register of his voice shakes you from your spiral and you remember with a sharp pang of guilt just how long it's been since you heard him speak. You feel like he’s taller now than when you left, even though he hit his last growth spurt during the last summer you spent together. A soft dusting of hair that wasn’t there before graces his upper lip. That cheeky, boyish charm you always loved had suddenly morphed into something more gruff. It made your stomach churn.

“Thanks, I don’t–” you cut yourself off with a soft shake of your head, “Thanks, Steve. You do too,”

He gives a meek shrug as he glances down at himself. There was simultaneously so much and yet nothing at all to say, and the silence was suffocating.

“How long are you in town for?” he asks, hoping the answer is indefinitely but knowing it won’t be.

“For a week, then I have to go back to the city,” you struggle to ignore the subtle disappointment that flashes across his features. “I was offered an internship in graphic design. It starts next month.” You say with a tight lipped smile. You wished you wanted that, but now that you were home, all you wanted was to stand under Steve’s gaze like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“That’s wonderful, Lizzy. I’m really happy for you.” Of course he was happy for you. If this was what you wanted, Steve was thrilled for you. But in all the 15 years you’d been inseparable, he’d never once seen you take an interest in graphic design. Maybe it was because your father was an architect. Your mother, an artist. To not follow in their footsteps, Steve knew, would make you feel like you failed them. It doesn’t change the way he can see your expression faltering when you utter even a word about your future career.

“You– what about you? Are you working for your dad?” 

“No, actually, I took over for Hopper. At the station.”

This time, Steve’s blessed with your real smile. A genuine one. You never wanted the alternative for Steve. Being constantly surrounded by corporate goons, taking over the family business just to be miserable and burnt out in less than a decade. The boy never could make up his mind about what it was that he really wanted to do, but he knew it wasn’t that. The trouble was, Steve only ever felt like he belonged somewhere when he was anywhere with you.

A gentle hand to his bicep sends him reeling, and it’s all he can do not grab you by your shoulders and pull you into his chest with as much force as he can muster. But the moment is gone as soon as it arrives, and you’re being whisked away by some other friend who’s vying for your attention. Absently he wonders if he left, would people miss him the way they seemed to have missed you? He supposes it’s best not to dwell.

–

When you arrive home later, the house is empty with a note from your parents stuck to the fridge claiming they’re out tonight. You’re grateful for the reprieve from socialization as you pad your way upstairs and down the hall towards your childhood bedroom.

It looks almost identical to when you left it, with the exception of a spare unrecognizable object here or there. Things your parents must have picked up for you at some point with the hopes of being able to give it to you the next time you visited home, but never could. Your mother had made your bed neatly, adorned with all the stuffed animals and bedding from your youth. Everywhere you turned, there were mementos of your lifelong friendship with Steve. Greyscale photo booth pictures, old movie stubs and the dried remnants of the corsage he gave you for prom. It was a memorial; a cemetery of your life together.

When you finally managed to lie down, all you did was toss and turn until the analog clock tick tick ticking on your wall informed you it was one A.M. In your sleep deprived haze you absentmindedly sat up and reached for the baby blue corded phone resting on your nightstand. It was only when you brought the phone to your ear and heard the droning dial tone that you realized what you were doing, and set the phone back in its cradle. Your fingers ached to press the digits to the only number you knew by heart: Steve Harrington.

–

You weren’t sure why your mom kept renewing her Cosmopolitan subscription for you, since you hardly took interest in the issues, but she did nonetheless. Tonight, struggling to find something more productive to do, your curiosity got the better of you as you mindlessly flipped through the pages with freshly manicured nails. It was a Friday, and the prospect of sleeping in tomorrow delighted you. You were in no hurry to get to bed. 

Just then you heard the shrill ringing of the new phone your parents got you to keep in your bedroom for your birthday. You knew it had to be at least twelve o’clock in the morning. Only one person would be calling you at this hour.

“Hello?”

“Hey, can I– can I come over?” Steve's voice was hushed and trembling. Muffled yelling could be heard in the background over his unsteady breathing.

“Steve? Yeah, ‘course, I'll unlock my window,” you pause, “everything okay?”

“Yeah just– I’ll be there in ten,” and with that you heard the receiver click back into its place on the wall.

Magazine having been discarded on the floor next to your bed, you sat at your desk, knee bouncing rapidly as you waited for Steve to climb through your window like he had dozens of times before. At sixteen, you’d be caught dead having a boy in your room at this hour, even if it was just Steve.

You hear a soft tap tap tap on the glass, signifying his arrival. In a rush, you hurry over to your window to help him in. When he regains his balance with both feet on your carpeted floor, you’re finally able to get a good look at him. He’s bleary eyed and his nose is chapped raw, like he’d been rubbing at it continuously for hours. 

“Hey,” you say softly with a gentle hand to his forearm, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” You feel guilty pressing him on the matter immediately, but you can count on one hand the amount of times you've seen Steve genuinely distressed. Last Halloween when Nancy Wheeler had proclaimed that he and their whole relationship was ‘bullshit’ had been the last time.

“Mom and dad were fighting. I guess– I guess he found these pills she’s been taking? I don’t know,” he looks dejected as he fidgets with the hem of his sweater, “Jus’ couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

Your eyes round into saucers when you looked to him, concern gracing your features. It was always something with the Harringtons. If they weren’t screaming at each other, they were screaming at Steve. Catherine had substance abuse issues, John was violent. Broken dishes and holes punched in drywall were becoming the norm. All Steve wanted was a way out; an escape. You gave that to him. Always.

Without another word, you propped yourself up on your tiny twin bed and motioned with open arms for him to come lie with you. He accepted the invitation instantly, sinking down into the mattress with you. His head rested on your chest, just above your rapidly beating heart. A heart that beat for him alone. You silently prayed he knew that.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and softly petting his hair, you felt two distinct drops of tears land on the silky satin of your pajama shirt. You attempted not to make a scene, with the knowledge of how difficult it was for him to be vulnerable. Instead, you simply continued your ministrations on the back of his head and held him a little tighter.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” you whispered against the crown of his head, “You’re safe now. We’re gonna get out of here someday, y'know? I promise.”

He nodded bleakly in acknowledgment against your sternum as his tears fell a little quicker and a little harder. “Okay,” he whimpered. The sound nearly tore you in two.

You’d never intended on breaking that promise. Not really.

–

Against your better judgement, you reached for your phone a second time and dialed his number for the first time in five years. You hoped he didn’t get a new landline.

His voice was gravely and thick with grogginess when he picked up after six torturous rings, “Hello?”

“Meet me tomorrow. DiBella’s. Ten o’clock.”

You slammed the phone back into the receiver before you had time to regret it.

taglist: @sheisjoeschateau, @ohwauwdoritos

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

[sashiavi]

Bear Shane insisting on cuddle time every day... He doesn't appreciate someone interrupting his time with you, this old man needs his naps

BearHybrid!Shane has my heart ♡

This might have gotten out of hand- this man consumes my brain and I went o f f on a tangent - hopefully it's legible :')

Warnings : Pure Fluff | smut writer attempts fluff | BearHybrid!Shane | this could be bad- | cuddling | alludes to sex occurring - aftercare |

additional message : 18+ minors please do not follow - my blog is not a safe space for minors - thank you ♡

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Bear Shane is so soft - Literally - His body just made for big, warm, squeezing hugs. Bear Shane has filled out a little with age - and with other habits he'd cut out - Body still strong enough to lift haybales and chop hefty chunks of firewood, tough muscle hidden behind a man who eats and treats himself well.

Cuddling with him is always a treat, sweeter than molasses - and he can't keep himself off of you - You wonder if your heart beats so hard and fast from love- or if you're having a sugar rush from the deep syrupy way he whispers confessions into your ear.

"Lovin' you so much, Doll.." His voice is low, grumbling, tinged in a soft drawl unique to The Valley. Bear Shane paws over your skin in rhythmic caresses, a little clumsy with a heavy hand, and yet still sending soft shivers down your spine and to your toes never the less.

One way or another, you're always in Bear Shane's arms, in his lap, laying on his chest, always touching him in some form.

Bear Shane nestles you in his lap, reclined and relaxed in an arm chair, hand feeding you snacks you prepared together earlier while the Gridball game drones on the television. He mocks an aeroplane with a pepper popper, playfully popping it in your mouth. His thumb comes up to wipe a stray stain off sauce off of the corner of your mouth - and he licks it up with a smack of his lips. He can't help but chuckle at the face you give him, all too cute and scrunched up with faux disgust. His smile is goofy, nose nuzzling against your own, foreheads pressed together for just a moment, a sloppy wet kiss pressed to your cheek just to get another silly reaction out of you. His bear ears twitch and wiggle, following the teasing and goofy smile plastered on his face.

The hours after Bear Shane sends you into pure syrup sweet bliss in the bedroom are always the softest. After a wash and dry of your bodies, feeling soft and clean, back bundled up under the cool sheets of your bed. Bear Shane beckons you to him, big arms outstretched for you to fall into. He lays on his back, holding you to his body, watching your head rise and fall with his breathing. You can't help it- laying on his chest. Swollen pecs built from muscle and fat, skin warm, decorated in a decent sheen of dark hair- and his heart, pumping behind his ribcage, thumbing in your ear as you nuzzle and kiss him.

Yoba, the twinkle in your eye makes the moment all the more golden- glazed and sleepy dazzled in the soft lamp light, carefully brightening the room from the bedside table. You were warm, so warm on his skin, eyes warm for him, bathed in a room of warm golden light, kissed sweet in a honey glaze.

"Yer' my Sunshine," His voice is low, rasped with exhaustion and a huff of amusement, purposely saying such corny things to make your nose wrinkle for him to kiss.

Bear Shane is big on his afternoon naps. The man was tired from doing his duty on the farm; Tending to the chickens, tidying their coop with utmost care. Harvesting the tree tappers for maple syrup, trying is very best to resist just a little teeny taste of the forbidden nectre - lest you scold him for it. Last time he looked like a kicked baby cub, ears droopy, lips pouted, his teddy bear eyes eventually got him out of it. Poor Bear Shane dregs himself inside, gobbling up his afternoon lunch with you, wiping off a stray stain of muck and soot off of your cheek with a wet cloth while you wash up the dishes.

Exhaustion lays thick in his bones, he practically has to man-handle you from running out the door, coddling you up in a big bear hug. It's all giggles and smooches though, as he drags the both of you to the lounge or the bed, wrapping his thick arms around your torso and stuffing his face in the back of your neck. He can't help but place a big, wet kiss on your skin, his prickly stubble scrapping gently over the spot. His laugh is goofy, arms squeezing you tight for just a moment when you whine and visibly shiver at the sensitive tickling.

His bear ear flicks when the sound of the farm house door rasps with a knock. His thick brows furrow, lips coming to a town turned frown, exasperated when you shift to leave. He cooes a dramatic 'noooo', arms caging you in comically, rolling over, dragging you with him while you giggle and fein protest.

When you finally answer the door, the poor visitor jumps in surprise when they find a sleepy Bear Shane hanging over your shoulder, chin tucked against your neck, honey brown eyes glaring up at the intruder.

"Whadaya' want.." He grumbles, earning a soft smack on his hip. When the visitor states their business Bear Shane blissfully ignores them, using their boring droning voice to slowly doze back into your neck. He breathes in deep, savouring the subtle twinge of sweetness coming off of your skin- maybe your honey milk soap, or the pretty vanilla perfume you put on thay day- whatever it was it was golden behind his eyes, melting his heart down into syrup- strong enough to flavour anything in your life with his love.

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Was this corny? It feels corny- confession: it's been probably 8 years since I have written just fluff- go easy on me ♡ and pls lmk how I could improve if I can!

shane my love, my mess, my chunkins- my heart blooms for him~

My inbox is very very full right now- thank you for all the wonderful ideas :)) I will do my best to catch up on them ♡

Bear Shane is May-pal serrup coded

[viennacherries]

Your Voice is a Comfort

Lucanis/f!Rook | 541 Words | SFW

Read on AO3

Lucanis often wonders how Rook manages to keep up with herself.

It seems like she’s always going at mach-speed. Like anything less than constantly vomiting words out of her mouth is a catastrophic failure on her part.

~~~

~~~

Lucanis often wonders how Rook manages to keep up with herself.

It seems like she’s always going at mach-speed. Like anything less than constantly vomiting words out of her mouth is a catastrophic failure on her part.

There's rarely a moment of quiet if she’s in the room. If she’s not excitedly discussing things with the rest of the Veilguard, then she’s narrating everything she does to Assan or Manfred. If she’s not doing either of those, she’s muttering under her breath to herself. Lucanis would think she was the one possessed by a demon if he didn't know better.

She's no different on the battlefield. She’s constantly moving, bobbing and weaving and slashing. He’ll think he’s finally locked onto her position so he can cover her, and then suddenly she’s 40ft away again, screaming a battle cry and diving into the fray before anyone can even think to stop her.

He thinks she’s probably never done anything quietly in her life.

He sees it too, in the way she cares for everyone around her. The way she’ll help every wayward vagabond that looks at her with slightly wet eyes, or the way she’ll rush to be a shoulder to cry on for any of her friends. The way she stoops to put a coin in every panhandlers tray, and the way she coos at every flea-ridden feline in all of Thedas that comes within arms reach. Of all the things Rook does loudly, she loves the loudest.

He found it overwhelming when he met her. A year of near constant isolation, and the first friendly face when he found his freedom was this bundle of energy and noise. Some days he would escape to the pantry purely so that he could find silence. It’s safe to say, between her and Spite, he never found any.

But things are different now. Spite is quieter, and Rook… Well, Rook isn't. And yet Lucanis finds he’s glad for it.

She’s taken to keeping him company while he cooks. He stands over the stove and she leans on the counter next to him, talking. He mostly just listens, making a few affirming noises when it feels right. He never says more than a few words, and she never runs out of things to say. If it was anyone else, maybe he’d find it tiring, but it’s not anyone else. It’s Rook.

While Rook is around to fill every silence, there’s still a chance they can win.

While Rook is keeping him company and talking his ear off, they’re safe.

She’s safe.

He’s not sure when that became important to him, but it is now.

So now he relishes it. Every muttered curse directed at no one in particular, every compliment offered to every mangy cat. Every strange gargled noise she makes at Manfred, and every time he can hear her behind him on the battlefield. All of it means there's still hope that they make it out of this. All of it means she’s okay.

And if he’s starting to say more than a few words? If he’s started making comments about things he knows will send her on a tangent while he peels the vegetables?

Well. Maybe he’s trying to love loudly, too.

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back! Thank you so much for your patience and your kind messages and comments ♥ you are so nice about my silly ramblings, I appreciate it a lot.

previously, on harrowsoup the ninth:

this happened

also I posted this and this as previews and this is the whole tag

currently, chapters 23-26:

"an atmosphere of greater unease had settled over the mithraeum"

aka the emperor's bolthole

btw, no kidding, harrow, I hadn't noticed the unease

so, harrow asks around about the herald situation

I have another deck with dragon heralds but I'm not gonna go on a card tangent this time (you're welcome)

everyone gives terrible and useless descriptions

emperor johnny boy says "Whenever they come I am bundled off to a sealed sanctum at the heart of the Mitrhaeum, so that their insanity can't touch me"

asshole coward awful man

harrobean is trying to ask why emperor asshat is so sure about her having to die and if there's no way she can make it

emperor johnny says yandere twin isn't that good at being a lyctor yet, even if she's surprising and that if he was still giving silly names, he'd name her "Saint of Awe"

harrow thinks "that had not quite suited Naberius"

get perpetually owned, chad

harrow also mentions not being able to remember things well

YOU THINK, HARROW?

"it was as though your brain had formed a scab over everything that had happened to you"

I don't think that scab is healing well

emperor johnny insists on the rapier

idk why they all insist on the rapier

gideon and camilla didn't like it and were the fucking best cavaliers ever

ARE, THEY ARE THE BEST CAVALIERS EVER

PRESENT TENSE

but anyway, at this point, it could very well be emperor johnbro has aesthetic demands

not like he'll explain anything

harrowbean sees not!dulcinea's door closed, which isn't usual

she second guesses a bit because she can't always trust what she sees and she remembers crux saying "you saw what you saw, Lady, and the only thing you control now is your reaction thereto"

I didn't like that old man, but that's pretty cool of him to say

harrow opens the door and sees this

alleged gideon the first aka ortus tells harrow to go away very calmly and in a way that is too nice for him, apparently

harrow is upset at the display in front of her salad and goes to complain to yandere twin

which is a terrible place to complain at because she's both into gossip and into kink

if you want someone to take this seriously, that's the last place to go to

"at least you know who's been moving her—so to speak"

this is what we get combining yandere twin and chad

I've used that gif twice for her already

I forgive her, though, because she says "god is a dickhead" and she's right

she also asks harrow to try to remember why emperor john god has given her the sword

and establishes that harrow previously did something to her jaw so that she couldn't tell her

that's going in the 3d model

CHAPTER 24

apparently people are being less mean to harrowbean because they're already mourning her

harrow says that alleged gideon the first aka ortus has the name ortus because "it was just a banal and uncomfortable coincidence, as though he'd carried the name of a dead childhood pet"

she believes that the name must have caught on in the ninth because anastasia must have like brought it in and named people after her pal

I think he's named gideon

and that our gideon is named after him because of direct relationship of some capacity, maybe to someone involved

I considered the mom, but it's uncertain

in any case, he has to die

so, harrow puts a lot of wards and safety things in her room

kind of like this

home alone styling it

but apparently alleged gideon the first aka ortus can bypass wards

much like the sleeper/waker

much like not!dulcinea

wards are basically pointless, I guess, at this point

so he goes into her bathroom when she's bathing because here in the emperor's bolthole, everyone's a disrespectful asshole

harrowbean says he's "a thanergy void" and "the ultimate nemesis of a bone adept"

he tries to kill her while she's looking like this

I want to give this child some cocoa and play a comfort movie for her, like "the bone collector"

she ended up using the teeth she lost in the fight as projectiles in his eyes and got him to leave

she ended up bloody, unmoving, wet, naked and collapsed on the ground to which yandere twin live reacted to and left

she could have given her a hand

or an arm

she decided alleged gideon had to die and ice cube barbie aka probably annabel lee agreed

when gideon was among us, there was not enough time for her to throw hands at people and here there's so many people she could be throwing hands at and she's not here to do so

camilla too, but camilla threw hands at martita in a way that was legendary enough

CHAPTER 25

harrow goes with the chisme to dr reverend professor emperor john

she says "I swear by the Locked Tomb"

to which he replies "I wouldn't swear by that in this instance"

which I sure hope doesn't mean anything nasty with my girl ice cube barbie annabel lee because I'm gonna kill this man

she might not be entirely alive (maybe she is, maybe she's just suspended or something) but she deserves better than this piece of work

then he says "well, that's unfortunate"

this man really knows how to handle a situation, huh

emperor john says that it's pretty unlikely that alleged gideon the first aka ortus was doing the dirty with not!dulcinea because he never showed interest before and is "legendarily unamorous"

that's another tshirt I need

I need that one and the witch one immediately

also, now we've got a problem

not just because my telenovela about how this man might or might not be related to our gideon got more convoluted

but also because if alleged gideon is aroace, I'm gonna have to stan

I don't make the rules over here, I have to stand by my people

I have a conflict of interest now

emperor john also says "you must think us all a depraved set of immortal criminals"

I mean yes, I do, but not because of sexy times with zombies

I'm not here to judge the sexytimes of necromancers and whatever they do in their spare time

I don't know the intricacies of consent with ghosts or whatever, I can't be imparting judgment

it's not that, emperor john

it's because you're unpleasant war criminals who are killing planets for fun

well, the war criminal part I don't have hard evidence on rn but the situation doesn't seem to be in the favor of these people

I feel like when this man talks about the overall situation I'm getting a speech from emperor palpatine

emperor reverend john asks harrow, who has been awake for 25 years, to go to sleep

yeah, sure, she should go to sleep and wait for this guy to come by and try to kill her for the millionth time

meanwhile, harrowbean keeps collecting hours without sleep like

she makes, at the request of emperor camp counselor john, soup for everyone

I don't remember if it was here or before and I forgot but, this is extremely important

they mentioned cassiopeia being the one who cooked before

cassiopeia the same one with the ceramics collection, if I'm remembering correctly

cassiopeia who was also from the sixth, I think

camilla's house

she's checking every single one of my boxes like a sniper

why isn't she here, we're stuck with the grumpy one and the senior chad

ANYWAY, at the mention of harrow cooking I thought, immediately, "that's an awesome way to kill this guy"

I was picturing more like a poison type situation, although I didn't know how that could be achieved

something like this

but I should have known poison was too subtle for harrowcita

like I established back when protozoa's head was found in her closet, subtle isn't harrow's style

so it was more like this

basically, harrow sectioned her tibia to put some in the soup and then she could necrobend it so that it attacked from the inside

if I'm getting it right

insane plan and I love it

emperor john shadyman says "ten thousand years since I've eaten human being, Harrow, and I didn't really want an encore."

were they snacking on people during the Resurrection???

did they kill people by making lunch?????

???????????????????????????????????????????

"you think we're bad because we have sexy times with ghoulies?? uwu" that's the least of my concerns johnny john man

harrow then breaks down and asks straight to his face WHY THE FUCK MUST SHE SUFFER LIKE THIS

she calls herself a nonsense

the only nonsense here is what this emperor man speaks

she tells him she hasn't slept in six days

for a sleep deprived plan, it was excellent tbh

emperor man over here asks yandere twin to take her to sleep

and then stays with mercygirl to whom he says it's insane that harrow could do what she did and how did mercygirl miss that

this is the situation, as I have previously established

augustine looks at harrow "as if he had seen the ghost of someone he did not particularly like"

alleged gideon the first aka ortus salutes her on her way out

he doesn't even have heartburn

CHAPTER 26

we're back on gideon-less canaan house because it's time for more people to die

in ways that make 0 sense at all for what we know so far

regina george twin is pushed to her death by mayonnaise uncle

sounds fake to me

like, come on

regina george twin can probably murder that feeble guy on sight

we saw her spar with gideon, she wanted to be the cav that chad ended up being

she might not be a necro but she can stand her ground in a physical fight

mayonnaise uncle without duracell bunny nephew is like a sweaty guy on an anime con complaining about girls ruining everything while buying a maid figurine

she can take him

anyway, he does that and he says to her "and somewhere out there, may all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered"

now, this is weird

is he talking about yandere twin?

he wants revenge because yandere twin obliterated him?

is yandere twin "out there"?

I'd say this might be limbo BUT CAMILLA ISN'T DEAD

harrow is going to him and he says "she has not remembered her end" "is this how it happens then?"

and then he yeeted himself into space

that's what I wanted to do with not!dulcinea all along

so, yeah, well, this canaan business is getting more complicated now that it's not just people being shot

people are throwing themselves and others into space

and the memories of harrow in the emperor's bolthole aren't completely lining up with these

and mayonnaise uncle seemed to have been more aware of things than others around here?? or maybe just more forthcoming??? in that cryptic otaku way of his

also, no camilla at all still

Things are heating up in the emperor's bolthole, hope to come back soon with another one and thanks for the patience, hope it was worth it.

[positively-knotted]

Category theory has made us so accustomed to morphisms that it always feels wrong when a natural map isn't a morphism, at least not in the obvious category.

Like, take a manifold closed surface Σ. Write UTΣ for the "unit tangent bundle" of Σ, ie the space of unit vectors tangent to Σ. A loop γ in Σ gives a canonical loop (γ,γ') in UTΣ. Let's call that the lift of γ. So far so good.

It's natural to ask if this descends to homology. Let's take Z/2-homology to be simple. It actually doesn't, since any null-homotopic loop γ has γ' "do a full loop", so the homology class of the lift of a collection of null-homotopic loops depends on the parity of the number of loops.

But that's fixable. Let ζ be the homology class corresponding to a lift of a single null-homotopic loop. Then we do have a well-defined map φ: H_1(Σ) -> H_1(UTΣ) given by sending [γ] -> [(γ,γ')] - ζ. You can check that this is independent of representatives - you just play around with diagrams. The idea is that you're just measuring the "extra" spinning in γ', and ignoring the full turn that's necessary by yknow, being a circle.

This looks good! It's pretty natural, it sends 0 to 0, it feels very homomorphism like. But it's not! It satisfies φ(a+b) = φ(a) + φ(b) + (a•b)z, where • is the intersection form. This is like, close enough to a homomorphism that you can work with it, but still! It goes against modern mathematical sentiments.

[angelpuns]

Actions speaks a lot louder than words. This really scratches my brain and I love reading what everyone has to say in the comments. This story is so good! And I can’t wait for the next update. Anyway, I don’t think Splinter could’ve known Leo would jump off a cliff, hell no one would’ve guessed it. However, this was like the icing on the cake. With all of that builded up anger and stress, or even stress- I can understand where Raph is coming from. And I don’t think words are enough of a promise or trust for him. I want to say more and wish I can go into more details- but I’m scared if I’ll sound a little silly or boring. (Sorry for the poor grammar and writing! 😅)

Yessss I lovelovelove reading the points people bring up, especially when they either support Raph OR Splinter. It's so interesting to see!!

Yep,exactly! A lot of what's happening is that Raph is just bundling everything together to get it all out once, even if Splinter IS trying to be better and definitely didn't realize what Leo's plan was - Raph doesn't care. Partially because of his own failings ( not being able to save Leo during the movie, not realizing what Leo's plan was, etc. etc.) as well as because of a lot of resentment he's built up for Splinter. It's safe to say that Raph might not forgive Splinter. :)

Sorry, I sort of went off on a tangent, haha! Don't worry, I love hearing what people have to say about this entire Raph and Splinter conversation, it wouldn't be silly or boring at all!!! Thank you so much for the ask and I'm so glad you're enjoying this part of the story!!!

[capricornlevi]

(wc 759)

"you're gonna make me look good?"

jean's question is delivered with that annoying crooked smile, his jersey hugging tight across his chest as he stands with his hands clasped behind his back. he arches an eyebrow expectantly as you fiddle with the camera, trying to fix the settings that seem to have adjusted themselves without your knowledge.

as captain of the soccer team, he's the last player whose picture you need to capture for the college yearbook, and also as the captain, he brings with him an exceptionally smug but annoyingly charming aura that threatens to penetrate your stony resolve.

no, you force yourself to keep a straight face, it's bad enough that you got roped into this gig for free as a favour to your professor, you don't need to start stretching out these interactions any longer.

at that, you set the camera back on the tripod and lean closer, making sure the framing is right.

"okay, smile?" you say, halfway between an instruction and a question.

"i am smiling," he retorts instantly.

"smile ... i don't know, properly."

he winces with mock offence, screwing up whatever hope you had of getting the picture in one shot and finishing up for the day.

"properly?" he queries incredulously.

you sigh, closing your eyes so you don't roll them.

"professionally, then. formally. whatever what you want to do it."

"not open to me doing a silly one?"

"i'll give you one guess on that."

in the viewfinder you see jean's face twist back into that now-familiar smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, the light brown of his hair contrasting again the royal blue of the drape behind him.

(the hall of the gym isn't the best place to set up an impromptu photo studio, but you found an old team flag bundled up in a supply cupboard that made for a decent background)

"okay, okay, i'll be professional. showing my leadership qualities, and so on."

"great," you say flatly, focusing the camera.

"really demonstrating my abilities to represent the school."

"sounds good."

"recording this moment for future generations to come, a piece of living history--"

"do you ever stop talking?"

your interruption was intended to throw him off his tangent, hopefully to buy enough time for you to actually get the picture, but all it does is make him throw his head back with a laugh.

"i can if you want me to."

"if you wouldn't mind," you mumble, feeling a slight pang of guilt at how hard you came in when he's clearly just trying to lighten the mood.

still, you've been here since seven this morning -- soccer practice is early early, you've discovered -- and all you want in the world is to make your way home to collapse back into bed.

"ok, i'll shut up for a minute. if you can answer something for me first."

you take a steadying breath, temper starting to simmer. "what is it?"

"can you actually tell me if i look good?"

against all odds, he shocks you out of your sullen silence.

you pull away from focusing at the camera display to stare wordlessly at jean, the seriousness of the question still pinging around in your head.

he's flirting, obviously, but the question was delivered with sincerity.

"meaning?" you ask. no harm in clarifying, plus you're not entirely sure if he's looking for an ego boost or just asking whether his jersey is too wrinkled or his hair out of place.

"do i look good?"

you swallow thickly, avoiding the temptation to give him a once over. "you look fine."

"fine won't make the history books," he objects; again, with a hint of earnestness that you could find amusing in another setting.

"whatever. you look good, then."

"hair okay?"

"it's a mullet, so --"

he clutches his chest as if wounded, fully grinning now. "no cheap shots at the mullet while I'm in such a vulnerable position, im begging you."

again, your curiosity forces you to engage.

"vulnerable how?"

still smiling, eyes fixed on you, he answers.

"well, talking to a pretty girl, for one thing. secondly, pretty sure she's sworn off soccer players for good after this morning, so ... uphill battle, and all that. plus ive had a crush on her since she was selected as photographer for the championship final last year, so even more's at stake, y'know."

you pause. no words leave you, nothing even resembling a response. you're sure your mouth has actually dropped open.

brow arched again, jean tilts his head forward expectantly.

"aren't you gonna take the picture?"

[cod-dump]

great now you need to do teen ghost getting a puppy.

"ah yes. puppy will help him pick up chicks."

"nik, both our kids are gay."

(or bisexual. i cant tell if alex is with gaz or farah. or both)

Bastard (teen!Ghost au)

———

Nik only told them he was coming home with a surprise for them.

Well, the surprise was mainly for Simon but he assured John that all of them would enjoy it equally. John wasn’t sure if he should be worried about what the man was bringing home. Simon had already gave himself a headache with how quickly his thinking about the surprise got out of hand. John had given him aspirin and told him to lay down, which Simon immediately fought against.

“Si, I’ll get you when he gets here. Go lay down.”

Simon whined, John certain he was too excited to even attempt to relax but he insisted. Kyle stepped in and ended up dragging Simon upstairs, John waiting until the disappeared from sight before he went to the living room to sit. He would love to believe that Nik wouldn’t bring anything crazy home but given the man’s track record John couldn’t be certain.

“So… No idea what he’s bringing?”

Farah sat next to him, she was so mature already. It was like having a third adult in the house instead of another teenager. The thought made John’s heart ache, knowing her maturity was a result of what she had to deal with.

“Not a clue. God— He’s going to destroy my house. I just know it.”

Farah hums in thought at John’s words before she grinned, “I bet he has a dog.”

John stiffened, “That’s specific…”

“He said the surprise was mainly for Simon. Ya know, your son who has been begging for a dog for a few years.”

God no-

“Rather random timing for that.”

“Not really. Simon had gotten his third paycheck from that job at the mall he has, and he went on another tangent about how much he wants dog last night. He’s responsible, can take care of a pet, and you know it would make him very happy.”

John blinks before he turns his head and gives Farah a glare, “You’re in on it.”

She doesn’t even try to deny it, “Yup. C’mon, John. Simon deserves a dog.”

“The mess, Farah!”

“You know Simon would take care of it!”

John groans, leaning back on the couch as Farah glares. He didn’t get Simon a dog because he was afraid he would end up having to care for it. Though Simon has shown that he can be responsible and he’s been doing well at his job, so that wasn’t much of a excuse anymore.

The truth was, he was scared to get another dog. After what happened with his old hound John swore he would never get another dog. But this dog wasn’t for him, it was for Simon.

“You’re right…”

Farah puffed up in victory, patting John’s shoulder before she takes out her phone and starts texting. John stares, that fucker-

“You should go get Simon.”

To be played by an eighteen year old girl. He felt proud.

Getting Simon to sit still was a hassle, he kept trying to get up and go to the door. Kyle and Farah had to sit on either side of him to keep him down. John couldn’t help but find it adorable, it’s been awhile since he had seen him so excited for a surprise.

John prepared himself when he heard a car door shut, Simon immediately vibrating with pure excitement. John opened the door, ready to freeze Nik where he stood with a glare, but he melted as soon as he saw the fluffy bundle of joy in his arms. Nik was visibly smug and rather proud of himself.

“Bastard,” John muttered out with no heat behind it.

Nik just grinned before he placed a quick kiss to his cheek before moving past John and into the house. Kyle squealed and Simon just made very quiet, squawking noises. Yep, John wasn’t going to be able to top this one.

John closed the door and rounded the corner to see Nik place the German Shepherd puppy on the living room floor, Kyle and Simon practically melting off the couch to lay on the floor on either side of it. Neither boy made a coherent sentence, in fact not a single sound they made sounded like a word from any language that John knew. His heart swelled at the sight as the boys cooed and just lost their minds over the puppy.

John walked up to Nik and leaned against his shoulder, he honestly didn’t know what to say. Simon made a sob-like sound when the puppy wandered over to him, allowing him to pick it up. He was grinning broadly when the sweet thing gave him timid kisses to his face. God, he was so happy. He hated himself for not letting him get a dog sooner.

Simon noticed the collar of the puppy with a tag, twisting the collar around to look at it. When Simon froze, his face dropping suddenly, John’s heart skipped a beat as well did Nik tense up.

“Riley…”

“Had to make sure you knew he was your dog.”

Simon blinked, tears welling up quickly before he buried his face in the puppy’s fur. In a instant, Simon was handing the puppy, Riley, to Kyle before he stood and nearly tackled Nik in a hug. Nik hugged him back instantly, one arm across his back and a hand cradling the back of his head. Simon sobbed into Nik’s chest, the man kissing the top of his head as he held him.

“I love you,” John almost didn’t hear Simon’s voice with it being muffled by Nik’s chest on top of it sounding so small.

Nik pressed another kiss to Simon’s head, “I love you, too, kid.”

It took a moment, but Simon finally pulled away from Nik, wiping his face. Sometimes, in moments like this, he doesn’t look like he grew up at all. Simon surprised John with a hug as well, giving him a good squeeze before parting and going back to the floor. Kyle whined when Simon took Riley from him but made no fight to keep him.

Nik stepped away into the hall, John naturally following him. The man wipe his eyes, John stepping over to him and pulling him into a hug. Nik melted against him, holding him.

“I’m not going to be able to beat that come Christmas time.”

Nik laughs, pulling away so he could look at John’s face, “Oh, I didn’t mean to upstage you, my liege.”

John swats Nik’s shoulder, the man snorting as he steps away, “Bastard.”

“Two times a bastard, all in one day. Hmm, wonder if I can make it three-“

John rolls his eyes, damn this man, “Behave… you did a good job.”

“Hmm?”

“You made Simon’s… everything. He looked so happy…”

“Thought I fucked up with the name for a moment there.”

“Honestly? I thought so, too.”

John pulls Nik back close to him, pressing a kiss to Nik’s lips. Nik held him, leaning into him as he did. They broke the kiss, resting their foreheads together. It was silent in the hall, the only sound coming from the boys still going insane over Riley and Farah laughing.

“So… do I get a reward for my big success?”

John smacks Nik’s shoulder, lowering his voice, “Behave!”

Nik laughs and John grins. Damn this man.

[rubykgrant]

I have an idea for Sarge, tho it's a bit sad: his parents died when he was a baby. He was born on/near a military base at Mexico-Texas border, a base for both countries. Either his parents were soldiers or were just very close to the location. When his parents died, they hadn't told anyone the baby's name. He was raised by all the soldiers on base. Steel crutches, tank tread training wheels, all true. 57 syllables, Mandarin keyboard, fifth letter emoji? All adopted by the soldiers who raised him

That's a good back-story for him, thank you for sharing it!

I had a slightly similar idea for the "true backstory of Sarge" that I wrote as an interview with Andrews-

“I see you’ve decided not to wait,” she commented, taking her own seat.

“A-course! Save the BEST for FIRST!” he answered proudly. “Besides, listening to everybody else babble for too long might put ‘ya to sleep, and we can’t have that. They’re so easily distracted. Going off on tangents of unrelated topics and what-not,”

“Well, I’m not sure where you want to start-”

“I WAS BORN 29 YEARS AGO! I’VE BEEN THE PROUD LEADER OF RED TEAM FOR 20 YEARS! I CAME INTO THIS WORLD WEARING RED ARMOR, AND I’LL GO OUT OF THIS WORLD WEARING RED ARMOR!”

“Now, now…” Andrews said, her voice both amused and patient. “I won’t be exposing any secrets you want to keep, you’ll have the final word on what information I share publicly, but between the two of us? Let’s try to keep things simple, and honest. After all, we ARE on a first-name basis!”

The old soldier was quiet for a moment. A short moment, but for Sarge, being quiet was about as rare as hen’s teeth.

“Fair enough, Dylan…” he answered at last. “But the name is one of the things we keep quiet about, understand?”

“Absolutely… can I ask one question, though? Just for my own curiosity,” her curiosity often got the best of her, and certainly created problems occasionally… but that was why she was a reporter. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction is what kept bringing her back.

“Hmph. Fine. Shoot,”

“I’ve never heard a name like yours before. Just what was the inspiration when it was chosen for you?”

Another quiet moment. Andrews was beginning to think he was simply going to ignore the question, and if that was the case, she would move on rather than press the subject. However-

“When I was born, which was MORE than 29 years ago, I ADMIT IT… m’family didn’t name me right away. Not too many infants survived their first few weeks at the time… it was a different world back then, see- you’re too young, you never lived in a war-zone, but that’s what it was like. So, they waited to see if… well, you know how you’re not supposed to name anything, or else you’ll get attached? ‘Folks were worried about getting attached to ME, because maybe I wasn’t even gonna live too long… but a few weeks went by, then a couple months, and I was still breathin’!” he chuckled a bit to himself before continuing.

“I guess I was the only baby that made it, and the group of survivors my family stayed with- they all supported each other. A whole bunch of people took turns watching over this little bundle of joy! Everybody had a different name they liked to call me, and when it was time to give me a REAL name… it all got combined together. One big name, from more than a dozen different people, who all came from different places, and spoke different languages… I was the only baby any of them had, so I suppose they gave me all the names of… their own kids who couldn’t be with them…”

“That’s… oh, Sarge, I don’t know what to say, that’s INCREDIBLE. It might be the sweetest thing’ I’ve ever heard-” it was true, Andrews didn’t know what it was like to be born directly into a war-zone; and at the time the man sitting in front of her was a child, the Earth had been under attack by enemies from outer space… not to mention all the never-ending fights between humans who decided they hated other humans enough to kill each other. No, she hadn’t lived through that, but she had seen documents and footage.

Many towns and cities were destroyed, and groups of people would try to band together; they formed new little communities, some traveling like nomads, others attempting to stay in one place, but all generally learning to rely on one another for safety and survival. Generations of children were lost during this time… from injury, illness, or lack of food. To think that she was now speaking to somebody who had grown up in that world, protected and nurtured by an extended-family of people who had been brought together by necessity, but stayed together by choice. That choice had, in fact, been to make sure a child could LIVE.

“I know, I know! Tragic and heart-warming… it’s practically Oscar-bait! But remember what we agreed on, not a word to anybody else! Bad enough that whipper-snapper apple-Jax knows…” he grumbled.

“Yes, I understand…” she couldn’t help but get a little choked-up, though.

“And, for the record- I mean, this is OFF the record, make sure to keep it that way! But just so YOU know, I’m not a bit embarrassed about my name! That’s not why I don’t wanna share it��� it’s just…” Sarge seemed to struggle to find the words. “The people who named me are gone. All of them. And this wasn’t just my name, it was the name I shared with the all the children they lost… someday, I’m probably going to die on a battlefield, being taken out by an enemy, and God-willing, I’ll be wearing my RED ARMOR, going out with my boots on- but when that happens, whoever kills me… I don’t wanna take the chance of hearing them say that name. It was good name that good people gave me, so…”

“So, you don’t want somebody who hates you to use the name that was made by people who loved you,” Andrews finished.

“Hurrrgh- if you WANT to read into it like that and add lots of mushy, emotional subtext, sure!” Sarge made several grunts and groans, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his helmet away to avoid looking at her.

“You are a surprisingly deep and sensitive individual, Sarge…” Andrews marveled.

“NO I AIN’T! YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW! I AM A ONE-DIMENSIONAL CHARACTER, A FLAT STEREO-TYPE OF ALL GRUFF MILITARY MEN, AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT!” The man now stood up, striking a heroic pose, raising one knee to place a foot upon his now empty chair, both hands clenched into fists and resting against his hips, the visor of his helmet pointed upward.

“I’VE NEVER HAD AN OUNCE OF PERSONAL GROWTH, AND I NEVER WILL! OTHER SOLDIERS WEAR THEIR ARMOR, BUT I AM THE ARMOR! I AM THE BACK-BONE OF RED TEAM! AND THE BRAINS! AND THE FISTS! ALSO, THE WEAPONS IN THE FISTS! IF YOU SAY MY NAME THREE TIMES AFTER SUMMONING BLOODY MARY, I SHOW UP AND SCARE HER OFF! FREDDY KRUEGER HAS NIGHTMARES ABOUT ME! I AM-”

“You are the Reddest Red to ever Red, yes, I know. I’ll be sure to keep that for the interview. That way, everybody will know the REAL you!” Andrews promised. Sarge gave a single nod of his approval, and quickly sat back down, as if nothing had happened.. “But, just in case…”

Sarge made a cartoonishly over-the-top growling noise at this. Andrews ignored that, and pushed on.

“If there is possibly some hidden layers, maybe some insight or… the method to your madness? I do still have a few more questions. As I said before, you’re free to skip anything you don’t want to answer. What do you say, Sarge?”

“Alright. Fine. Hurry up ‘n ask, before I change my mind!” that was settled, it seemed.

[perplexingluciddreams]

friday we moved house. here is some things that happened. not all in order because my sense of time is bendy.

i did swing on morning of move day. i watched The Bloody Irish DVD. and part of Celtic Woman Emerald DVD. both with Lisa Lambe. (very important special interest).

mum said say bye to old room. i had a long look at it to say goodbye. i remember when it used to have a pink wall and butterfly wallpaper. and furniture in different places. different bed.

then 2 hour car journey!

at new house we got there before the moving trucks. so no furniture. and no heating for a while. so was very cold.

new house is big. much bigger than old house. mum and dad showed me around. even after days i still feel a bit lost... it will take time to learn.

i was so tired so i lie down on the floor and mum put hoodies under my head as pillow. and blankets over me. i had snacks and listen to my "fills brain just right" playlist of safe songs. then when my bed gets here, i went to sit in my bed.

[Image description: Ezra lying on his back on the floor. a few hoodies and a white cushion under his head. he is covered with blankets. he has his hood up and two teddies, one under each arm. his AAC device is on the floor next to him. his phone lays on his chest. his face is covered with a purple blob. end ID.]

[Image description: Ezra lying on his side on the floor with teddies cuddled to his chest. the same white pillow under his head and his phone in his hand. his eyes are closed. end ID.]

i told mum i feel safe and happy at the new house. and mum told dad. and dad came to me and said i gave him "sweaty eyes" (crying a few happy tears because he is glad i feel happy and safe). dad barely ever cries!

friday i had pasta for dinner out a weird bendy measuring container. we couldn't find bowls. but we had forks luckily.

no Internet since friday. the Sky people messed up and cancelled our Internet!! 😡 it was supposed to be monday we get wifi. we have to wait until the 6th of january. mum got me more mobile data.

i used my mobile data to do duolingo, check fitbit app, and check tumblr every so often. i saved posts to my drafts to reblog later. now that i have more data (thanks mum!) i will post all those reblogs.

i watch lots of DVDs. beauty and the beast. DVD was so glitchy from so much use in the past! Belle is my favourite princess since i was little. because she loves books and reading like me!! i watched that film so so many times over and over. almost couldn't watch it this time from so much video AND audio glitch! mum asked if i want a new copy, i said yes please :D

then sleeping beauty and maleficent (in that order). flash gordon, half of tinkerbell (got bored of it), tangled, the jungle book, muppets, the incredibles. camberwick green, bagpuss, mr benn, cult kids classics.

and of course i have watched my Celtic Woman and Lisa Lambe DVDs several times each! they are safe.

and read kindle. i got new books - Saxon Stories series by Bernard Cornwell. it is a long series so mum bought the first 6 for me (they came in a bundle together). these books is what The Last Kingdom is based on! so i hope for more Brida 🤞🏻, she is my favourite!! 😁

i listened to some Alex Rider audiobook too! i figured out how to connect headphones to kindle. sometimes (often) my brain goes on a tangent louder than the audiobook. i have to rewind lots. but i like it!

and i play games on phone. and listen to downloaded music on Spotify.

there was almost a disaster (aka meltdown). because no swing! friday night didn't sleep well. body restless and very stimmy. tense with buzzing energy.

then after dinner on saturday my body got super restless and antsy. and started pacing up and down the long corridor of upstairs. because just HAD to move. couldn't control it. couldn't stop it.

used to happen like this a lot, before i did swinging regularly. in school corridors, around bedroom, walking outside just keep going on and on and on, can't even control direction, my body just goes. even when i am exhausted and aching and legs feel like they are not there anymore. i can't stop it.

same with rocking and swaying and spinning and hitting wrists on hips. and slamming body into walls or bed or furniture. and shaking and flapping hands and arms (often at same time as i walk). all stims just out of control bursting out of me. so much dysregulation.

often would get worked up more and more and end up in meltdown. or sometimes get "lucky" and tire myself out so much then can't move for hours. still felt intense awful inside, but at least not have meltdown AND get in trouble told off punished for meltdown behaviour.

anyway, this time dad saved the day and put (temporary) swing up in living room. from the metal things up high! while i waited mum helped divert my path to my room and helped me stay rocking on my bed instead of pacing. then i did proper big swing. and calmed down. and slept really well that night. crisis averted. swing prevents so so many meltdowns!

[Image description: two pictures of Ezra in his swing. it is a hammock style swing. the first is from further away and you can see where the swing attatches to a metal beam high up. in the first image, Ezra slumps to the side a bit and looks down to his left. in the second picture, Ezra smiles but doesn't look at the camera. he is wearing black headphones. end ID.]

my legs muscles got so tight and sore from the pacing. and from bigger house means more walking. especially sore left (weaker side). my usual walk is quite shuffle-y and slow with short steps, but it was even more like that! and even more dragging left leg than usual.

since i was little i wish to be able to walk more. walking was always hard. tiring, painful. but instead of getting more with time, it got less and less. harder and harder. everything got harder. it is frustrating. i want my body to do so much more. and it is just not able.

i will get a wheelchair assessment here. don't know when. and mum and i talk about walking frame (posterior walker) possibility, to help walking around house. mum says she will ask the wheelchair people because they will know.

stairs are another challenge. bedroom upstairs, swing downstairs. stairs are huge hard work for me. it is possible, but exhausting. painful. especially painful on top of muscles already sore and fatigue from pacing. and few times a day for even a few days, means i get super much fatigue face flush. and sore aching body. drains ridiculous amounts energy. worry about crash.

i go down stairs sometimes sitting on my bum. but sometimes standing and go down one step at a time, always left foot (weaker) first. then for going up it is opposite, right foot (stronger) first and pull a lot with my arms on the banister. but already i crawled up the stairs a couple times. whichever way i do it, it is a huge workout for my whole body. at first i got help going with stairs, but last few times i did it on my own! i feel proud.

mum will call the stairlift people soon. but i don't like stairlift ☹️. even though i need it to be able to use precious energy for nice things (that is how mum says it). i just wish my body would do what i want and not have fatigue and pain like this. also much worry about stairlift makes even stronger "barrier" threshold.

when i can do it with my own body, i get less stuck. because it is more like follow a motor path. there is still a threshold, but my momentum can (usually) carry me over. if stairlift is there, it creates a point where i have to physically stop and change my action/task. that is where i am more likely to get stuck. and stairlift also has a bunch of steps to the task of using it. so if i can't even think of the steps or the order, i can't do it. and if that means i need help - it has to first occur to me that help is an option, occur to me that it is possible to ask for help, think how to ask, ask, and so on.

don't know for sure how it will be, but worry about all that.

bath is also different. harder work. mum keeps routine and order the same though. that helps. it is hard that it is different.

lots of things are a bit different. lots to get used to. water tastes different - at the old house the water was very very soft, here it is harder. it makes juice taste different. and lots of other small things. they add up.

sister came on tuesday night! she was at university but now she will live with us at this house. because it is close to her university. her bedroom is directly across the hall from mine.

i am very bored from lack of wifi. and from not able to get to swing as often. swing is my only physical outlet and my only way to get enough stim to regulate. and need a LOT of swing every single day to stay regulated. have to use so much of my limited energy to swing to avoid meltdown. i am really trying to be good. trying not complain. don't want to be any more a bother.

but i really like the new house. and hope hope hope 🤞🏻 with time it will get even better and better. 😊👍🏻

[the-radio-demon-blog]

Hello Beloved Radio Host!

I come to you as a sinner in search of advice. You seem the confident type so I thought no harm in asking. How do i have more confidence when i suffer from things that constantly make my sense of self a blur?

I understand if this too big a question

Why, hello there!

Well, I will try my best to give you advice but I am by no means a therapist nor an expert on emotions.

How do you develop more confidence or more self esteem? I believe, darling, you have to manage the more bigger underlying problem. I understand what you mean: sense of self is a blur. I had a friend who experienced something akin to your experience. For her, she would have described it as watching her own life in an out of body experience or like walking through a dream.

I do hope that is what you mean?

Now, how did she manage to stop that disturbing and very unwelcoming feeling? Everyone has their own ways to deal with their own mental illnesses or mental health. For her, she began with talk therapy. And when that didn't work, more exercise. And when that didn't work, she eventually switched over to anti-depressant drugs.

Now, I do not know the cause of your sense of self blurring but the most common causes are usually environmental, trauma, stress, simply your brain or etc.

If there is one thing I have learned about mental illness, there is always a combination and it usually links back to depression. The most effective forms of treatment being talk therapy or anti-depressants.

And no, anti-depressants aren't a terrible thing. If anything, the depression many people suffer from is an imbalance of chemicals in the brain and these drugs usually set it right. And no, the anti-depressants won't make you a mindless insufferable bundle of joy. It simply adjusts your brain to reacting like a normal human being. Yes, you still become sad. Yes, you still become angry.

It simply isn't wild and uncontrollable emotions and thoughts bombarding you left and right over and over again. Causing you to be a prisoner in your own body, trying to scream louder than the thoughts in your head.

Now, adding on top of that to gain confidence? Do things you are good at or enjoy to boost your positive thinking. Surround yourself with people that make you feel good and who encourage you to go out of your comfort zone. Allow yourself to be vulnerable with yourself and others. Exercise regularly to induce dopamine (usually works for folks who have a good mind-body connection).

And most importantly, even if its terrifying, do things that step out of your comfort zone. Trust me, even the Great Radio Demon was scared on his first broadcast. Why, I was stuttering and mumbling like nobodies business, hah!

And be assertive. You must, must, must be assertive. You need to learn to communicate your feelings and beliefs to others. But you must remember to be respectful as well. Tone and open body language, is key to communicating with others in a respectable manner.

My apologies, for this tangent, I do hope it answered your question. Or least helped you in some way, shape or form. Again, I am no expert.

By golly, Charlie has been truly rubbing off on me, hasn't she? Hah!

[lynzine]

Sneak Peek (A Strong Bond)

Yue began organizing the food. Zuko tried not to shuffle, half expecting now to be the moment Zhao struck. “Avatar Aang, I have some roots that Prince Zuko can, um, grill and green kasha with that kelp oil for you. I also brought a few vegetarian options that keep well because I’m not sure how easy it will be to put your usual serving aside.” She told the airbender, handing him a bundle she’d kept separate. “It’s mostly dried vegetables and some fermented Eider eggs, but I did manage to find some bannock too.”

Note: This food tangent is one of two, which were brought to you by @atlaculture and @mostly-mundane-atla who post helpful things about Water Tribe culture (and food that Aang might be able to eat).