#that said: my summer body feels more *me* than my winter body does

[yardsards]

i love when the changing of the seasons has visible effects on my body, the extra little pads of fat my body grows in the winter to help keep me warm, the freckles that bloom on my skin in the summer sun. so often i feel unmoored from the world around me and the passage of time, but there's that little reminder written in my flesh that i am an animal on this earth.

[jolapeno]

cold, biting

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

Painting you in it, all varying shades, a masterpiece he thinks he’s came across, but really just became the first to admire.

wc: 1.3k warnings: smut (18+). mentions of smut. keeping warm. jo writing. my spelling. notes: I wrote this on limited sleep, cold, and very much wanting to have some form of body heat next to me. so maybe I should warn about spelling too.

It’s cold, biting.

All wintery breath trying to pierce through, bleed over memories of warmer months.

It makes your skin practically weep if it slithers from under the thick duvet, it trying to kiss you, the air tinged only with bitterness. It’s crawling, climbing—sliding up over surfaces, its icy touch desperate to create steam by meeting something warm.

Seeking, hunting—it wants to wrap its claws around flesh, seep into bone. It wants to nestle down deep inside of you so you carry that chill around all day.

It isn’t able to, because of him.

Him and his broad shoulders, loose curls, summer-kind smile and wiry hair that doesn’t grow in full places along his beard—a little space you trace, pretend it’s a heart. It’s where I kissed you all those years ago, wasn’t it? You would tease. Remembering a time when you were more cowardly than confident, more afraid than unforgiving. You’re thankful that isn’t you now

Yeah, he always says, left a mark on me. It’s always said with warmth, all comforting. Usually, his arms come around your waist, a kiss on your forehead.

You hope he’s aware he’s left marks of his own. Little things imprinted on you, carved in you, perfect places for his favourite colour to go, his favourite song, the things which make a bad day a little easier to get through.

You’d let him in during the spring, what feels like a thousand years ago. The flowers opening, the air warm and the sun shining. But, you fell for him in the summer over a year ago—BBQ smoke and little lanterns, fingers finding the softness of his skin and liking the way brick felt on your bare shoulders when the two of you stole a moment.

In the fall just gone, his things found themselves with yours, merged, a house becoming a home. Surfaces no longer innocent, but a playground, nails scratching, leaving marks of your own against things as he made your eyes head fill with stars and your body thrum with nothing but pleasure.

Winter brings something else.

It brings softer declarations whispered against the soap-sud glass. It brings the hungry look from him when he sees you in his clothes, even handing you a pair of socks just because. It brings longing when the bed feels too big, hand stroking out where he’s supposed to be—his voice down the phone doing nothing to fill the void.

He’s always wanted, practically a necessity, but in the colder months, it’s a demand. There’s room for complaint in the warmer months when his skin is clammy, legs far too desperate to slide themselves around yours. Body letting heat escape, it all rolling out, washing over the room.

But, it’s welcomed in the winter.

Pull me a little closer, you think. Lashes fluttering, smile half-sleepy. And he does, arm coming out, palm on your back, pushing and guiding until you’re more him than you are you. No clear line where the two of you part, just one singular soul.

There’s frost on the outside, and condensation on the inside glass. But the yellowing of the morning is still persevering in blanketing you in natural warmth. You look so beautiful, he whispers—and when he says it you believe him. Staring into his eyes, unwilling to find a single fabrication. Your stomach pooling with heat, a hunger awakening in you—one you have more often than not around him—as you lift your eyes to the incoming morning.

The window has popped, need to fix that, he continues, barely above a whisper, following your eye line, lingering on it.

So, you kiss him. Icy lips against his, feeling warmth bloom in your throat, descend down to your lungs. You lick into his mouth, tasting fire, hoping it fills your stomach, and forces heat to bathe your bones. Smother me, you want to ask, but instead, he makes flames lick up your spine. Pushing fabric to the side, fingers tracing, finding your seam—teasing, taunting. Making toes curl under sheets and fabric, little whispered pleas coat the skin close to his ear. Is this all for me?

Yes.

Always yes.

Frankie is precise, and knows just what to do. Listening to you, trained in doing so, even when words don’t leave your lips. It’s a gift, he smirked once, mouth coated in your slick, tongue flicking out against your core.

You couldn’t argue, he was a treat.

At some stage you’d wondered, practically suspected he’d found a manual for you. Figured out each zone that made you putty—thank fuck he did. He never leaves you wanting, never lets you beg for too long. Too eager to please, too happy to give.

You want my cock, yeah? Your response comes out breathless, more air punched from your lungs when he finally answers himself. So thick, so long—all compact, all you can think about as he stills, as he rubs two circles on your hip in that way he does until you relax around him, allow him to move. So tight, baby.

There are worse things to be than full of Frankie. You’ve experienced a portion of time before it, it doesn't hold a candle to the time that came when he rested his arm on the doorframe, and told you (in the most asking, polite way) that he was going to kiss you. You want to be full of him always, in all the ways it counts—like this, and in your heart, and in your soul.

A need for waffles on Sundays where At Last plays, and Wednesdays when he brings home a bag of takeout and the two of you see how long you’ll make it through the show before you’re on his lap. Insatiable, some would say, but it’s hard not to be when you’re happy.

His hand fans out over your lower back, skating over your skin—murmurs of softness, of perfection. Painting you in it, all varying shades, a masterpiece he thinks he’s came across, but really just became the first to admire.

Never stop.

You’d told him that then when his mouth—chapped and salty from pretzels—slanted over yours that first time. You repeat it now as his hips move, as he slides his hand up and across your shoulder blades.

And it’s not long until you’re panting, until his name forms part of your unconscious narrative. Repeating it, interspersing it with expletives and moans, each he takes, captures, bottles and keeps.

He’s a collector like that, a person who has a drawer solely of things which don’t make up anything on their own—screws, bolts, plugs and cables. You often wonder if he has a drawer for you inside his head, an array of Polaroids, made up from moments like this where he tells you how good you look, how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel hugging his cock, how good your pussy feels—

The room is filled with sinful sounds, wet, skin slapping. Music to the ears.

More, you shout only in the void in your head. Nails gripping, body tense, taunt and coiled.

Then you’re shuddering, blissfully turning to warm lava—spreading out, relaxing, unspooling. Held in place, mouth finding his, writing poetry on his tongue before his movements twitch, break their pattern, and your throat is coated in a moan of your name.

You swallow it, the way he says it. Makes you hate it a little less, and makes you want to hear it over and over—because in the day you prefer the nicknames, but at night you prefer the one on your certificates.

Breath caught, little wisps of air leaving both of you with each pant, he brushes your cheek—skin like a blaze, keeping the shiver from ever gracing you.

Let’s not go anywhere today, you say, sleep-filled and soft. Okay, he responds, sliding against you.

It’s less cold, and less biting.

But that’s because of him, your nose buried into his neck, heart hammering against your side. Then you hear the heating click on—but you still prefer him to keep you warm.

— for @secretelephanttattoo because it’s cold, I adore her and I want to make her smile.

[adragonsfriend]

Yoda and the Story of Zhuangzi's wife

We've all heard Yoda's words about letting go in Revenge of the Sith,

"Careful you must be when sensing the future, Anakin. The fear of loss is a path to the dark side…Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them, do not. Miss them, do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is."

It's one of the phrases most often used to call Yoda unfeeling, cold, mean to Anakin, etcetera, and I would like to look at the same lesson presented in nearly the same circumstance, but one with does not have Anakin, and therefore everyone's feelings about Anakin, plastered all over it.

The story of Zhuangzi's wife is a taoist one which was brought up to me as a point of comparison by @tai-feng:

莊子妻死，惠子弔之，莊子則方箕踞鼓盆而歌。惠子曰：與人居長子，老身死，不哭亦足矣，又鼓盆而歌，不亦甚乎。 Zhuangzi's wife died. When Huizi (his friend) went to convey his condolences, he found Zhuangzi sitting with his legs sprawled out, pounding on a tub and singing. "You lived with her, she brought up your children and grew old," said Huizi. "It should be enough simply not to weep at her death. But pounding on a tub and singing—this is going too far, isn't it?" 莊子曰：不然。是其始死也，我獨何能無概然。察其始而本無生，非徒無生也，而本無形，非徒無形也，而本無氣。雜乎芒芴之間，變而有氣，氣變而有形，形變而有生，今又變而之死，是相與為春秋冬夏四時行也。 Zhuangzi said, "You're wrong. When she first died, do you think I didn't grieve like anyone else? But I looked back to her beginning and the time before she was born. Not only the time before she was born, but the time before she had a body. Not only the time before she had a body, but the time before she had a spirit. In the midst of the jumble of wonder and mystery a change took place and she had a spirit. Another change and she had a body. Another change and she was born. Now there's been another change and she's dead. It's just like the progression of the four seasons, spring, summer, fall, winter." 人且偃然寢於巨室，而我噭噭然隨而哭之，自以為不通乎命，故止也。 "Now she's going to lie down peacefully in a vast room. If I were to follow after her bawling and sobbing, it would show that I don't understand anything about fate. So I stopped."

— Zhuangzi, chapter 18 (Watson translation)

Zhuangzi is perhaps gentler than Yoda in the way he presents the lesson; he leads Huizi through his own thought process to his ultimate conclusion rather than stating a pure philosophical ideal, but his circumstances are also different than Yoda's.

Huizi serves as a stand in for a student listening to the story for the first time. He is totally naive to the lesson Zhuangzi has to teach him.

Anakin comes to Yoda as an adult, seeking advice, not as a child whose every decision should have to be monitored by the adults around him. When Anakin is unwilling to share the details of his situation, it is not Yoda's place to interrogate him for those details or solve his problems for him.

Personally, (no one rip me apart for oversimplifying a little here) I do not interrogate my friends for every detail anytime they say they are having a rough time, no matter how curious I might be. I listen to the details they want to share, ask for clarifying details if they are relevant, and if I am told enough to recognize a way I could help, I offer them that help. If they refuse my help, or do not offer me a way to help, I offer what advice or what comfort I can. I do not barge into their life and start making decisions for them, because they are adults with reasonable understandings of the world and are more capable of making decisions for themselves than I am, no matter how much I want to be able to make all their problems go away.

To put it another way, I let go of my curiosity, my desire to prove myself helpful, and my desire for a perfect world in order to respect the autonomy of my friends by allowing them to decide how to live and what help to accept.

Anakin gives Yoda nothing to work with except that he is having visions of the possible pain, suffering, or death of someone close to him. They are in the middle of a war, there is pain, suffering, and death everywhere. The person closest to Anakin that Yoda knows about is Obi-Wan, another adult that can take care of himself. Frankly, even if Yoda suspected anything, Padmé is an adult who can take care of herself.

Anakin is an adult who comes to Yoda for advice, not a child seeking an intervention, and Yoda offers him the best advice he has, in a manner that Anakin clearly understands, because he responds to the speech by asking,

"What must I do, Master Yoda?"

He understands what Yoda is saying and asks more about what it means for him. This is the moment where he implies, truthfully or not, that he is ready to learn the lesson, and that he can deal with the problem on his own. There is nothing else Yoda can to without more concrete details but offer him a final instruction,

"Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."

Sometimes the idea that George Lucas had religious inspirations outside of Christianity when it came to the central themes of Star Wars is greatly distrusted in the fandom, but a lot of Star Wars actually validates the fact that he was interested in a lot more than borrowing Samurai aesthetics. It is more common, in my experience, to see the eastern influenced parts of Jedi philosophy denigrated, misunderstood, and over-simplified than the parts which are influenced by christianity.

To me it is difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile concepts of unconditional love and absolute forgiveness without also understanding what it means to let go of attachment.

[andrevasims]

Here's the text that can appear in pop-ups when a sim watches the weather channel:

— Summer: —————————————————————

• When it's a really hot Summer day, sometimes I think about cold things, and my mind tricks my body into thinking it's cooler than it really is. Except one time I thought about too much ice cream and it made my stomach hurt.

• Sorry, but I can't help you today. I'm out at the pool.

• Why do they call us Meteorologists? I have never predicted a meteor in my whole life! They're scary. If you see one, let me know and I'll tell people. I'm on TV, you know.

• I'm having a bad day. Just go outside if you want to know about the weather. Stop bothering me.

• I've wanted to be a weather man my entire life. Sure other kids thought I was weird playing with my barometer during recess but I knew I was meant to affect people's lives.

• Weather prediction is a serious science. I have a college degree in it. At least I think it was a college. It was all done on the Internet, but I got a shiny certificate in the mail!

— Fall: —————————————————————

• My advice for today? If it rains, wear a jacket.

• I used to like playing in leaf piles. But not as much anymore. They're itchy.

• You know when people say things like "It's raining cats and dogs out there!" Well, that doesn't happen. Trust me. I've checked.

• Oh, what's the big deal? It's hot, it's cold, it's raining, it's snowing. Who cares? It still doesn't change the fact that my job is basically to look out the window. You know how depressing that is?

• I was struck by lightning once. It didn't feel so good. I put a lightning rod on my roof after that and it hasn't happened since.

• I just love playing in a great big pile of leafs. Burning them is fun too. Except when you accidentally set someone on fire. Poor grandma. Her eyebrows never grew back.

— Winter: —————————————————————

• It's Winter. Wear a sweater. Does that help?

• Sorry. Couldn't make it into work today. It's too cold out there!

• When I was a kid, I made up my own superhero. I was "The Boy Weather - Master of the Forecasters!" My mom made me a cape and a mask, and I ran around my house shouting things like "Chance of Showers: 50 percent!". I fought off evil tornadoes and powerful hurricanes with my powers of prediction. I didn't have many friends.

• I had the worst Nightmare last night. I dreamed I was being chased by a penguin and he wanted to hit me with a fish.

• Did you know Penguins can't fly? They also have a natural resistance to polar bear attacks.

• I always wanted a pet penguin but my mother said that I was too young. I asked her again yesterday, but she said that I should let it slide.

— Spring: —————————————————————

• Can you help me out with something I've always wondered about? If you're in the pool, and it starts raining, do you get more wet?

• It's allergy season out there. The pollen count is off the charts! I'm sneezing just thinking about it!

• I have the greatest job in the world. I can be completely wrong nearly all the time and never get fired. When I make a mistake, I can just shake my head and say, "What are ya gonna do? It's the weather!" How sweet is that?

• Don't look to me for all the answers! The knowledge you seek is just a small step out your front door.

• We've been hearing reports of lightning striking tall trees in the neighborhood, so be careful out there!

• Hello. You have reached the Weather Station. We're not in right now, but if you leave a message after the beep…

[alpaca-clouds]

Dear Worldbuilders: Please Understand Cultural Norms As Cultural Norms

Two days ago I had a discussion with my new roomie. Because we are two autistic guys, who will not stop talking politics all day, and were talking about the opening ceremony of the Olympics. To which he held the opinion: "I mean, I was not offended. But I can understand the Christians who are." To which I pointed out, that they really do not get to be offended after forcing their religion onto everyone.

Somehow the discussion however went to the horrible topic of "kink at pride". And he showed me videos he saw online, where some nudists were also participating at pride. To which I just shrugged and was like: "So what? They are naked. It is not as if they are doing something sexual. They are just naked, and there should be nothing taboo about the naked body. I mean, c'mon dude, we are living in Germany which is kinda known internationally for its nudist culture." And he went: "Yeah, sure, but usually if there is a nudist beach or a nudist swimming pool I will go there expecting to see naked people." And I kept relying on the point: "Well, but what harm is done to these people being naked?" To which he went: "Well, the children...!" And I was like: "Do you really think kids are getting traumatized by seeing a naked body? You are aware there are cultures around the world in which running around naked is pretty normalized, right? I know that 'don't be naked' feels super intuitive for someone growing up over here, but keep in mind that to someone from Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia 'women should cover their hair' would feel about as intuitive, because it is just a cultural norm." Which was the point I was given.

But thinking about it, I actually do see a lot of people struggling with this concept as well. Yesterday a friend and I also talked about how many western people just assume that Christmas is celebrated by everyone around the world - even though it isn't.

And I think this shows nowhere as strongly as in fantasy and scifi media. Because a lot of fantasy and scifi media just will go ahead and assume a baseline western culture - even in settings, where it does not make sense. More than that: It will assume either modern western cultural norms or - especially for fantasy - will kind of try to extrapolate how people imagine something to have been like at some time.

And I am staying with the nudity example, because it is actually a funny one. A lot of fantasy media will assume people in a medival setting to be super touchy about nude bodies, because Victorian's were crying (according to popular myths) when they saw a naked ankle.

However: This actually could not be further from the truth. Because we have ample evidence, that in medieval times not only public baths were not sex seggregated, but that on hot summer days the peasants would also work at least partially naked on the fields.

Sure, in some areas of Europe nobility was a bit more squeaming around naked bodies than the peasants. But that was then a nobility thing - and even this was not necessarily true throughout the entire middle ages (again: The period lasted around 1000 years), and especially not throughout all of Europe.

But you know what said nobility was also super iffed about? Yeah: Women's hair. That got hidden throughout medieval Europe as well. Especially in late medieval times. At times under headscarfs, at times under certain types of hats.

Then let's also talk about the Christmas thing. Because it is a classic of fantasy media especially. The world is going to have a winter festival that involves gift giving, family parties, and often enough also dead trees in prominent locations.

Now, on one hand: A lot of cultures around the world had winter solstice festivals, so assuming that your fantasy culture will have the same is not that far fetched to have that, too. But why give it the modern Christmas traditions? There are so many other traditions you could come up with. I am sure of that. You are a fantasy/scifi writer after all!

You might ask yourself right now: Why do I even have an issue with this?

Well, the answer is simple. Because this is about Eurocentrism. Building a world like that will just assume that western European traditions are "the norm", they are what we should assume to find everywhere. And when people read fantasy media and just find it all reflected there, it is what they will start to assume. And then they are going to be all "surprised pikachu", when they find out that indeed, the world does not celebrate Christmas.

Also... Just normalize naked bodies. There is literally no harm in seeing a naked body. None at all.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Wow. So much dislike about elves generally preferring to be barefoot in the Dragon Age world.

Y'all.

Why elves not wearing shoes in Dragon Age is completely logical.

Okay, so it’s not a huge secret that I grew up poor. We're talking hardscrabble poor. The kind of poor most people don't think even exists in the western world anymore (I guarantee it does).

To someone with very little ability to buy things, shoes just aren't the priority everyone seems to think they are. City elves are poor in most depictions.

The Dalish would likely feel they'd rather use the materials for something else. They may not be as poor as city elves, but they likely wouldn't be wasteful either. Depending on where they wintered, they might not even use them then. I go out barefoot in light snow and frost, you do actually get used to it.

Fenris is a former slave with lyrium tattoos on his feet. The tattoos cause him pain when touched. Of course he doesn't wear shoes.

I never had shoes in the spring/summer/fall. They just did not exist in my understanding of the world. There was no need to buy and ruin a pair of shoes when feet toughen up just fine.

I grew up in the Adirondack Mountains, by the way. There are a lot of bloody rocks there. You can't dig very far down before you hit bedrock up there.

We had horses and dogs too, (yes, I'm aware of the crappy juxtaposition of parents who pay for horses but not shoes) so it's not like we're talking a pristine woodland.

I'd get a pair of sneakers/runners before school started (usually second hand) and a pair of boots in the winter. I remember having to wear bread bags around my feet inside my boots to keep them dry and whole. Less likely to get frostbite that way.

I distinctly remember my first brand new pair of shoes. I remember my second and third pairs too.

Even now, when I have far too many shoes, more than I could ever need, (I've got a thing for boots, my kids tell me my collection is 'extra'. They're right 🤣) I still prefer to go barefoot. From around April to November, I just don't wear shoes unless I have to. Like, to go into a store or public area; I'll reluctantly wear proper footwear to hike in (and even then they usually wind up over my shoulder instead of where they belong) shoes just aren't the absolute necessity so many folks act like.

I'm aware of what Gaider said about it, that he blamed (unfairly) the art team. It's the director's job to approve things like that, so, uh, bad form.

Still.

It is very possible to have a strong preference for no shoes. You don't really miss what you never had. And to me, it feels like y'all wearing shoes all the time is weird and likely unhealthy. In fact, it kinda is.

"Walking barefoot helps to improve circulation which increases the nourishment of nerves, muscles, and bone of the foot and helps minimize swelling of the lower extremities. Walking barefoot may also help improve the strength and flexibility of the muscles and ligaments of the foot which improves the function of the foot, reducing injuries of the foot, and improving posture and balance of the body."

At most, for just every day, I'll wear a pair of flops if I think the terrain is dangerous enough to warrant it. That's very rarely. I do have a habit of watching where I step though.

In spring, I go out on the tarmacadam to intentionally toughen my feet up. And no, my feet aren't calloused monstrosities.

It's just kinda mind-blowing to me how essential so many people seem to feel shoes are. They just aren't.

To me, it makes perfect sense that the elves, a historically repressed and abused people (sort of like a lot of my ancestors) don't feel they're necessary.

In a medivalish world like Dragon Age, where blights or false gods or wars keep tearing civilization to pieces, shoes would be ridiculously expensive. I mean, soldiers didn't take boots because they thought they were cool. They did it for resale value.

And cobblering is incredibly skilled labour. I was lucky enough to find someone who still knew how to keep my favourite boots alive longer. That guy could make those boots look almost brand new.

But in that world, poor elves would absolutely not be likely to wear shoes.

Shoes feel incredibly confining to someone who didn't grow up wearing them. I utterly loathe the way shoes feel.

I've also been a dancer and martial artist for a large portion of my life. Two groups of people you'll frequently find barefoot.

The way you walk in shoes is completely different from how you walk barefoot.

It's also an incredibly privileged viewpoint to utterly insist shoes are necessary and that elves in a video game should absolutely have to have them.

The only thing I'm annoyed about is that the armours often include boots, which my elves just wouldn't wear. I should have a barefoot option.

It may not be strictly cannon, for the whys behind barefoot elves, but it makes complete sense.

The only elf I'll say it doesn't make sense for is Solas. Why he doesn't wear shoes could just be a big commitment to his cover of elven apostate hobo.

Or perhaps his culture didn't think shoes necessary any more than I do. That would also explain why elves could have a preference for no shoes, it could be a holdover tradition because they all descend from the Elvhen.

It's true that you develop a sense for the earth, or trees, or whatever you're walking on if you don't wear shoes. I spent a lot of time with a book in trees, because few people would climb as high as me so I was safe there. It could easily be that elves wouldn't want to lose that sense, too.

You can learn a lot about an area by what the surface feels like under your feet. If you're a hunter, it's sometimes easier to track if you know your quarry prefers a certain type of terrain. You don't need to look down if you can feel the ground.

In fact, despite what people may think, my feet are incredibly sensitive. Tough, yes, but still very 'feely'.

Point made, I'll stop blathering now 😅.

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[terresdebrume]

#14, Joe Liebgott ship of your choice <3

Prompts from the "Things you said" prompt list, with 14 being "When I wasn't meant to hear." Send me a number and a character/pairing if you want to see more writing! :D

Thanks for the request! I feel like it took me forever to answer, but in my defense I was at work and also this thing turned out to be 2.5k long :P No particular warning except for the mention of past suicidal thinking towards the end-ish. Also, this is Webgott, because I'm nothing if not consistent (in shipping choices, anyway).

____

Joe looks up from the cutting board, sniffing against the sting of his onions, and glances idly at the kitchen clock, then frowns when he sees the time. Mrs. Obradovic called David out on the phone almost half an hour ago, saying something about an old friend on the line. Joe assumed it would be Chuck or Christenson, asking David round for a night out on the weekend like they do sometimes, but you don’t pay for half an hour on the line to shoot the crap with a guy you see once a month.

As for the others, well. David wasn’t popular with Easy, and Guarnere is the only one who ever bothers calling, usually to let David know to expect his invitation to the next reunion soon. No way Guarnere has that much to say to David though, especially not on a long-distance call. Curiosity piqued, Joe sets his knife down and abandons his half-chopped onion on the cutting board. He wipes his hands on the apron David got him last Hannukah, with the edges fraying where Joe tore off the lacy frills, and quietly makes his way out of the apartment.

They live on the second floor, under the roof. It’s not a bad spot. Too hot in the summer and too damn cold in the winter, for sure…but it’s also soundproofed from when the rest of the building belonged to a single family who didn’t like to remember they had maids and whatnot living up there. Painfully snob, yes, but it does allow Joe to fuck David until he screams without worrying about being overheard, among other things. Pretty good deal, if you ask him. He makes his way downstairs, inhaling the scent of curry behind the downstairs neighbors’ door, and is stepping on the first landing when he hears David’s laughter.

“Well,” David says, sarcastic, “aren’t you just hilarious today.”

Yeah, this is definitely no one from Easy. If he used that tone with any of them, they’d stop calling, and fast. Chuck and Christenson’s connection to David is already more geographical than anything else, Joe doesn’t think they’d take well to being spoken to with that kind of lazy arrogance. Hell, he’s a floor up and not involved, and it’s already grating on his nerves. He’s stepping down on the stairs, ready to go and pull faces at David for speaking like the snotty Harvard upstart he used to be, but then David sighs and says: ‘Of course I do’ in a tired tone that makes Joe pause. Then, before Joe can make his mind up on taking the next step, David adds:

“Who wouldn’t miss space and functional heating?”

Joe’s entire body goes rigid. Downstairs, David is slumping against the wall, one hand holding the phone up to his ear while the other fiddles with the cord. He seems. Normal. Casual. Like there’s nothing wrong with him chuckling and saying:

“Mmh. I haven’t had lobster in ages.” There is a pause filled with the light whistle that hasn’t left Joe’s ears since the war. “Definitely. And wine. I haven’t had a really good wine in years.” Another pause, and Joe watches David shake his head. “They’d never take me back.”

Something gives Joe’s gut a violent squeeze, like an icy fist around his bowels. He feels the blood climb into his cheeks, the burn against the back of his neck. in his palms, his nails sting. In the hallway, David’s head tips back, to the ceiling in an open-mouthed, beseeching look. It’s a bad angle, from where Joe is, but there’s no mistaking the sudden tension in David’s shoulders, the way he shifts until both of his feet rest on the ground.

Seething, Joe turns around and thunders back upstairs, slamming the front door closed on the way to the kitchen. The ingredients of his mother’s potatoes and leek soup recipe glare at him from the cutting board. Potatoes, leeks, onions, all grown on the damn roof nobody else uses, because Joe figured it’d be good to have something to lean on in case they hit a rough spot at work. Didn’t even consider planting some vine up there, schmuck that he is. Joe strides to the counter in two quick steps, because that’s all it takes in the tiny unit, and picks the onion back up. He peels it with prejudice, and attacks it with his knife as soon as he’s done, barely registering when David’s slippers click through the hallway and into the kitchen.

Though, of course, the situation can’t hold for long.

“What’s going on?” David asks, and Joe stays silent. David sighs. “Joe. What’s going on.”

“Nothing,” Joe mutters.

He’s not surprised when all that gets him is a click of the tongue and David stepping closer. Damn kid is oblivious at the best of times and rarely inclined to use that big brain of his for common sense, but, well. They have been fucking since Lansberg. Five years is a long time to spend in and out of a guy’s bed without figuring out some of his lies. Even so, Joe doesn’t look up from where he’s making the most finely chopped onion of his life.

“Look, I know I said I’d handle dinner—”

If Joe were honest, he’d admit he’d completely forgotten about that. David’s dinners usually consist of sandwiches and cold cuts anyway, so the benefits of leaving that up to him rarely outweigh the costs. But Joe is not always an honest man, and so he says:

“Don’t sweat it.” Then, when it feels like David is relaxing by his side, he adds: “It’s hardly a loss anyway.”

David draws a breath in, sharp and short as his body recoils. Joe keeps his eyes on his hands, ignoring the sting as he reaches for another onion over the countertop and begins peeling it.

“You said you liked my sandwiches,” David says, something confused in his tone, and it’s such an inane response, Joe finds himself looking up to glare at him.

“They’re fucking sandwiches, Web, not some kind of hot cuisine or whatever the fuck you thought you were doing with it.” David’s eyes go from bovinely confused to shining with hurt, the slant of his eyebrows matching the line of his mouth as it falls open. Then his jaw sets, like it always does, he’s glaring right back at Joe:

“You know what? Fuck this. If you wanted fancy dishes all you had to do was teach me to cook something.”

“I don’t give a shit about fancy dishes,” Joe shouts back, acutely aware that’s the heart of their current problem. “I’m fine with normal food.”

“Wha—how the fuck am I not okay with normal food?” David exclaims, voice pitched higher than normal. “I’ve never complained about your cooking, have I?”

“Well,” Joe says, as snide as he knows how to be, “Maybe you should have. Maybe we should both have complained more. Save ourselves some regrets.”

“Regrets?”

David’s face changes again. From the flushed tone of his temper, it falls into the stoniness of all their true arguments. It’s a cold, impassible face, and if Joe weren’t so fucking pissed every time he sees it he’d maybe take the time to envy it. There’s nothing to read on a face like that, not even when you’ve spent the past five years in and out of a guy’s bed, brushing your teeth over the same tiny sinks in the mornings. It’s the kind of face that could hide anything. Does, too, apparently.

“What regrets are you having, then, Joe?” David asks with the voice of a stranger.

“Not my regrets,” Joe corrects, mouth filling with the bitterness of the words. “I’m fine with what I got.” Then, because the chill hasn’t left his guts and it needs something to get out, Joe hisses: “I have enough space.”

David’s face doesn’t change, but Joe sees it anyway: the line. It’s in the way his shoulders stiffen, the way he straightens up. Joe could stop at that line. Could step away from it and let them go back to their evening. But the fist hasn’t left—presses harder on his insides, on his throat, behind his eyes, and so Joe ignores the warnings and says:

“I don’t give a shit about fancy wine.”

Joe can see David’s jaw working at that, eyes fleeing Joe’s to roam around the room. He’s cottoned on, then. Joe braces for the next step: the narrowing of David’s eyes, the flush climbing up his throat. He leans into Joe’s space to hiss:

“You’re being fucking unfair. And you know it.”

“Unfair? It’s not fucking unfair, Web, it’s honest.”

David’s got nothing to complain about here. He’s not the one who’s been busting his ass for nothing for the past five years. Joe fucking found the space, didn’t he? Painted it, furnished it, arranged it so David would have a fucking space to put his bags down once he finished his precious little degree. Kept it up, too: Joe’s the reason they haven’t have to resort to living in filth. And yet, because it’s not the fucking Fairmont—

“It’s not fucking honest,” David hisses again, arms rigid by his side. “You know I like good things. This isn’t a secret; you make fun of me for it at least three times a week.”

Joe glares at David as he speaks, blood beating hard at his temples. The ice in his stomach spreads out, up and down through his ribcage, his armpits, his spine. He clenches his fists again, but no warmth remains there. He is frozen in place, watching as David says:

“I won’t apologize for it. I won’t. I won’t.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Joe spits out. “Since things clearly aren’t working for you here, what now? Back to New York to beg?”

David’s entire body sags. His shoulders round up, his shirt creasing with the change of posture. Joe, eyes glued onto David’s, is vaguely aware of David’s hands seeking refuge in his pockets. The ice in his chest climbs up, warming, until it boils over the apple of his cheeks and the back of his neck. Still, he stays silent. Watches as David takes an open-mouthed breath, then sighs.

“They’d never take me back,” he says, but this time instead of the flippant thing he’d said on the phone, it comes out quiet and defeated.

It must have been someone from there, Joe realizes too late. Someone calling this other guy named Kenyon to convince him to abandon some kind of lark and come back home. No one in Easy ever really cared to know anything about David beyond his arrogant pride in his Harvard days. Even Joe didn’t ask about it until after the war was over, and getting to know David didn’t feel like volunteering for more scars when he inevitably dropped.

“Exactly,” Joe says, reining in the tension in his voice as best as he can, “so forget about them.”

David scoffs, then turns away from Joe, head leaning back again. Joe listens to the way he breathes in deep, watches the rise and fall of his shoulders. Hears the roughness of his throat when he says:

“You’re not being fucking fair.” Joe hates how quiet he sounds. “You still have your family. I’ve got nothing.”

“You don’t have nothing,” Joe retorts immediately, and flinches when David snorts.

“And what if you get tired of this?” He asks, twisting his head until he can glare at Joe with one withering eye, the apple of his cheek glinting in the slice of afternoon sun that makes it through the kitchen. “What do I have, if I don’t have you?”

David turns away again, breathing in deep. For a moment, Joe watches him. What does David have, outside of him? He’s been here two years. His things are all over the apartment. Joe’s family has almost never set foot in it, and never without warning. And Joe, who is cruelly aware of the ocean that exists between knowing something in the abstract and knowing it for real, is very good at tidying David’s things away. He. Didn’t mean to come to…that. It’s just.

Joe got lucky. More than lucky: he got granted a miracle. He told his Ma about the way he looks at men when he was at his lowest, as a last ditch effort to severe the only tenuous link he still had to sanity and the outside world. Thought that, with that done, he’d finally have the fucking guts to end it all. Instead, he finished explaining and found himself engulfed in his Ma’s arms, head pillowed on her bosom like it had when he was a short and skinny kid, and the sound of her voice in his ears saying ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ until he had no choice but to believe it. But even so. What if.

Funny, how Joe never really bothered with those two words, before the war. Oh, he’d had plenty awareness of the consequences of his actions. If this, then that. Simple. But ever since Tipper stepped out of that house in Carentan, it’s been what if. What if it were me, what if I’d gotten there sooner, what if Web gets bored, what if Ma changes her mind. What if. And now, here David is, with the same two words stuck in his hands like shrapnel.

Joe looks at him. At the breadth of his back, and the way his shoulders stopped heaving. At the hair that’s starting to get too long at his nape, and the slippers he never fucking puts back on the shoe rack. At the blotchy flush of his nape, and the spot of skin behind his ears that is Joe’s favorite place in the entire world. Joe looks at David, knows the same things he knew yesterday, and the same he will tomorrow. He swallows, and makes himself say:

“You’re never gonna have nothing.”

David’s laughter at that leans a little too close to hysterical. Then, in something that’s almost a whimper, he says: “Joe.”

Joe steps up behind him, lacing his arms around his waist. He feels David’s hands come down and rest on his wrists, as light as a bird waiting to take flight. Then, he raises his nose just enough for it to rest on the spot behind David’s right ear, the one that smells of sweat, aftershave and the occasional dab of pomade. He squeezes David’s waist, just once, his heart pounding.

“You’re not gonna have nothing.”

The birds of David’s hands land more firmly on his wrists, anchoring themselves there as David leans back into Joe’s chest. They stay there for a long time, Joe alternating between nuzzling at David’s neck and placing kisses there, until David’s stomach growls and they’re both hungry enough that they end up eating sandwiches and cold cuts after all.

And the next morning, before David wakes up, Joe calls in sick from work, and drives to his Ma’s house to invite her over for Shabbat.

[toru-oikawas-milkbread]

Something I think that everybody needs to hear and know is that, while it’s much easier said than done, love your body. Love yourself. Everything about you.

When I exercise a lot and I eat healthy, it’s not to have a perfect skinny body. I’ve never been “Perfectly skinny” and I know that I don’t need to be to feel beautiful. Just because I felt that way when I was younger about all of my skinny friends, doesn’t mean that there was ever anything wrong with me. And there still isn’t. Growing up was really hard for me, with a judgmental dad and tv shows betraying less thin people as “Chubby.” It took me a very long time, but for once, I don’t exercise and eat healthy to get skinnier and “Look better in a swimsuit.” I do it because I love my body. Because I need to care for my body like it does for me.

Something that I always thought was okay and that I’ve taught myself to rethink was that I needed to workout and lose weight to be better and look better, but the truth is that you are okay the way that you are. If you want to lose weight, lose it loving your body. Don’t shame your body. Don’t hate your body. Until you get the motivation to do this out of love, it’s too hard. Do you want to lose a few pounds because you feel bad about yourself? Or do you want to lose a few pounds to help your heart and knees? Do you want to lose weight to love yourself even more than you already do? Or are you too stuck in hating your image because you think it’s bad?

The truth is simple: you. are. perfect. Just the way that you are. You don’t need to change, to lose weight, to be beautiful. Because you already are. Body shape, size— it doesn’t matter because what matters is who you are. What kind of person you are. If you are a kind and loving person, that will follow you no matter what your image is. If you’re a snotty, uptight, rude person, nothing will ever make you beautiful, even if your image perceives beauty. As long as you are kind, compassionate, and helpful, you’re perfect.

Don’t hate your body, guys. I have for so many years of my life, and the only time I’ve ever started to feel truly happy is when I accepted it. When I realized that me gaining a few pounds over the winter wasn’t a bad thing. And when I realized I needed to tone up for the summer because I wanted to, not because I thought I needed to, everything changed.

If you take anything from me at all, take this. Please. Love yourselves. Love your bodies. Love your smiles. Love your hair. Love your eyes. Love your nose. Love your chin. Love your hands. Love your arms. Love your legs. Love your tummy. Love everything about yourselves because that is what you deserve. That’s all that you have ever deserved. Being unkind to yourself like other people can be is only going to break you more. Believe me when I say that I’ve never seen any of you, but I know you’re beautiful. You’re perfect the way you are. And if you decide to change something about your body image, PLEASE do it out of love. Hating yourself will only hurt you until you learn to love yourself. Let today/tonight be the stop of that.

Accept yourself. Look in the mirror and smile. Tell yourself that you look pretty today. Wash your face, shower and brush your teeth, and say “You’re beautiful and I love you.”

Because I do. And you should, too.

Because there is not a time in my life that I ever thought someone deserved to be treated the way that I treated myself. Don’t let yourself hurt you. You know you deserve better than that. And it takes a lot, so write yourself a note and stick it to your mirror.

“I am beautiful. I am enough.”

[tododeku-or-bust]

can we see one for kairos and calix, please? i love learning about your characters!

Dawww, of course you can, boo!!! Thank you for the support!!! Let me get this down for you!

Same idea for Modern AUs!

Name: Kairos

Nickname: Kai, my inspiration, the melody of my heart, my beloved child, my beautiful baby boy

Gender: Male

Star sign: Stubborn Taurus ♉

Personality type: observant, intuitive, snarky, fretful, loving. Cold when he's upset.

Height: 5'5

Orientation: Gay, potentially aro

Nationality/Ethnicity: Afro-Greek (he's just light skinned lmao)

Favorite fruit: Plums! They fit his aesthetic and he likes the taste. He carries them in one of his many pockets.

Favorite season: Winter. He likes to wear layers!

Favorite scent: fresh paint, and the lemony smell of his parents home studio, petrichor

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: coffee; he started drinking it jet black to feel cool, and got into the habit. Part of his "artist aesthetic" vibe. Tbh he likes creamer in it too, for the days he's not feeling so hip (which is most days).

Average hours of sleep: 5-6 (sometimes when he gets caught up in a project, he gets less. Which makes the coffee come in handy)

Dogs or cats: bugs! Kai loves bugs!

Dream trip: Kai wants to play the lute in Venice, on one of the gondolas. It's an admittedly specific goal, but he's always wanted that carefree, bard traveling the streets experience. Without the starving artist portion. Alas 🤣 he also wants to visit museums around the world.

Number of blankets: he's got quite a few hand crocheted and quilted by his mother that he won't ever get rid of.

Random fact: Kairos' hair is vines and leaves in the Hades AU, but in modern AUs, lately I've been imagining his hair as locs, they're just tied back into a bun all the time. I've also pictured it as just fluffy curls, always in the ponytail. He also likes to wear very long, sturdy jean/khaki skirts with lots of additional pockets. It's his outfit of choice, to carry all the random shit he'll have on hand as inspiration.

Name: Calix

Nickname: he actually doesn't have any!

Gender: Male

Star sign: Petty Gemini ♊🤣

Personality type: bold, boisterous, charming, funny. Can be hotheaded and a little mean with his sharp tongue.

Height: 6'0

Orientation: bisexual!!

Nationality/Ethnicity: as of the other day, Turkish!

Favorite fruit: I was gonna say apples, but my phone said peaches. So you know what? Now it's peaches 🤣 Calix do love him some As- *knocked out of my chair*

Favorite season: Summer. They used to go to their horse farm in the countryside during the summer for visits, as well as seeing the rest of his very large family, so he has fond memories of the season

Favorite scent: firewood, Philia's body wash (a coconut/sweet tropical sort of scent)

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: coffee; he and Kai will share tips and brands

Average hours of sleep: 5-6

Dogs or cats: dogs!

Dream trip: to be honest, it's a petty dream of his to sweep Philia off her feet in front of her petty ass Daddy and drive off into the sunset in a convertible. He doesn't care where they go, he just wants to 1) marry Phi and make her happy and 2) see the look on Achilles' face.

Number of blankets: like 2, though he starts buying more when he realizes they make Phi more comfortable

Random fact: Calix is smitten with Phi the first time they meet in every universe. But they always get held back by the classic friends to lovers "I don't know if I can tell you yet because I don't want you to run away", as Philia is always... Well, she's not quite there yet with him. Permanent romance isn't what's most important on her plate. They flirt the entire time, with others and with each other, but Phi takes longer than he does to really come to terms with her emotions for him. He's going to wait, he's going to simp for life. Kai has to see this shit in front of his salad in every universe.

[captishwrites]

Introduction to Frostbite

Of all the possible genetic mutations to have, temperature tolerance is far from the flashiest. Indeed, most people would say that it’s largely a dud of a superpower. But never having to worry about a jacket in the winter or sweating through a blistering summer day does have its upside. Mind you, it’s not that I don’t feel hot or cold, I certainly do. But instead of the intense jolt of pain that comes from grazing a hot stove or the ache that comes from plunging your hand into ice water, that all becomes something much more pleasurable to me. Still intense, but in an exciting way. Hell, I TRY to get a brainfreeze, it feels so good.

Outside of being a good party-trick and to win the occasional stupid bet, I had never found a great use for what my body does so naturally. That is, until stories of the Queen of Cold began to surface. At first, there were just random stories of high-waste factories being vandalized. Machines being frozen solid, shutting down production. Security guards being found suffering with frostbite and hypothermia in the middle of summer. Then reports came of a young woman, with striking blonde hair and clad in an all-white getup being the source of all the incidents. Social media dubbed her the Queen of Cold. And I knew I had to meet her.

Finding her hideout was not the easiest, but once I noticed the frost on the windows of the unassuming house in mid-July, it was kind of obvious. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do or what to say, as I strolled up to the door and knocked. After a moment or two, the door swung open and there she was! She was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, but the hair was the right color and she had such piercing blue eyes that were staring daggers into me.

“What do you want?” she asked, looking keen to slam the door back in my face.

“I can help you!” I blurted out.

“Help? I don’t need any help. And I don’t need to anything you’re selling either.” She said as she began to turn away and shut the door.

“No! Wait! The ice!” I stammered.

She looked back with a glance of terror and asked, “What did you say?!”

“The ice. On the windows. It’s you. You’re the Queen of Cold. You have to be.” I replied.

She poked her head outside and looked over at the windows of her house. “Shit! Well, I didn’t notice that.” She looked a bit sheepish for a moment and then she regained her composure and stared back at me. “Guess I’ll have to take care of you now. Can’t have my secret getting out, now can we?” She reached forward and grabbed my arm. All around me the temperature dropped to the point of freezing. I shivered from the sudden sensation and quite a bit of excitement. After a moment of holding my one arm, she grabbed my other arm as well. She looked a bit puzzled when that didn’t do much either. “Why isn’t this working? It always works.” She let go and after looking me up and down for a second, launched herself at me, resulting in a bear-hug of sorts. Arms clutched around my back and legs wrapped around my hips. She mumbled as she held on, “Come on, faint already. This much exposure should be more than enough.” Her body was cool to the touch, and with her curves in all the right places held tightly against me, I was in a bewildered heaven.

“Umm. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but your neighbors might start noticing soon.” I said after a minute of this new pose. Her face was now very close to mine and I could see the fine features that framed it. But nothing could beat the intensity of those eyes.

“Shut up! I’m thinking.” She squirmed a bit around, hoping to elicit the reaction she was so desperately working for and bringing unexpected pleasure instead. When that failed, she stared back at me, noses mere inches from each other. “Last resort, then. Here we go!” And with that she lifted her face to mine and planted a deep, passionate kiss on my lips. Her lips were soft, full, and freezing against my own. So shocked at this development, I opened my mouth slightly and she deftly darted her tongue inside. Her desperation made her kiss with such a fury that I was immediately aroused and began kissing back to match her intensity. After a bit of tongue play and a sneak-attack that was turning more into a full on make-out session, she broke off the kiss and unhooked herself from our embrace.

“What the hell are you?” She asked in disbelief as she licked her lips and readjusted her clothes that shifted in her bear-hug attack.

“I’m like you, sort of. And I want to help. Perhaps in more ways than I first thought of.” I glanced down at my pants as I felt my erection throbbing and back to her. She followed my gaze, saw the bulge, and blushed a bit.

“Well, come on in, I guess. I’ve got a lot questions about what just happened. And I have some theories I’d like to test too.” Her eyes had softened somewhat but had a kind of hunger behind them. As she beckoned me to follow into her home, I had a growing excitement that this was just the start of beautiful thing.  

[ladyyellow-thegremlin]

Hello, I’ve lurked here on whump tumblr for a while, but now I’ve finally worked myself up to post some of my whump writing, so here’s some of my poor whumpee dude trying to put his life back together and also helping a stray dog :)

Trigger warnings: implied past abuse of a minor, reference to scars, self dehumanization (character refers to himself as a mutt), implied past animal abuse. I think that’s about it? Never done this before so please forgive me if I did the trigger warnings wrong

The fridge was empty. He’d scraped out the last of the peanut butter three days ago. Even his stock of energy drinks was long gone. That was fine, he’d gone for longer without food. He knew it was pointless to put it off, he’d have to go out for groceries at some point, but he couldn’t bring himself to go out of the apartment. Out where people could see him, out where children would hide behind their parents at the sight of him. He hated summer. In winter at least he could cover up, nobody had to see his frankensteined body. He’d considered wearing winter clothes anyway, but even he wasn’t crazy enough to wear a turtleneck sweater in ninety degree heat. Starving was better than heatstroke. Who knows, maybe someone would drop by and help him out. He laughed bitterly, nobody would help him, not again. How many times had he done this? He never answered his phone, and every time somebody had dropped by, he’d just told them to get lost, he didn’t need help. He’d go out that night, yeah, that was a good plan. Same one as always. He’d put off getting stared at until he was in the store, at least. Damnit, that’s stupid. Why put it off, right? Might as well get it over with.

He considered putting on some pants instead of shorts, but decided against it. The marks around his neck were what he really cared about covering, if those were on display then who cared about the rest. He grabbed his wallet, keys and pocket knife before peeking out the door to make sure no neighbors were around. When he was sure no one was coming, he exhaled and stepped outside, walking as quickly as he could to his car without seeming suspicious.

The shopping trip went as usual, stocking up like a broke doomsday prepper, playing “grocery aisle Packman”, and receiving a few disdainful looks from a mother to end the game. ‘Cause of course, how dare he come out in public, make everybody else’s day uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry sir, but your card declined.”

“What? I-I—“ he looked to see if he had any cash in his wallet, two one dollar bills. Great. He was holding up the line, he could feel people looking at him, shit, shit. He had to get out of here. “Never mind, it’s fine, I-I’ll just put these—put these back,” he grabbed the items and hastily put them back in the cart, dropping more than a few. “I’m sorry,” he laughed awkwardly.

After some Grocery Aisle Packman 2: where the hell did I get these things from boogaloo; he hightailed it back to his car and took his phone off of ‘do not disturb’ for the first time in a few weeks. He didn’t know many people, so there weren’t that many texts. Mainly just his sister and therapist. Heh. His mom had texted him too.

Are you okay? Your therapist just called and said you haven’t been coming to your appointments again.

I know you’re there. Please answer.

I’m cutting you off until you start going to your appointments again, please call me.

Damnit. He called her.

“Hey Mom.”

“Conner, I was worried sick! What have you been doing?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to check my phone.”

“For two weeks? Please don’t do that to me, I was just about to drive down and check on you. Seriously, how much effort does it take to check your phone? It’s the least you could do.”

“Sorry.”

“Why haven’t you been going to your appointments again? And don’t say you were sick, you used that excuse twice already. Even if you were sick, you could at least text him and let him know that you can’t make it.”

“Alright, fine. You wanna know why? I can’t take it! I can’t take going outside and having everyone…everyone…stare at me, okay? That’s why; you happy?”

“No, I’m not happy. Frankly, get a grip. You can’t live your life like this. Suck it up and go outside, people don’t notice you as much as you think.”

“Why’d you have to cut me off? I can’t get to the appointment if I don’t have money for gas.”

“Because that was the only way to get your attention, and don’t change the subject.”

“Fine. I’ll go. I’ll go, alright? Can I have some money for food?”

“You let your fridge go empty again?” She sighed. “How many days?”

“…three.”

“Damnit Conner! I’m sick and tired of taking care of you, you’ve got to pull it together. What do you think starving yourself’s going to do? You’re always complaining about looking like a freak, you know half your problem would be solved if you’d just put on some weight.”

“I know, I know.”

“I’m going to give you some money for food and gas, but until I see you taking some responsibility and making an effort to get your life together, you’re on your own.”

“Mo—“

“Don’t give me that, this is as hard for me as it is for you, but it’s for your own good.” She hung up. He checked his account, a hundred dollars. He didn’t want to go back into the store, he’d just go drive through someplace.

He hadn’t been outside in two weeks, so he figured he’d take his mom’s advice and get out for a bit, but he still went to a cemetery instead of a real park. Well, it was a step in the right direction. He sat down on a bench. Just as he opened his food, he heard a rustling. His hand darted to his pocket knife, but he relaxed when a stray dog emerged from the bushes. It was skin and bones, and he could see it had a knot of bone where it’s leg had been broken. His heart broke when he saw the strip of fabric binding its mouth shut. He took out his burger and tore it in half, holding it out to coax the dog over. He’d gotten two burgers, cause he’d figured he might as well get one to save for later. Giving up half of one wasn’t a big deal.

“That’s it, that’s good, right over here.” When the dog was close enough, he slowly reached out to untie it. It shied away. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, you’re safe.”

It retreated; he stayed still, moving with the slow deliberation he had learned so well, so many years ago.

Eventually he managed to get close enough to begin gingerly removing the fabric. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this, did you? Who would do this to a poor little thing like you?” The dog spooked a few more times, but he was patient. He knew what it was like, seeing everything through a lens of pain and terror.

The last knot was too tight to untie, he’d have to use his pocket knife. The dog retreated again at the sight of it, it took at least fifteen minutes to calm her down enough to cut the fabric. “Shit, it’s okay. Good girl, you’re a girl, right? Yeah, it’s over, good job.” He gave her the half of his burger. That wasn’t much, she’d probably die out here soon, with the broken leg and all. Something in him couldn’t bear that thought. Maybe it was just because she reminded him of himself when he was a kid. In that case he was probably just a narcissistic bastard, but he still wanted to help her. There he went again, not giving a damn about the people who loved him and then dropping everything to help a mutt. “Well, us mutts have to look out for each other, huh?” His therapist would be mad at him for calling himself a mutt again, but honestly at this point he’d rather be one than whatever he was right now. She hesitantly eased down beside him. He smiled and reached out as if asking her if it was okay to pet her. She didn’t move away. “Aw, thanks for sticking around. You’re not scared of me, are you?”

That’s why he loved animals so much, they treated him like a normal human being. Not a victim, not a freak, not a pathetic man child, just another friend. He jolted when he heard someone yelling.

“Where the hell is that damn dog!”

He panicked, he couldn’t leave her here, not with Sh—whoever that was. He took the other half and used it to lead her into his car. “What the hell are you doing with my dog?” She started growling, he shut the door before she could jump out.

“Your dog? I don’t—I don’t see a collar.” Come on, don’t stutter now, get a grip. “I’m taking her to a shelter.”

“I paid good money for that thing!”

“Well then you should have had enough money to feed her.”

“She’s a beast, keeps trying to bite me, she’ll attack you too.”

“She seemed perfectly sweet until you showed up,” he glared, “I used to live with a man like you, believe me, I know a violent son of a bitch when I see one.”

“You little—I could break you like a toothpick, you damn twink.”

“And I—“ He pulled out his pocket knife. “—could stab you.”

“Fine, take the mutt. Don’t come crying to me when she tears a chunk of whatever flesh you’ve got off,” the man turned and walked away.

Conner got in the car and locked the doors. He rested his head against the steering wheel. His knuckles were white gripping it, he was shaking. Come on, breathe, in and out; calm down. That’s not Shane, he’s not going to hurt you. After a few minutes he’d finally calmed down enough to drive.

“That was scary, huh? Yeah, it’s okay now though, you’re safe,” he reached back behind his seat to pet her, then turned the ignition and drove away.

…

He pulled into the parking lot at his apartment complex and checked to see that the coast was clear before hurriedly leading the dog into his apartment with half of his second burger. He technically wasn’t supposed to bring animals inside, and talking to people wasn’t a fun time even when he wasn’t breaking any rules.

“I’m an idiot for doing this, you know that right?” He shut the door and fed her the half, then took out his half and slumped into the solitary beanbag chair that was the only furniture in his living room besides a tv and some boxes. “Welp, welcome to the hobbit hole. It’s not much but it works well enough I guess, not that you care, cause you’re a dog…yeah.” She sniffed at the last bite in his hand. “Hey now, leave me some okay? I gave you three quarters, let me have this,” he laughed.

He spent the rest of the evening without incident. Video games, a bit of mindless cleaning, checking the fridge even though he knew nothing was in there. He knew he had to take her outside, but he didn’t have any more food to coax her with. He reluctantly grabbed the bit of rope he kept in a little box in his closet and went to tie it around her neck.

“Hey…I’m sorry about this, I just need to take you outside, okay? I wish I didn’t have to…” he felt sick as he tied it, he did it as loose as possible. “There we go, it won’t be long, ‘kay? I’ll—I’ll do it to myself after, to make it up.”

He led her outside, silently praying she didn’t hate him for this, going slowly to make sure he didn’t tug on her. It was well after midnight at this point, so there wasn’t that much risk in being seen. It was a beautiful night, a cool breeze cut through the oppressive summer heat. The nighttime was the loveliest time to him; cooler, quiet, no one to bother him. It didn’t feel as lonely, cause being alone was natural at night. Even so, tonight wasn’t lonely at all, tonight he had a friend.

He headed back inside when a car with blaring music pulled into the parking lot and a couple of drunk kids his age piled out. He slipped back into his apartment just as they reached the stairs, shutting the door just a bit too hard. The dog jumped. “Sorry,” he winced. He took the rope off of the dog’s neck and tied it around his own. “There, we’re even.”

He watched some tv for a bit, wadded a pair of his socks into a ball and threw it for her for a while. He wondered what he’d do about all this tomorrow, probably tell his mom about her. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. Finally, he climbed in bed. She jumped up on the foot of it. He crawled down to sleep at the foot of the bed with her; sleeping with her at his feet felt too weird.

[izumi-fanclub]

A3! Event Story Translation “Moon Traveler” - Chapter 1

A blast from the past and MANKAI's plans for the upcoming performances.

On one spring night, just a few weeks before my birthday—— I slipped away from the institution and went to the hometown where I grew up in.

It took some hours to get there by bus, and the trip back would take just as long. The only money I had to my name was pocket money I saved up from helping out. If I lose this, then I can’t go back home. I clutch the coins in my pocket.

No matter how uncomfortable it was, there will always be food to meet you when you go back to the institution; it’s the only way you can avoid dying out in the streets.

If I don’t return before the break of dawn, I’ll be sent to the punishment room.

I briskly walked along the fenced path then came to a halt. I put my hand on the lower half of the wall where two blocks fell off. I pulled myself up and jumped over the wall in one fell sweep.

The night I was kicked out from my household, there’s a vacant lot where I look up at the moon alone. Nothing had changed. I thought I’d feel some fond nostalgia, yet strangely, I felt nothing at all.

“Ah, right. The moon…”

Only tiny stars were twinkling in the night sky.

“Why can’t I see the moon?”

All of a sudden, I heard a boy’s voice and turned around in surprise.

“Do you know why?”

Before I knew it, in the supposedly empty vacant lot, stood a boy dressed in stark white.

“... It’s cause the moon has already set. The moon sets just like the sun does. You can’t just see it anytime you want just because it’s night.”

“Wow, you sure know your stuff! You even jumped over that high fence just now, didn’t you? You’re pretty athletic too, that’s amazing.”

The boy’s eyes were sparkling.

(What the hell is with this guy… at this hour too, talk about suspicious…)

As I was about to put some distance between us, I heard loud voices talking.

“Hahaha! That’s why I’m telling you, you drink too much! You’re gonna get pissy again!”

“You’re one to talk!”

It sounded like footsteps of men who seem to be on their way home from a bar getting nearer.

My body started to tremble.

(If they found us kids in a place like this at this hour, we’re sure to get in trouble. We need to make haste and run away…)

As I started taking my steps, my gaze wandered to the boy, dazed, wondering what was on his mind.

(No, I might as well leave him behind.)

Just as I was about to start running, he grabbed my arm quickly to stop me.

“Hey.”

“What?” “Do you have a family?”

The boy’s question brought several faces to surface in my mind. In an instant, I drowned them all out with a sense of contempt.

“Not really.”

“Do you have a dream?”

(Talk about carefree…)

Now’s not the time to be talking about that. I try to shake his arm off, but he’s surprisingly strong.

“Hey, what’s your dream?”

“Dream…?”

Frustrated, I looked up at the night sky involuntarily, what I was looking for was not there.

It’s like everything I want disappears from my grasp.

“I got none.”

“Then, will you make my dream come true with me?”

The boy said, smiling softly.

*Flashback end*

Izumi

Alright, that’s gonna be it for today’s leader meeting.

Tsumugi

Thank you for your hard work.

Tsuzuru

You guys done?

Izumi

Yup, just shifting roles.

Banri

Ain’t it Spring troupe’s turn next?

Tenma

Keep it up. Good work.

Sakuya

Good job everyone!

Banri

…

Chikage

?

You wouldn’t have been talking about me by any chance, yes?

Izumi

Huh?

Sakuya

How did you know!?

Chikage

Lucky guess?

Izumi

Perceptive as ever. We were planning to talk about it later.

Then, let’s get started with Spring troupe’s meeting.

First on the agenda, is regarding the 10th Spring troupe performance. Earlier at the leaders’ meeting, we talked about having the sixth member of each troupe play the lead role.

Sakuya

Guy-san for Winter, Azami-kun for Autumn, Kumon-kun for Summer and we have Chikage-san for Spring troupe!

Chikage

And why is that?

Izumi

I think it’s time to show off our individuality more than ever in preparation for the new Fleur Award, which will begin under the new structure.

And the last four guys to join the troupe, you’ve only had one lead role, correct?

I figured it’d be refreshing and topical to have you guys play lead roles again.

Additionally, we simply wanted to see the growth of you four compared to when you first joined the company.

Chikage

So that’s why.

Sakuya

I also learned a lot from my second leading role in the company’s flagship performance. I was hoping Chikage-san would experience it too!

Tsuzuru

Besides, anyone who plays the lead role always ends up improving quickly.

Itaru

It’s a great opportunity.

Citron

Chikage can have a breakdance with this!

Masumi

Breakthrough.

Chikage Though, isn’t it going to be tenth anniversary play of each troupe? Am I really suited for the lead role?

Izumi

It’s a nice milestone and a commemorative number, but for the theater troupe, this is just a passing point.

Sakuya

We’ve got to keep going!

Chikage

You’re all overflowing with positivity.

Masumi

So, what’s the move? You in or not?

Chikage

Well… even if Director-san says it’d just be a passing point for us, I think the fans will expect something more for the 10th show.

They might wonder what we got up our sleeves after so many performances.

I had a warm welcome as a rookie for my first lead role, I feel a little pressure, but…

I’ll do it. Everyone’s gonna be expecting a lot from me.

Sakuya

Alright!

Citron

You surely took your chime.

Tsuzuru

I’m just gonna guess you meant time.

Masumi

Because he did. Why didn’t you just say that from the get-go?

Izumi

Just goes to show how much he thinks of the theater company.

Itaru

It was so easy during the 4th show.

Izumi

I know right. But if he just nodded his head along like he did back then wouldn’t that be worrying?

Tsuzuru

Since Chikage-san’s gonna be the lead for the first time in a long while for this show, I’ll put my all into the script too!

________________

Next ch.

[amadeusgame]

August Devlog: Re-Orienting Toward a Full Game

It's the end of the month - here is an update on the ongoing development to turn Amadeus from a demo into Episode 1 of a full 5-part game.

Before getting to the details, here are some important news items:

The linktree now (as of TODAY!) has a link to a community Discord server!

The server is currently quite small and has dedicated spaces for art sharing, in addition to regular updates on Amadeus. If you prefer more interactive communication feel free to join.

(There are also channels dedicated to speedrunning, as that is how the server was born, once upon a time... mute away as you like.)

I'm going to PAX West, and planning to attend both the adjacent Media Indie Exchange and the Seattle Indies Expo. See you there??

And now, for this month's updates!

TL;DR highlights:

Game Progress: Created new sprites/assets, plus a new dev tool to make testing the dialogue system much smoother

Next major benchmark: plan to release updated demo with revamped UI/controls this winter

Project Management: what I learned about making an updated Game Design Document that will keep me on track for the full Episode 1 release next summer. (Hint: if writing a narrative game, start with the narrative...)

Recreation: a list of media I consumed for fun that also helped inspire me and identify my own goals for this project.

Details below for those interested.

Game Progress: New Assets & Dev Tool for Sprites

I said I created new sprites and assets. Of note, a particular very important character now has a finalized design and a portrait. This character was mentioned often in the demo, but has yet to make an appearance...

That's right, it's time for the Solea Portrait Reveal!!!

I'm really happy with her design (including the full body portrait, which I'll save for later). I think it conveys a lot about her character. I want to give a HUGE thank-you to my girl Lecy for answering a ton of my questions about Black haircare while I worked on this design, because I wanted Solea to feel grounded and real, even though the world is fantasy and she's a witch. There reaches a point where drawing from my lived experience as A White Person has its limits, and talking to other people became very important to help me tell an authentic story.

Making this portrait also helped me begin to build and test a new dev tool, because I can now envision a conversation between Amadeus and Solea. Building dev tools is one of those things that I cannot overstate enough how important they are. This tool is going to help IMMENSELY with creating dialogue scenes, helping me choose just the right expression to match each dialogue line.

Using this tool, I can change the values for the left and right sprites and then type L/R to have the game live update to that sprite, so I can swap them around live without having to manually activate/de-activate the sprites. In visual novels, especially those without voice acting, the expression sprites are TREMENDOUSLY important in setting the tone of written dialogue. The same line can feel markedly different with a different expression. In addition, some of my sprites have animations, so being able to test how those animations flow between different sprites is really easy now. I built it to be relatively future-proof, so that if I add other functions (like shaking and sprite barks), with a few tweaks this will help me test those too.

Making this tool took me less than an hour, and is going to save orders of magnitude more time and effort in the long run when I'm writing scenes and matching dialogue to expressions.

Next Major Benchmark: New Demo This Winter

To avoid getting hopes up: my current plan for this is to have effectively the same demo in terms of narrative, but with improved mechanics that will be the norm for the full game. There is a lot more narrative that is going to be in the full Episode 1 release than there is in the demo, but it does not make sense to start building the scenes for the rest of the narrative until I go back and thoroughly fix/implement all of the gameplay changes I want for the complete game. My hope is that anyone playing it will feel that, even though the narrative is the same, the game itself will feel much more polished and cohesive. This demo will be my proof to myself, and to you, that the full game is coming, and it will feel good.

(Famous last words: "if I have time," I hope to add a little extra content too, to entice those of you who already played the demo. I just want to be clear that the focus will be fixing and adding mechanics, including a Settings menu and better controls, first and foremost.)

Do you have thoughts for what you would like to see added/improved for this demo? The askbox on the Amadeus Game tumblr blog, as well as the Discord server, are both great places to provide feedback if you'd like to see any changes implemented in the full game. Check the linktree for links to those resources. I do already have a to-do list, from playtester feedback as well as my own experience/preference; but I am always seeking additional feedback!

Project Management: Making a New GDD to Actually Ship The Full Game

Making a Game Design Document (GDD) in class for the prototype that would eventually become Amadeus was simultaneously the hardest and most important thing I ever did for it. I struggle with breaking down tasks, but it is specifically because I struggle with it that forcing myself to do it is invaluable. Once I broke down the task of "make an entire game prototype" into all of its discrete pieces, and organized them into a calendar of deadlines (complicated ones first!), I could visualize how much work it was and prioritize, downsize, and get to work.

It also really helps fight against the part of me that constantly wants to add new shiny things. "Oh it won't be that hard if I just add this here and that there" - this is the Devil speaking. Once I can see a massive list of Everything That Needs to Be Done from breaking it down, it becomes clear that I don't even have enough time for the current vision, let alone one with extra bells and whistles! And then the question becomes "how do I prioritize just the essentials, and set new expectations for something achievable?" Start there. Always start there.

Unfortunately, when it came time to do one of the tasks I set myself for this month ("update the GDD"), I realized that task in itself needed to be broken down. I have an old GDD for a demo that was about 5-10 minutes long , has working but janky mechanics, and a laundry list of "will get to this later" items.  Transforming THAT into a GDD that would keep me on task to ship a complete Episode 1 is, let's face it, basically making a new one from scratch. The time I allotted to this task was not proportionate to how important and time-consuming it was going to be.

What I DID do, is sit down and make a plan to actually make this happen.

First of all, I need to make new paper prototypes, and get feedback on them. I am planning major enough changes to gameplay/UI that I need to prototype them on paper, see what makes the most sense, and use that to build the changes. I can't update the part of my document that talks about new mechanics to implement until I decide, concretely, what those mechanics should look like! I have some thumbnails I sketched already, which is a start. Next is to "build" and test them.

I also found that the biggest roadblock is that I had still not finalized the full narrative arc for Episode 1. I cannot make a list of needed assets until I have a total number of scenes/locations in mind, which I cannot have until I know exactly where Episode 1 begins, goes, and ends. I have a lot of overall ideas, and I know some basic major plot beats for each episode, but I was putting off more specific narrative work until later... because, well, it's hard work! And, like the GDD, the fact that it's hard means that is exactly why it needs to happen first. It's absolutely critical to the entire form of the game, and how I must direct my time and energy during development.

Now that I understand this - that I need to start over with paper prototypes, sit down and FULLY outline my Episode 1 narrative, and use that to create a new GDD that truly tracks every step between now and release - I have a game plan.

So, next month is going to be critical. This past month was a lot of me figuring things out and identifying what wasn't working. This doesn't really sound like an accomplishment, but it is one. Now, I know how to actually approach this, and I can get to work. I hope that, this same time next month, I'll be writing a devlog that inspires confidence that this game is really and truly going to launch. Because I'll have finished the hardest part of the whole process: planning it, breaking it down, and organizing it.

Recreation: Cool Media That Inspired Me This Month

Seriously, rest and recreation are so important! It's important to take breaks, it's important to have fun, and it's important to engage with other media when creating media yourself. This month was really full of inspiration for me. I....

Played The House in Fata Morgana, an absolutely incredible gothic horror visual novel. It was SO inspiring for me, in terms of mechanics, narrative, and aesthetics. In fact there were several ideas developed in this story that I had already planned on engaging with in Amadeus, so seeing another interpretation of those ideas was a fascinating reference. Unfortunately, as with most visual novels, I cannot elaborate further without spoiling the entirety of both narratives. You should play it though.

Watched a lot of werewolf movies. Even though Amadeus belongs more to the mystery and fantasy genres than the "werewolf" genre, the fact that the main character is a werewolf is a kind of extremely important driving force in the story. And I felt like I should do my due diligence and engage with a lot of werewolf stories before writing my own, because no one wants to be that guy who writes a story on very well-trodden ground and thinks they're doing it Special and like No One Else Ever Has. ...Also, full disclosure: I just wanted to watch a bunch of werewolf movies. So I checked out:

(Rewatch) American Werewolf in London

(Rewatch) Silver Bullet

(Rewatch) Bad Moon

(First Time) Ginger Snaps

(First Time) Wer

I filled up about 2 pages of scribbled notes on different ideas, topics, images, conflicts, and themes that I want to engage with from each of these. I found that some of them asked questions that I am also asking in Amadeus, and gave me inspiration for how I might answer them. Since I know that narrative is the first thing I need to iron out, having a few brainstorming sessions while watching werewolf movies helped me get a more concrete idea of what, specifically, I want to say and do in my narrative.

If you haven't seen any of the movies on that list, by the way, I very strongly recommend American Werewolf in London, Silver Bullet, and Ginger Snaps.

That's all for this month! There should be another devlog at the end of September - look forward to that one. In the meantime, you can always bookmark the Linktree and check back for new resources.

[warmothered]

❝ you're not alone . you'll never be alone . not as long as i'm here . ❞ - trynd

» — >  ⌜ PROMPTS & IC ASKS⌟ , always accepting

— @windchaser

The ice is not pain; it is surrender. She repeats the words that stuck with her as a mantra while making the trek back to her village until they are meaningless. If they run, they will survive — the boy's voice, pained as it sounded, elicited in her only rage. The anger had been fuel, however; it kept her warm and it kept her going until... until...

There is no village in the place she once called home. There are remnants, smoldering pieces of burning buildings, the wreckage that survived a fight, if haphazardly arranged pieces of wood and stone could be said to have survived anything. There are bodies, too — people she had known her entire life. Hati, who would braid her hair while telling stories of her mother's youth. Sigurd and his daughter, Brina, a girl less than half her age who saw in Ashe something to aspire to be, despite not being Iceborn herself. She loses count. The familiar faces grow hard to bear, but the unrecognizable ones are no better; still she explores every nook and cranny in a last, desperate hope someone will have survived. Someone had to — she couldn't be the only one.

The ice that lodges in her chest and freezes her gut is worse than any winter. She thinks it will never thaw, that she might as well sit in the snow and become one with it, a corpse in waiting to accompany the already fallen. 

When she opens her eyes again, she's alone. Even the remains of her tribe are gone, as if they never existed but as a figment of her imagination. She is the only one who remembers them. Her mother had a reputation, but all others... they live on only in her memory. Why is she alive when they are not? How can she withstand the Ice Sea without another soul to accompany her? She hunts alone, when hunger gnaws at her, and fails without the support of her pack. She sleeps alone, and the cold gets to her like never before. The worst part remains the cold within her. It will never be summer again, she is certain; not to her, not even as the seasons change. To be alone is eternal winter, icy and unforgiving.

The dream — the memory — startles her awake. With a jolt, she sits up, and slowly readjusts to reality: the softness of the furs that keep her warm, the shelter against weather her home provides — the sound of her husband's breathing, as he wakes after having his sleep disturbed. Ashe should feel sorry, but she is grateful. Not all fire in the world could thaw the icy stab of loneliness that remains with her; no flame would be enough, but Tryndamere is.

He becomes the lifeline she holds on to; the one Ashe wishes she had, in the dark, unforgiving cold of complete loneliness she had faced once before. In the candlelit penumbra of their chambers, she thinks, not for the first time, nothing could be worse than that feeling — one she had not had to experience in years, except for the dreams and memories that did not let her forget. So she lays down again, arms tightly wrapped against her husband's larger form, holding on as if Tryndamere is indeed all that stands between her and that sensation.

The warmth of his body gives her solace, the sound of his heartbeat soothing the relentless ache within her own heart. He knows what this is about. The dreams are not frequent, not really, but they bother her from time to time; Ashe doesn't need to explain it again for him to know (he does not need to hear it to know what she needs to hear, either).

❝ Promise me, ❞ Quietly requested more than demanded, her face buried in his chest. It's foolish to even ask, she knows; what promise could he offer that would matter more than an oath sworn and sealed with blood? They belong to each other, now and always; and yet, she needs to hear it. ❝ Promise me you won't ever leave. Promise me nothing will take you from my side. ❞

[angelfairyqueenheart]

3:18am (BST) 14th december 2023

i met my ex for coffee today. the nice one, not the ones from school. it was good to see him. we were never really meant to be - but we work great as friends. he's kind. he sees with eyes and a mind that no one else i know does. he understands so deeply - and yearns to if he doesn't. he has piercing blue eyes and curly ginger hair that never really knows what it's doing. turns out we've been in the same city at uni for over a year now. his ears are pierced now. he has a cool green paisley sort of silk scarf. with that and his coat off he looks just the same as i knew him before though.

we broke up because my grandfather died. i didn't know how to deal with it. i already had bad mental health issues. it broke me a bit. a lot. once i went to this christian youth festival with my youth group and this kid a year younger than me said that i would undergo transformation, specifically like the art of kintsugi. you know, that japanese thing where they fix broken pots and stuff with liquid gold? my cracks and breaks would be sewn together with gold, they said. they didn't lie - i don't think.

i think the first evidence of that was when my grandad died. through my cracks and grief, a burning passion leaked through and made me stand up for myself for the first time. i realised the relationship wasn't right for me - it just immediately felt wrong, like a skin i had to shed or i'd have to live in it forever. mind you, i didn't deal with it right, i didn't have the wisdom or courage that i do now. not that i'm wise, or courageous. i changed my clothes too. my birthday rolled around and my now-partner gave me an amazon gift card so i bought the cheapest makeup i could find. i went thrifting and bought clothes that make me feel like a human being (and maybe a little bit cool).

that didn't help my mental health though - it didn't make it worse - but it didn't like, improve things. i was still a mess. i still drank at school for the next year and a half. i didn't trust anyone. i still don't trust anyone. i'd like to. my ex didn't see me much at all after we broke up. we met up for coffee after 5ish months... and then i ghosted him (again) (having just told him i'd be up for being friends). yeah not a great move morally. still keeps me up at night sometimes.

my partner didn't mind us meeting for coffee today (boyfriends sometimes do apparently). he didn't really show any opinion. he doesn't often, without me begging for it a bit. i ask the question 3 times for a response, you stare vacantly at me, fake an answer, i ask if you're sure. repeat. so yeah - i did miss my ex. i missed connection and a friend and things to talk about. he was always good to talk to. empathy levels off the charts. don't worry, i'm not gonna try and go back to him - i don't want to. i just need friends, and he's a good one. and my relationship isn't as bad as i make it sound lol but my boyfriend does know i'm not happy in it right now.

i did other things today too. i went pottery painting with the art society. one of the things i painted is for my sister. i hope she likes it. no idea if she will though. i got a sports bra from a charity shop (it's really comfy). i got a turtleneck from another charity shop (i've been really wanting one to wear under dresses [summer dresses can be for winter too]). and i got some uniqlo sports leggings from another reallllyyyy good charity shop. very good price (£6!!!!!! in 2023??? crazytown). i've been wanting to try and exercise a bit. for my brain more than for my body.

i should go to bed now. woke up at 10am this morning but now it's 3am. oh i did yoga too!! just felt like it. i have a creaky unused lil conker of a skeleton. she needed stretching wayyyy more than i realised. it was supposed to be relaxing meditation yoga but it make me a bit more stressed bc i couldn't stretch ffs. was fun anyway. it was for me. today was for me. it was taylor swifts birthday too today the swift society had a birthday party lol. it was fun. i made a terrible friendship bracelet with my own name on it. i won a prize. i was first on the kahoot for a bit. i'm not even that much of a swiftie. i think a girl flirted with me a tiny bit there? idk she probably didn't but i hope i'm right. i hope. i have hope right now. today was for me. night night.

[echthr0s]

I was about to make a post about how I feel extremely underrepresented as a cold-averse autistic person but then I thought about Björn and Grey and now I'm fascinated about how a body's autistic traits and preferences can shift depending on the nature of the consciousness piloting it

because they both loved winter and preferred being cold over being hot. Grey in particular felt his power to be strongest in winter. and the thing is -- our body's erratic temperature regulation matched their feelings. we get hot pretty easily (well -- our core anyway. the tradeoff is that our extremities get cold at the vaguest hint of a temperature drop, especially our hands. hands are cold as fuck rn god) and that compounded Grey and Björn's discomfort in the warmer months. logical feedback loop

meanwhile, me -- Sun-coded, summer-oriented, fed by warmth. I pilot the same easily-heated body that Björn and Grey did, but I experience it differently. being too hot isn't as negative an experience to me as being too cold is. it's inconvenient, for sure, but being too cold is more than inconvenient, it's stressful and oppressive. and then there's the sweat! in summer, I'm already dressed lightly, I can carry a fan for some relief, it's just kinda icky but manageably so. in winter, if I try to dress for the cold, my temperature regulation still does the same thing it always does and heats up our core and now I'm sweating under these layers and the sweat has nowhere to go and it just sits on my skin and in my clothes and then makes me environmentally colder (because now I'm wet) and the body goes "oh no! more heat! put out more heat!" and the cycle continues. that's beyond icky. it's downright disgustang. now I'm Suffering

Grey and Björn didn't have to deal with this as much because since they enjoyed the sensasion of cold, they never bundled up against it. but I hate being cold! so I try to bundle up! which, by the way, is a whole nother can of worms because our body hates the sensation of layers! we hate coats, we hate how tight things get when they're put over another thing, and of course we hate the aforementioned sweat problem. there are clothing we could wear in the winter that would mitigate or even solve these problems, because of their cutting-edge engineering and space-age material and all that nonsense, but they're -- of course -- insanely expensive.

the list of agonies goes on (I didn't even get to the Sun-or-lack-thereof part!) but like I said, I just think it's fascinating how two different people can live in the same autistic body and have opposite experiences in that body based upon how they interpret and manage its idiosyncrasies according to their own