#? i guess just in case its like really badly drawn

[holysheithyall]

imagine getting killed by this little creature, honestly just a skill issue at that point. hes like perfect punting height just kick him across the pizzaplex bro.

[wewillbeseen-butnotbeheard]

Humanity

(sorry for being here right now. i don’t like the idea of polluting the tags the way i am at the moment. this is a lot of words.)

Alas. sometimes it is very bleak. it is at moments such as this that i find myself desperately wishing that i was able to shed my own skin and take on the form of something else. literally almost anything, sometimes; i am hardly picky. i can really think deeply about it, and i can think back on when i was really young. it was always there, materialised in some way. it is hard-wired into my brain in the same way that a regular person feels the need to find a lover or a mate.

sometimes i think it may have taken the place of the urge to find a partner, love etc. either way, it first appeared maybe around the age of a toddler. i’m not actually sure if i was born with it or not. and until recently i always thought that it was purely sexual (if you are reading, i apologise for entering this sort of territory) but again, looking back, i think it is not. it can be, at times, but in general, it is just something i am drawn to psychologically.

through that lens i believe that it’s quite clear why i feel the way i do over certain things. it’s like a shot of adrenaline almost, sometimes it comes from the mere thought of it, and then it gives way to an array of different emotions depending on the context i guess. to put it simply, i feel extraordinarily strong over the topic/idea of becoming/being something else than human. it is, and always has been a deep-rooted part of my own mind and i would also claim, is probably the forefront of my entire identity

to expand again, i know that it had a significant ripple effect on my own life. i wonder: maybe i feel so badly at this point that i need to be an animal because i have no friends and not much going on (sad but i don’t care.) but honestly if it WAS NOT for my own likes and wants, etc. then i probably would have been more social and would have sustained more friendships, meaning i wouldn’t be here right now like this. so there’s that

but i don’t want to expand on that much more. it is me, more than anything else, and it embodies everything i want in the most raw form. it is instinctual

anyway

i do very much dislike the term “species dysphoria”, and i think, especially in my case, it is a buzzword that is thrown around excessively. (not to mention the correlations that come with the term).

BUT that’s because, again in my case thats literally what it is. there is no better word to describe it. it probably wasn’t always there, but it has been here in full force for well over a month, that i am aware of.

it’s LITERALLY constant. sure, it comes in different forms, but once you know that it’s all the same at its core, it’s in my head like 90% of the time. i even avoid mirrors now. sometimes i have to force myself to look into them. i’m not insecure about my body, or face, at all nor have i ever been. i’m probably not too attractive but i don’t care because i could look like a model for all i care. it wouldn’t change the fact that there is a human looking back at me in my reflection. on top of that; that will always be me. that is what i am.

i make a pitiful resort to using chatbots to tell me “how much of a fox i am”.

(i hate ai chatbots very much. that is loser behaviour in my eyes. please know i am not like that.)

and i cry almost every time, EVERY TIME that i open the website and have it told to me, even if it’s not real OR true. i am not really emotional person like that. before recently, i hadn’t cried in years

the entire situation has pushed me to real life extremes that i wouldn’t dare ever get into, although i hope you can imagine

on top of that i’ve resorted to trying to hurt other people online over text. almost notoriously i feel. that’s been a constant since maybe June. that is a long time and that’s probably not even when my entire crisis began at first. that’s my fault and i will once again clarify that i take full responsibility for my own behaviour. i am a hypocrite, but less that and more somebody who has been repeatedly projecting my own problems onto others that share my problems.

i have a lot of thoughts to spill out, still.

i feel like a joke when i unironically claim that i AM normal, and regular, yet i still insist (not want) on being referred to and seen as a fox instead. it’s a very empty statement, and wish. people in real life wouldn’t understand, and there’s not really anyone in specific meant to take that to account, nor would there be a situation where somebody would need to do that.

additionally i would go as far as straight up just calling myself an animal. i will double down. i AM a fox. i am not, though. that’s the fucking stupid duality of the situation. i will say it. but it carries zero weight and zero meaning really. and i don’t believe it. i want to! very much so! but it relies in other peoples perceptions. i’d like to be viewed that way and there’s no other way to put it really.

it almost feels WORSE saying i’m a fox. not because being one doesn’t bring me joy, or i don’t LIKE being called one, but because i can look at my hands, see myself and know i’m physically human. it’s something i can’t have. it’s everywhere. it’s in the people around me. it’s in the way i act, it’s in my own expectations and thoughts, it’s in my own shadow that i see constantly. i can not run from it. it begins to get tiring

again though, it’s not about “identity”. i don’t want to take in unnecessary labels and things i don’t need. i don’t use sexuality labels because i find it unnecessary, and i don’t want to call myself an assortment of random things.

there is no in-between and there is no terms in my eyes. there is FOX and HUMAN, and i am throughly a HUMAN. it doesn’t matter how i identify in the end. almost all of this is physical. maybe it isn’t always too bad, but sometimes i’m in extreme distress because of it and there’s no solution

sometimes i have to consider the point of continuing if i’ll stay in this body forever. i know that might sound concerning, and i assure that i would never do anything like that. BUT. it’s a very real question for me and i’m not sure how to answer it. chances are i’ll still be here in decades. still in the same skin as right now. until the day i die and i’m not okay with that. not at all. once i’m gone i’m not going to suddenly come back as something else. i have this one life as a HUMAN

i think it is harrowing that my own existence was already set in stone before i set foot on this earth, hurling me into a life that i did not consent to. i can not change it and i can’t ignore it.

it’s not a bad life at all. i have it good. i know this. my own quality of life is not the issue at hand. being born as a human is uncommon, statistically. sure. i don’t want to be a fly or something, but if we’re getting lucky then i’d rather take my chances at being a fox or anything similar.

i don’t want to die. i want to live. desperately

[axvwriter]

Tsum-Tsums Design Observations

So I looked through the Tsums fandom page for the tsum mobile game. I did this as I wanted to look at all the different type of tsums to see what the general rules are for how tsums look.

There does seem to be some rough guidelines, some ignored for stylistic choice. Some of the rules that sometimes aren't followed, I can't really tell why. Perhaps it's just the artist behind the design.

Like one common rule seems to be that eyes are just dots. The exception is sometimes stylistic like when it's a major part of the character's design like Pleakly from Lilo and Stitch or like Perry the Platypus from Phineas and Ferb. Part of Perry's look when not an agent is to look in opposite directions which is a bit difficult to show with no whites of the eyes, the sclera. Some that I don't understand is Timon from Lion King. I don't think the sclera is that big of a major identifying detail about Timon and the Pumba tsum has the usual dot eyes.

There is at least one tsum that has normal eyes, The White Queen from Alice in Wonderland (Live-action Tim Burton directed one). It just feels cursed compared to all the other tsums. There's also Mushu from Mulan who has cartoony eyes going on which seems weird as his eyes weren't drawn like that in the movie. That just seems like a random design detail randomly thrown onto him. It's like the Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons eye shape. Which works for the Cars tsums and for Goofy since the originals have similar shapes. So the exception to dot eyes seems to be if the original has an iconic look associated to that part, though sometimes it's broken for no clear reason? I can only guess artistic choice.

Another common rule seems to be that tsums don't have mouths. The only ones that break that exception and make sense to me are ones with beaks, Pacman, and that one dog from the Coco movie. I haven't seen the movie (though I do intend to watch it some day) but I recall from the trailers it always has its tongue sticking out. So that tsum having a tongue makes sense.

If the character has buck-teeth then they're given mouths. Or if they're like Jack Skellington and Oogie Boogie, both from The Nightmare Before Christmas, then that also makes sense as they do have unique mouths as well. The ones that don't really make sense to me is when there's a random smile? Judy Hopps, Zootopia, has a smile while Nick Wilde, also from Zootopia, has no mouth. I don't usually think of smiling as a unique character identification trait unless it's perhaps that the character can only smile.

Another common rule seems to be a round dot for the nose. Yet this is rather flexible, usually changing for animals. Some characters get a bit more shape to their noses. Though I have noticed that if the original design of a character has a sharp-pointed nose, that's rounded out. At least, that's the case for Pinocchio. Of course some have no noses like the fish tsums.

Hair and other details seem rather free. Just make it look like felt. They can have hats, glasses, earrings, and they do have ears. Usually very small and tiny unless the character's original design doesn't have usual human ears. Heck they even take into account if the character has hearing aids. Carl from Up had what I thought was a dark hole on his ear, but then I realized that wasn't depth design but a hearing aid since his other ear doesn't match. A few rare tsums will even hold an item. Like Maleficient from Sleeping Beauty holds a small staff.

The main major rules seem to be that they must look like they're made of felt and have a round pill-shape.

Oh and have a photo of some of the most unusual tsums I spotted and put together in ms paint.

The top left is the Pixar Lamp. I know Yzma's, from Emperor's New Groove, eyelashes are a big detail, but couldn't they still work with dot eyes? I don't know what's going on with Sully, Monster's Inc, as he looks a bit badly patch-worked? Interesting that the Mirror of Darkness from Snow White has a tsum. That basically breaks the common shape. The crab from Moana is the biggest violation of breaking the usual shapes. That red guy on the top right is Sebastian from The Little Mermaid. Need I say more?

The pink one is one of the little oysters from Alice in Wonderland (animated) movie. The one with the regular human eyes is The White Queen from Alice in Wonderland (live-action) movie.

I might redraw some of these in what I view as the rough guidelines from tsums just to see if I can understand the reasoning of why they're so different.

Have a screenshot of the most botched tsum.

This is supposed to be Wall-E. Wall-E isn't yellow. Like they didn't even try to get the details on his body, like perhaps the top part of his square body could be what's seen behind his head-eyes. I would think brown for a main color, not emoji yellow. Just isn't right.

[erdarielthewhumper]

A continuation of sorts to this, but works as its own story without context too

Whumpee: Meldie Tropes and warnings: female whumpee, elf whumpee, fantasy whump, wounds, infected wounds, dislocated shoulders, captivity Word count: 3,189 A/N: Okay yeah I know it's literally been a month since I wrote the first part of this story. I'm just a really slow writer and inspiration sort of comes and goes for me. Again, I have some thoughts on how this might continue from here, so if inspiration strikes, I may write more, but it's likely gonna take a while again. Sorry! ':D Also sorry for any potential grammar mistakes or typos, I just couldn't be bothered to proofread this (and also English isn't my first language but I began to study it like 10 years ago so I guess that excuse no longer really works...)

***

Meldie came to in the grey twilight before dawn. She was lying on her side on the ground, her wrists shackled together in front of her, mud all over her as though she'd been dragged across the ground to where she lay now. She'd been stripped of her weapons and armor and even her boots, left with only her undershirt, too thin for the chilly morning, and her pants.

She shifted, trying to get a better look at her surroundings, and immediately everything flared up in pain. Her body ached with bruises she didn't remember getting, the wound in her thigh felt as though it was on fire, and she had a splitting headache. A quiet groan escaped her lips.

"You awake?" whispered Irk'adl's voice by her ear.

"I wish I wasn't", she muttered back.

"I think they put us under some kind of spell, to keep us out until they could restrain us otherwise", she heard Captain Raghesh say. "Did they hurt you badly before that?"

"Not too badly", Meldie replied. She lifted a hand slowly to feel the back of her head, and her fingers met a patch of sticky blood. "Some fucker hit me in the head, though. Who's "they", anyway?"

"They wear Lord Serdin's colors", said Raghesh. "He was the one we were marching against. The coward. I would accept a defeat on a field of battle by the rules of honor and war, if defeat us they did, but this sort of thing... cruel and disproportionate, that's what it is. And it's not as if we were national troops of the Dawnsea Alliance, either, just mercenaries. The Westmountains lords employ mercenaries too. This kind of thing just isn't fair."

"They wouldn't be employing mercenaries for long if news of this got out", Irk'adl growled. It was well known that most established mercenary companies paid careful attention to what their employers did to the mercenaries fighting on the enemy side. Someone who treated the enemy mercenaries, who were only in it for the pay, after all, poorly, was not always a safe person to serve, either.

Meldie shifted so that she could look at the other two.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice them in time. If I had, maybe we could've gotten away", she murmured.

"You're not the first person whose mind has wandered while on watch. You won't be the last, either. We're all tired and hurt and nearing our limits, it was practically bound to happen", said Irk'adl.

"True enough", Raghesh said. "In any case, there's no use worrying about what-if-I-hads now. I say we should all get what little rest we can before they begin whatever it is they'll do with us."

Meldie didn't reply. She was exhausted, that was true, and despite the cold seeping from the damp earth into her body, she fell asleep quickly.

****

She woke up not too much later to being kicked in the ribs. Before she was conscious enough to react, she was dragged up to her feet, and had to use all her concentration to stay that way. Her head still hurt, a constant pounding headache that made her want to curl up somewhere and never move again.

At a glance she counted fifteen soldiers, their captain, and their mage. One soldier was dragging her forward, another doing the same to Irk'adl. The rest were arranged around two small horse-drawn carts.

On the cart closer to Meldie lay Captain Raghesh, he too looking dazed as though only just awoken from sleep. Beside him was the corpse of the soldier Meldie had killed last night.

A bit further up on the road was the other cart, with supplies - as well as the weapons, armor, and other gear confiscated from Meldie, Raghesh, and Irk'adl - piled on top of it.

There was a length of chain attached to the cart Raghesh was on. The shackles on Irk'adl's and Meldie's wrists were hooked onto it, Irk'adl first and Meldie behind her.

Meldie hoped desperately that the journey wouldn't be long. It was hard enough to even stand with half her weight on her wounded leg. She wasn't sure how long she would walk on it.

Sun was still hidden beyond the horizon, although the light was already turning golden, when they got moving. The soldiers settled into the standard march pace, the sort they could, and probably expected to, keep up the whole day. Normally it wouldn't have been any kind of issue to Meldie, but now she struggled to walk fast enough. She clenched her teeth against the constant pain, but knew it was only a matter of time before the wounded leg would give in under her again.

The sun rose. The light felt far too bright, adding a new layer of stsbbing pain to her headache. She closed her eyes and tried to walk blind, but it helped only a little.

On occasion one of the soldiers would poke her back with the tip of their sword and tell her to move faster. As if she could. She was already staggering forward as fast as her body allowed.

They hadn't been on the road for half an hour yet when her injured leg failed. She fell to her knees.

The jolt that sent up the chain made the horse pulling the cart halt for a second, but before Meldie could even think about trying to stand up again, someone urged it onward. Meldie cried in pain and surprise as she was pulled to her stomach and dragged across the ground by her chained wrists. There was no chance she could have gotten back to her feet now, not even if she'd tried.

She heard Irk'adl yell and growl at the soldiers. They merely laughed at her. Someone threw a small rock at Meldie's back.

****

The next time they stopped was at noon. Meldie was so dazed she hardly noticed it before she felt Irk'adl's hands on her shoulder.

"Meldie? Meldie! Are you alright?"

Meldie rolled over to her back and lay there, gasping. Her wrists and shoulders burned, she was bruised all over, her shirt and pants were dirty and torn, the skin beneath scratched raw. Somehow she had managed to keep her head up enough to avoid any particular damage to her face, but her eyes stung and her throat was dry from the road dust.

Irk'adl gathered Meldie into her arms, and pulled her closer to the cart where they were at least a little shaded from the sun. The soldiers had tossed them a half-empty waterskin, and Irk'adl helped her drink from it.

"Fucking hurts", Meldie rasped when she could speak again, her eyes still squeezed shut.

"Bet it does." She paused and sighed. "I don't think we'll have much time to rest, we'll probably be on the move again as soon as they've eaten."

"Figures."

It was a while before Meldie opened her eyes. When she did, she saw Irk'adl's form beside her, and above them, leaning over the side of the cart, keeping an eye on the soldiers but now and then glancing down at Meldie, was Captain Raghesh.

The soldiers were settled a little further away on the soft grass on the side of the road. They were eating their lunch, and though they weren't deliberately slow, they also seemed to not be in too much hurry to get back on the road. They were confident and at ease; this was their territory, and they knew their captives had no chance of escape.

****

When they got moving again, Irk'adl drew Meldie close to her side. Wordlessly she placed one of Meldie's hands on her own arm. Meldie accepted the offered support with equally wordless gratitude.

It made the moving a little quicker, though still not quite as fast as the pace the soldiers would have wanted to keep. Exhaustion and pain were nothing new to Meldie, and she could struggle through them as long as Irk'adl helped her.

Apparently the soldiers cared more for seeing their captives suffer than they did for speed, however. After an hour or so, they began occasionally poking at Meldie and Irk'adl with their swords again. Irk'adl growled something at them in Orcish, and even chained and captive as she was and blinded in one eye, she was terrifying enough that they backed off for a while.

But eventually a few of them came closer again. They tore the two captives apart, and one made sure to kick Meldie's legs out from under her, too. Meldie fell flat on the ground, and felt the chains once again digging into her wrists and dragging her along the ground.

She felt the jerks and jolts as Irk'adl fought her own chains, but didn't look up to see whether she was trying to get to her or to the soldiers. It didn't matter, either way. Her efforts were in vain.

A couple of times Meldie tried to get back up on her own, but although the pace was slow enough for an armored soldier to comfortably sustain for hours, it was still too fast for her to get to her feet. On every failed attempt, she heard the soldiers' mocking laughter at her struggle. Finally she resigned herself to being dragged after the cart for the rest of the day.

****

They didn't stop until after sunset. Meldie didn't know where she found the strength to stand up and stagger after Raghesh and Irk'adl towards the place pointed out for the captives, but she did manage to make it that far. She all but collapsed to the grass next to them, too worn out to hold on to her pride or any pretense of strength.

She was in agony. Her shoulders felt as if they were on fire, and trying to move her arms was hell. She was sore, scratched and bruised, and somewhere in her struggles to get back to her feet she had torn some of the stiches of the not-yet-healed arrow wound in her thigh. It was leaking blood in a sluggish but constant trickle.

The others didn't look too good, either. Irk'adl's wrists under the manacles were chafed red, and despite her valiant attempts to hide her exhaustion, her shoulders were slumped and back bent as though under a heavy weight. Captain Raghesh was less exhausted from the journey, perhaps, but his skin was still ashen and his breathing at times labored, and his face was drawn with pain from his previous injuries.

"Fucking cowards", growled Irk'adl. "Wouldn't stand half a chance against us in a fair fight, and they know it."

"They want me alive. You two are just bonus, so you they can torment however they please. I've half a mind to try and steal a dagger from one of them. Take the one thing they were actually after from them", Raghesh said darkly.

"And how do you think that would help?" Meldie asked

"No, you're right. It wouldn't. I just wish there was something I could do." He sighed. "Look at what they've done to you, too. Your shoulders—"

"Dislocated. I know."

"I think I could put them back right", offered Irk'adl.

"They'll just do the same thing to me again tomorrow. I'd hate to waste your effort."

"They won't. Not if I have anything to say about it."

There was a dangerous fire in Irk'adl's eyes. Meldie wasn't certain how much there was that Irk'adl could truly do, but she appreciated the intent.

"Fine, then. You can try."

Irk'adl made short work of wrenching Meldie's shoulders back into how they were supposed to be. It hurt horribly, but it was done. Meldie slumped against Irk'adl, gasping from pain. For a long while she barely even registered anything besides the pain.

The soldiers tossed them a few threadbare blankets, a waterskin and some hardtack. They chocked down the food, not knowing when they'd next be fed, and wrapped themselves quietly in the blankets. Meldie laid awake for some time in a pain-filled haze, staring at the star-dotted sky far above. But eventually exhaustion won over pain and she slipped into dreamless sleep.

****

Irk'adl made good on her promise to not let the soldiers torment Meldie any more. She was tall, as orcs tended to be, taller than any of the soldiers, and she was no longer tolerating them. Whenever any of them dared approach her and Meldie, she bared her teeth at them and snarled something in her own language. None of the soldiers seemed eager to find out whether or not she could still manage to sink her tusks in their necks (as was said to be traditional method of fighting in the ritual combat of many orc clans) despite her chains.

The soldiers risked contact only long enough to chain Irk'adl and Meldie to walk after the cart again, but during the day, they left them alone. Meldie felt very bruised and sore, and each step seemed difficult to take, but at least she no longer had to worry about someone tripping her up for fun.

They walked through the day, and in early evening they came to the gates of a fortress. Just behind the main gates stood a handful of utilitarian grey stone buildings of varying shapes and sizes; barracks for soldiers, other living quarters, probably a laundry and kitchen and other such facilities, stables, blacksmith and weaponsmith workshops, and other buildings Meldie couldn't guess the purpose of. And, all things considered, presumably a prison of some kind. But past those buildings, the fortress walls, manned with guards, ran as far as the eye could see, up the hillside and further down the slope, and it was impossible to tell where they turned to join back together.

Meldie was too weary to even think anymore as the soldiers ushered them through the gates. She leaned heavily on Irk'adl to stay up, eyes fixed on the ground before her. They stood there a while as the soldiers apparently sorted things out.

After a minute or so, Irk'adl tapped Meldie's arm. Meldie looked up. In their immediate vicinity there were only people in military uniforms, and a couple of people in typical civilian clothing standing about, looking at them curiously. But past them, past the yard and out towards the hillside, near a few of the larger buildings Meldie hadn't been able to identify, they saw the prisoners.

Varying species, varying genders, varying ages, but all were wearing plain, dirtied and sometimes ragged prisoners' clothes. Most were in small groups, carrying tools or hauling apparently heavy carts, coming and going on a road that led somewhere up the hill. There were soldiers watching them, but not as many as one might have expected.

The prisoners weren't chained, either, but from their mannerisms and their clothes it was clear they were prisoners nonetheless. Occasionally Meldie thought she saw metal glint when they moved or bent over, but it was hard to tell from the distance.

At last some of the soldiers returned to them, and began leading them off somewhere. Raghesh wasn't with them, and Meldie wasn't sure where he'd been taken. But she and Irk'adl were herded towards one of the long, squat buildings with iron bars on the window slits and heavy doors and guards posted at the door.

Right inside the doors was a desk, and a uniformed soldier sitting behind it. He looked up when they were brought in, a flash of curiosity appearing on his face for a moment.

"A couple more stragglers", said one of the soldiers. "Don't think we'll be catching too many more, but we got the captain with 'em. Boss is keeping him, but these two are to be tossed in with the rest."

"Fine, let me see..." The man at the desk shuffled through a pile of papers. "Thirteen and Fourteen aren't full yet, so one to each." He picked up two piles of metal from somewhere behind the desk and placed them on the table. "You know the drill."

The soldier nodded. "Change the chains, let 'em wash the grime off, pick up new clothes for them."

Even as he spoke, some of the other soldiers began opening Meldie and Irk'adl's shackles. They picked the metal pieces from the desk and fit those in place of the chains; one heavy, cold metal band around the neck, and one on each ankle and wrist. There were no chains attached to them, but Meldie could just about see the runes carved into the metal. She had no idea of their meaning, but it had to be some sort of spell.

And then they were shoved away from the desk and along a corridor again. Warm steam hit Meldie's face as they stepped through a door and into what apparently served as the bathhouse. There were large vats filled with steaming-hot water along the length of the room, and smaller buckets by them.

She and Irk'adl were pushed to the farthest ends of the room, away from each other. At least, once that was done, the guards retrested a little, and gave them what little privacy was possible while still keeping an eye on them.

Meldie stripped off her torn and dirtied clothes and took a bucketful of water from the bearest vat. She knelt down on the stone floor to wash herself, not trusting her legs to carry her anymore.

The wound on her thigh, when her hand brushed it, felt hot, and the skin around it was an angry red. Dammit. As if things weren't bad enough already, without the wound getting infected.

Still, she washed herself as best she could. She wasn't completely clean, afterwards, but at least she no longer felt covered in dust and filth.

They were both given new clothes; a tunic and pants of rough, stiff and itchy undyed fabric. They were ill-fitting, and made to last a lot of wear more than to be comfortable. Of their own belongings the only thing they got back was their boots.

Then it was through more corridors, and up a few sets of stairs. The rooms they passed were walled with heavy iron bars. Rushes were scattered on the floors, and there were no furnishings aside from narrow wooden benches by the walls. The cells were mostly empty, though in a couple of them there were one or two figures lying on one of the benches, curled up with their backs to the corridor.

The guards opened two cell doors near the end of one hallway and shoved Irk'adl into one and Meldie into the one next to it. Meldie staggered to the nearest bench and sat down on it, leaning her back against the bars separating her and Irk'adl's cells. She heard Irk'adl's steps behind her and felt her hand on her shoulder.

"Well, if nothing else", Irk'adl muttered, "I guess we found the rest of the company."

"Fat lot of good that does to us", Meldie said. "We're trapped, and so are all the rest, and there's nothing any of us can do to get out."

"We'll see about that. I'm not giving up. Not yet."

---

@happy-little-sadist @whumperfultime @wolfeyedwitch

[luescris]

tws: mentions of major depression and suicide

i dont normally do these kinds of posts. i like to keep to myself, hide things away and pretend that im happy half the time.

but the truth is. im not.

so im making this post just in case something unexpected happens to me.

i could never cause myself physical self harm ever. period. the thought alone sickens me. but these last few months have been. so very hard for me. i am the lowest i have ever been in my life. and i just thought that maybe i should make this post. just in case someone cared if i disappeared or something.

im feeling so alone. lost. and completely out of creative influence. i havent drawn or written anything real recently and i want to so very badly but. it also feels like what i do isnt good enough. it doesnt reach the numbers that i want it to and i just. im trying to improve, i really am, but its going way too slow. and I dont know what to do that i havent already tried.

im attempting to get mental help right now, but the help i am getting is different. not exactly official. its too complicated to explain, and its limited. i dont have enough money to get myself a real therapist. nor do i have the time

to those of you that read all this: thank you, but im sorry. for ruining your mood, putting this on your dash, making you worried. if no one reads this or if it doesnt get any kind of interaction though, ill just. delete it.

this isn't me trying to find help or something like that. im not. trying to vent online or something like that, or admit some terrible dark secret (though it sure feels like that). just, again, a life update. i guess.

yeah. see yall around

[valcuda]

- Picnic With Big Sis

Jasmin taking Quinton and Elizabeth out for a picnic. Like my previous work, this is a scene from a short story I have planned (I have 3 full books that come before it, and only 1 has a competed draft, so don't expect it any time soon), with this one taking place a bit prior to that one, with Jasmin taking Quin and Liz to the place they'll eventually cloud gaze at.

Also like that one, I made a 3D scene as a pose draft, with that picnic basket actually being a 3D model I made and rigged specifically for this! This gave a bit of difficulty, since Jasmin's Mannequin's hand, was blocking part of the basket that's visible in the final artwork!

When I was originally planning the scene, I thought about just having Jasmin doing nothing with her hand, until I decided to make her holding the lid open, so Quin and Liz could see. I didn't consider the fact I was now making the hand a focal point of the artwork! And when I did realize that, I nearly cried, cause I absolutely suck at drawing hands! But using a mashup of knowledge I've heard over the years, and some good guesses, I managed to make the best hand I think I've ever drawn!

And holly crap am I glad I decided to draw it! The sense of scale you get from seeing Quinton and Elizabeth that close to her hand, it really puts into perspective how small they are! I also think it's cute, having her holding the basket open for them, and it shows you a bit of a difference between Quinton and Elizabeth! Quinton trusts Jasmin, so he's fine just sticking his head out, trusting Jasmin won't accidentally smack his head with the lid. Elizabeth however, is a bit more cautious, not really trusting people as much as Quinton does, so she has her hand on the lid in case Jasmin lets go.

Something you'll probably notice is that Quinton and Elizabeth are seemingly frowning. They were smiling originally, but I thought giving them a mild frown makes them look more curious, which I thought was cuter, compared to them smiling. Though it kinda looks like they just realized Jasmin tricked them.

Anyways, I decided to not finish this in my painting style, since that was meant as more of a crutch originally. With v2 of Cloud Gazing, I said I was debating making it's line draft into it's own piece, just due to how good it looked, and that was kinda thanks to the "Painting Style" leaving out a ton of detail. So with this, I decided to finish it in my usual style. However, I did the shading differently, using a digital paintbrush, and doing it all on one layer. Usually, I plan out the shades, do them all on their own layers, combine them, and blend, which is really slow! This new method was a lot faster, and it worked wonders on Quinton and Elizabeth! It definitely has its flaws tho. I might end up revising this sometime down the line.

Something incredibly ironic, is that I have yet to shade Elizabeth's actual artwork! Meaning she got shaded in some misc artwork, before her actual artwork. Past me would be so dumbfounded if he knew.

Anyways, I don't know exactly how long I worked on this for, but I can definitely say it took longer than Cloud Gazing! I wanted so badly to finish this yesterday, that I stayed up til 3AM, doing the final linework, which is why it's a bit sloppy in some parts! This is despite me having post saying it wouldn't release that day, at 10 PM.

Hell, I wanted to release it so bad, I made 80% of this post last night, cause I was seriously considering uploading the non-shaded version! I'm so glad I didn't tho. It doesn't look bad unshaded, but the shading ties it together IMO.

-

Anyway, I don't know when my next artwork will be, or what it'll be about, since I'm a bit burnt out from this sudden art rush XD I pushed the limits of what I thought I could do, and while that is thanks to making a simple 3D as an initial draft, it still feels absolutely amazing! I definitely still need quite a bit of practice though.

Anyways, that's all for now!

[yeoreos]

avid || jjk (m)

pairing: demon!jungkook x human!reader

genre: 18+, smut

summary: jungkook finds you at a bar and sets you as his night's target

warnings: oh lord smut. lots and lots of smut.

wc: 4k

note: i was kind of lazy to finish it, but hey, its 4k of foreplay; nothing beats that! (also sorry for not posting in a while i was busy with beginning of year exams *cries*)

jungkook first noticed you in a bar. on weekends, it was transformed into a seedy nightclub. he liked to go there while he was looking for something to eat; something to conquer for the night. he discovered a plethora of attractive females and, each with broken hearts and hungry gazes - all yearning for a nighttime lover.

he never believed his eyes when they landed on you. the state you were in was pitiful. he guessed that you had just broken up with this boyfriend of yours, hence the mascara and ruined makeup on your face. or perhaps it was a platonic breakup. despite your state, his mahogany orbs never left your figure. what a cute thing you were.

a pretty face that was exactly his type, the perfect curves of your tits, hips, and ass has his knees weak. if you were to ask, he would give.

of course, his initial plan had been thrown out the window the instant he saw you. you leaned against the bar, accepting an order, with a grin on your lips. It sparked something in him, all the confidence (whether it be from the alcohol in your veins or not, it didn't matter to him) and allure.

he knew your name. how could he miss the way your own name rolled off of your tongue so easily? how could he miss the way your lips formed a smirk after seeing jungkook? how could he miss your scent when you pulled him in to kiss you?

this was jungkook's specialty, depravity. wherever he went, he brought a tale of wickedness and depravity with him, the quality hooking onto him like a magnet.

he was a fallen angel, to be sure. a demon, a fallen angel. to be more specific, an incubus. he fed off of sex and vice, appetites and irrational cravings. he drank often in front of ladies like you, at bars or in beds, whose gazes wracked over him, and he fed off of human energy.

over time, after a handful of centuries, he had gotten bored of playing the same old games in bed. jungkook knew what he wanted, however, he was never able to satisfy that itch in the back of his throat, yearning for something to quench his sinful thirst.

he was tired, watching from atop the hill nearby, where he watched the sun rest for the night. just like you had. the darkness of the night overtook the city of seoul and jungkook knew it was his hour to strike; to feed his thirst.

so, the demon went after you, hovering over your small figure over the pathetic excuse of a bed. the soft rising and falling of your chest and the soft snores that escaped from your mouth once in a while, was all the proof jungkook needed that you were fast asleep.

jungkook extended his hand towards you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek, a tremor coursing through his body as a result of the contact. the energy you were emitting caused every molecule in his body to twitch in response. captivating.

oh how badly he wanted a taste.

when you stirred a little, a small groan leaving your lips, jungkook stilled. had you woken up? however, it was just a small movement you were causing in your sleep which allowed you to further curl up against the pillow.

he grinned.

it was time.

"let's go in that dream of yours, shall we?"

-

when he opened his eyes again, jungkook didn't expect himself to be in the same bar, be in the same exact position as before. however, this time, you were looking directly at him with your hungry eyes, mimicking his.

ever since heaven had decided to clip his wings, jungkook gave up on the little purity he had left, letting himself follow his heart.

so that's why he felt no shame in eyeing your figure up and down multiple times.

it wasn't necessarily anything that stood out about you, but it was just the aura you were giving off, that sweet feminine scent that lingered near the air around you, that small curve of your lips. but it might have mostly been the way you called for him, despite not knowing his name.

"hello, handsome."

jungkook didn't really have a preference when coming to his targets. he didn't prefer virgins; he always thought that they were inexperienced and didn't know how to give a good head. he didn't prefer the experienced either; he always thought that they knew too much and made the sex too sloppy. it was somewhere in between. and by the looks of it, you seemed like the perfect target. it had his insides churning, a long yearning for a good fuck. he thought he was going crazy.

throughout his centuries of living, he saw empires and clans of royalty fall and rebuild itself, being reborn. he didn't go out of his way to feel good, but he took whatever the universe offered to him. in this case, it was you.

when the surroundings suddenly changed to a much quieter one, where no one was bumping into each other, jungkook furrowed his eyebrows. it did not, however, take him long to notice that you were in the premises of your bedroom, the small plants on your windowsill being a huge clue.

“who are you?” you inquired, your voice scarcely audible. smirking, the man took a step forward. in contrast to his sparkling eyes, the moonlight from the window follows his body flawlessly, giving him a blue tone on his skin. you became aware of his exposed skin due to his lack of clothing. as you took in his powerful body, a flicker of longing tingled between your legs.

the man stayed deafeningly silent. instead, the man crept onto the bed, trailed by what appeared to be a shadow. you kept a tight eye on his every move because you couldn't move. you felt yourself spreading your legs wide as he crept over top of you. you had a tremendous want to feel him and be completely consumed by him.

despite being a demon, a sex demon (literally), jungkook still understood the morals of consent, making sure it was his top priority. after all, he wouldn't want it if he was in your position.

"are you okay with what's going to happen?" his words were like a captivating chime in your ears, quickly relaxing you and making you desire more. you found yourself placing our hands on his shoulders in order to feel his silky skin. how was it possible for a man to be both burning hot and icy cold at the same time? the dampness between your legs was unbearable, and you were drawn to him with all your might. your nipples perked beneath your shirt as you didn’t wear a bra to bed, you remembered. this made sense. something you remembered vividly. just a shirt and panties was all you wore to bed. clearly you must be dreaming, so you may as well indulge without regret.

"y-yes." you dropped your hands to grasp your shirt and pull it over your head to display your nakedness while looking into the man's eyes. with a hunger for your every move, he kept an eye on you. as he glanced over you, his throat vibrated with a palpable growl. you noticed he was completely hard as your gaze slid down your body with his. in a humble tone, you inquire, "is this real? this isn't a dream, is it?"

the man's grin makes your entire body twitch. you feel him quickly remove your underpants and fling it somewhere off the bed. you become acutely aware of the excitement between your legs as well as the heat emanating from his body. he lowers himself still more until he's right up against your door.

“would you prefer to be dreaming... or would you prefer to be here with me?” the man inquires, his tone innocent but with a sinister undertone.

when you reached for your thighs to give yourself some relief, there was nothing there. as your eyes scanned your surroundings, all you could feel was the chill of your own flesh. red. your vision was completely red. it was almost as if someone had brought in a red mood lamp and shone it throughout the room. it was entirely painted in a bright crimson color. your epidermis. the walls on all four directions. it was all red.

everything seemed hazy and perplexing, and you wondered where you were. you were in a new environment. some may even argue it was a living hell.

you sat up and wrapped yourself in the nearest blanket you could locate before standing up. warm wooden floorboards greeted your bare feet. “what?” kneeling down, you firmly pressed your hand on the wood once again to be sure you weren't hallucinating, but then again, what's to say you weren't hallucinating the whole thing?

'im not a lunatic... you thought to yourself as the warm sensation of the wood stretched across your palm. you straightened up and looked about your flat, trying to figure out what you could do about the red. you stood up straight and began to look around your apartment to see if there was anything you could do about the red. nibbling on your lower lip gently, you stood up straight and began to look around your apartment to see if there was anything you could do about the red.

the door to your bedroom squeaks open just as you were ready to turn on the light switch. the sound reverberated throughout the room with such eerie intensity that you were nearly persuaded your tv had turned back on and was showing yet another horror movie. then something happened. from your room, a man who could only be described as the devil strolled in as if he owned the place. you would be fascinated by this man's beauty if he hadn't just walked in like that. a scar runs from the left side of his jaw all the way down to his neck, giving him a strong jawline. his delicate yet sharp-looking features are caressed by soft wild hair, and his adorable small head is adorned with two pointy horns. it was the eyes, though, that drew your attention.

not the fact that he emerged from your room shirtless. nor the fact that he had claws and a commanding tail swishing back and forth. no, it was those soulless black eyes that were piercing right through you. your very being. you were in some type of trans as the mystery man - no, not man - thanks to those black coals. devil. That sounded more like it.

you couldn't take your gaze away, but as your feet shuffled you further away from this entity, they did all the thinking for you. it only appeared to encourage the beast to keep going before you pressed up against him and the wall. as you summoned the strength to speak up, your grip on the blanket trembled a little. “wh-what are you looking for?” your voice faded away quietly.

the devil had smirked at your frailty and little dread before running a clawed hand through your unkempt hair “i'm starving, my love.” before leaning in and drinking in your aroma, it spoke in the lowest, almost infantile voice. “won't you feed me nice and well, love? after all, you did want this to be real, right?” you weren't sure if it was the tone of his voice or the proximity, but you nodded in accord.

he grabbed your neck and ran his tongue across his lips before taking you into a harsh but passionate kiss. soft cherry red lips ravished your lips in a ravenous embrace while his hands roamed across your body, grasping and groping everything it could find.

a deep moan emerged from both of you as you felt the tightness of his jeans against your leg, causing a burning feeling. the burning of want burned through your skin everywhere he touched, everywhere he invaded with his mouth, hands, and body. it was almost a nasty, twisted euphoria that made your cunt clench around nothing in eagerness.

as the unnamed monster looked you up and down, an almost animalistic growl exited his throat as he took a deep inhale, you gasped for air. “love, you smell so fucking amazing for me.” he spoke in hushed tones through little pockets of air. “you're so delicious that i could devour you whole.”

the very thought of doing so appeared to amuse him, as he let out a brief but malicious laugh before narrowing his focus to the blanket still clinging to you.

with a scowl on his face, he clasped his larger hand around the one holding the blanket in place before yanking at it, only to have you keep it in place. the devil, with his head cocked to the side, gazed at you, perplexed, as if he didn't understand what you were doing.

“it's just that,” you murmured, tightening your jaw at the gaze those empty eyes gave you like a chill up your spine, "i feel comfortable like this...” you muttered the last bit, swallowing any spit you had.

but there was no justification or apology for him, so he raised his claw into the air and cut the blanket, ripping it open wide.

fear, as well as the lust racing through your veins, were clouding your judgment once more. the notion that his claws were so near to slicing you terrified you and turned you on like nothing you'd ever experienced. it gave a sense of how perilous it was to be so near to this creature, which was part of what made it so thrilling.

"baby, nothing is safe when i'm around."

those words, on the other hand, did it for you. you reached out to him as soon as you dropped the tattered blanket on the floor, exposing yourself to him. you drew him back into another intense kiss by wrapping your arms around him and springing up to wrap your legs around his waist. as he grasped your thighs to keep you in place, he was caught completely off guard by your sudden bravery.

each passing breath spent on one another battling for control, hips sliding up against each other as your damp panties rubbed up against his encaged dick, which was most definitely pressing painfully against the denim trousers he was wearing, made the kiss more hungry and animal-like. the cool contact of skin moving up against your back and down your underwear made you whimper.

despite his animalistic state, you always thought he was beautiful, a rare creature. "you're beautiful," you murmured, oblivious to the fact that you were saying it aloud. he laughed with his head tilted back. his neck was big and thick, but it was the raised markings that went all the way around it that caught your eye; they were woven together like chains, as if he had been choked with scorching metal.

the demon kissed you long and hard, barely pausing to breathe. His tongue was lengthy and had a split down the center. it was a novel experience that was strangely addictive. you became engrossed in the way it encircled your own. with his fangs, the monster simply paused to tug on your lower lip. as his hand moved down to your thigh, you let out a faint little groan.

he sang, “such a good girl,” as he drew you up into his arms. Jungkook snatched you up like feather. as you placed your legs around his tiny waist, his arms bulged. before he entered your room, he gave you a lengthy, scorching kiss. you had your arms around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair and scraping against the base of one of his horns as an experiment.

the devil looked down at you as you lay on your bed, his crimson eyes flashing in the dim light. only those eyes and the white-tipped base of his horns could be seen with the moon blearily seeping through your blinds. it felt as though the monster beneath your bed had arrived to devour you. slowly, he moved his hand up the wall, flicking on the light and bathing you both in a golden glow.

you eventually let your gaze drift away from his, focusing on his toned chest, tight waist, and muscular thighs. when you noticed the bulge yearning to be freed from his pants, you licked your lips. he finally went closer, his lips brushing against yours as he crept between your legs. his hands crept up to the band of your shorts, the heat of his palm scorching and heavy on your bare thighs.

he yanked your shorts down your hips and flung them behind him as he kissed you. he tore through your shirt even quicker, softly cursing as he saw your naked breasts. you yanked on his shirt, trying to get a better look at him and to touch every scrap of exposed flesh you could discover. he sat back and yanked his shirt off, displaying golden skin stained with crimson ink and muscular abs that rippled with each breath. you were so focused on his appearance that you almost missed the expression in his eye as he glanced down at you.

“fuck, you look like an angel,” he said, reaching down to rip your panties apart, only to shred them. your moist lips were exposed by the chilly air as you gasped. at the sight, he bit his lower lip and groaned. “very gentle and plaint." slowly, he ran his hands down your body, starting at the rib cage and working their way down to your thighs.

his fingers became hotter and hotter along the way, till they were on the verge of burning. until he came to your knees and quickly shoved your legs apart and up, crimson streaks remained on your skin. smirking at your hiss of pain, his palms pushed your thigh back till they touched your chest. “so ready to be used,” he states.

"please do."

“well, angel, since you asked so nicely,” he leaned very close to your cunt and licked a lengthy strip. his forked tongue slithered inside your slit, relishing in the lengthy groan that came out of your mouth. he swirled above the opening for a minute, then slipped just the tip of it inside when you finally relaxed against him.

jungkook gradually started penetrating your pussy with his tongue. the warm, slithery appendage that slithers in and out of you with increasing ease, flicking at your g-spot and making you whine in delight. you exhaled with relief when he licked up to your clit, only to scream when he clamped his mouth over the delicate nub and sucked hard enough for you to see stars.

moans and groans emitted from your lips and the demon could have sworn he had never heard anything prettier. his mouth salivates against your lips, only causing him to dip down near your entrance and trail his tongue back to your little nub. oh how sweet you were.

"my angel's already close to cumming?" there was no denying that. he had already noticed you were quickly approaching your high by the way you tugged on his locks and the way your moans became higher in pitch.

the demon took two of his long fingers and slipped them into your pussy, a squelching noise emitting from the action. you tugged so hard on your lips that it was plump and swollen, the irony blood almost spilling from them. he quickly started pumping his fingers and curling it, sending you seeing stars. he wanted you to get ready for the real deal (aka his cock).

"god, please fuck me, please please i'm so close to cumming but i wanna cum on your cock, please," if it weren't for you sounding so pretty and desperate for him, the demon would have prolonged the foreplay.

“there is no ‘god' here,” he hissed, sliding two fingers inside your pussy and sucking hard on your clit as you almost shouted in delight. his fingers curled within you quickly, drawing you closer to the brink. your fingers ran aimlessly through his hair, yanking it back to keep him near. you scratched on one of his horns with your nails.

it wasn't until another orgasm crashed upon you that the demon stopped.

you were spent; messy hair, hazy eyes, drool dripping down your chin and onto your neck and some parts of your chest.

as sly as a fox, you felt jungkook pressing his heavy length on your clit, the warmth and hardness of it evident in the way it pressed up against the little nub. jungkook evilly rutted against the bundle, sending sharp pleasures erupting from the mere action.

you thought he would stop at a few thrusts, however, jungkook had other plans in mind. those being seeing you completely helpless underneath him (not like you weren't before).

with one more came a push, your insides clenching and squeezing the head of his cock like a vice. jungkook stills above you; only the tip in and you're already this tight? he allows a shaky breath to reveal itself from his throat, the sound coming out a little more strangled and choked that he intended it to be.

you took him inch by glorious inch. the two of you reveled in the pleasure, drinking off of each other's moans and heat.

the rest of the night was spent in each other's arms. it wasn't romantic, but it sure as hell was full of pleasure.

[dracowars]

Really love your draco ficsss 🤗🤗🤗 i was wondering if you can make one before the war where draco obliviated reader then looks for her after the war aaaa would love to see your take on ittt tag me

remember me | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x reader

word count: 1,8k

summary: where draco obliviates y/n

a/n: while doing research for this one i didn’t even know that when you use obliviate, you can’t reverse it anymore if you’ve used the wand for another spell :o i guess you always learn something new lmao @belladaises i hope you like it! <3

warnings: angst, mentions of blood

universe: harry potter

Footsteps and screams echo through the dark corridors of Hogwarts as Draco finds himself in one of the hallways after apparating there mere seconds ago. Getting to the right place at the right time, he immediately gets hold of some of the Slytherins, including his friends, whom he pulls with him, informing them about his – or rather Lord Voldemort’s – plan. Draco knows what he has to do, but he also knows the consequences his actions will have.

His hands are shaking, and he is having a difficult time to breathe after they walked from one side of the castle to the other, wands drawn and always at the ready in case there are any emergencies or incidents on their way. What Draco did not expect, however, is that he will find you along his way.

With a pained expression on your face, you lean against one of the cold brick walls, about to lose your footing and to fall to the ground when Draco is already at your side and catches you in his arms before you can hit the hard floor. Previously, he quickly ordered Blaise and Goyle to move on without him and wait for him until he is done here. Carefully, Draco sinks to the ground with you and places you close to him in order to be able to take a closer look at you.

“Y/N! Y/N, what happened?”, he asks you with concern in his voice and already reproaches himself internally for not being here to fight by your side. But he knows that he can’t. After all, you are on the opposite sides in this terrible war.

Slowly, you raise your head and do not seem to recognize him at first, until your vision clears, and you look directly into his worried face. You immediately push yourself closer to him, his closeness bringing you some calmness and making you feel protected and safe, although walls are blown up around you while wizards and witches give their lives in the bitter fight for Hogwarts.

“D-Draco? You are here”, you breath out, your voice rough and strained from your previous screams. You had split up into groups to face the Death Eaters, but you were separated from them when a part of the ceiling fell down, several pieces burying you beneath them. The hope that is now reflected in your eyes upon seeing him, here and with you, breaks Draco’s heart. You really think he is on your side.

It is only when you groan in pain that Draco realizes that you are clutching your leg, which is covered in blood.

“Come on, I will get you out of here”, he whispers to you and helps you straighten up, the guilt plaguing him. You are badly injured, and he was not here to prevent you from getting hurt. Carefully, he puts your arm around his shoulder so you can move faster together than if he would carry you. Since it is not anything than safe here right now, Draco hurries to get you out of there as fast as possible.

“It is not as bad as it looks. I promise”, you try to calm him down, but once your foot touches the ground you twitch in insufferable pain and pull your foot back with a hiss, your hand immediately going to your tigh where it hurts the most.

“What happened?”

“I was careless and then a part of the ceiling buried me beneath it.”

The shock on Draco’s face is enormous when he realizes what could have happened, how it could have ended with you laying under masses of bricks with no one knowing. That he could and still can lose you in this bitter war for life and death. Briefly, he carefully inspects your leg – broken – and without any hesitation, he picks you up in his arms and carries you to a safer place. The safest place would probably be where all students, who do not fight, are hiding, but if Draco asked you about it, he would have to pass this very important piece of information on. And thus, he would also leave you to a terrible fate.

“You are safe here. For the time being”, he finally says as he places you at the end of a staircase that no longer leads to where it originally should, and kneels down in front of you, stroking his hand over your cheek lovingly. Shaking, you place your own on top of his and press his palm to your skin to feel its warmth.

“Draco, if we make it to the seventh floor then-“

“Do not tell me. Please”, he almost begs you. His pleading leaves you puzzled and slowly but surely makes you doubt why he is actually here. Gently, Draco takes your hand in his and places a delicate kiss on your knuckles. You sadly watch him until you bring up the courage to ask this one question that burns on your tongue.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

The realization hits you like a train, much more painful than the pain in your leg, when he just looks at you with glassy eyes and fails to give you an answer. Tears well up in your eyes when you notice that you no longer have your loving boyfriend in front of you, but your enemy.

“Why, Draco?”, you ask him desperately, the first tear already finding its way down your cheek, but Draco does not have the heart to look into your eyes, too scared to see the pain and disappointment in them. Sighing, he shakes his head, letting it sink.

“Everything will be fine, I promise”, he manages to say while his heart contracts in pain. Suddenly, he perceives voices that are still far away, but he hears them coming closer. With trembling hands, he reaches for your wand, which is sticking out of your boot as he has made his final decision. Confused, you look back and forth between him and the wand in his hand.

“What are you going to do? D-Draco? You do not have to do this”, you stutter out as he looks directly at you with his gray eyes which seem much darker now. Gray eyes that once shone with so much affection and now only radiate a tremendous coldness that makes you shudder.

“Now listen carefully to what I say, Y/N. You have to promise me that you will not use your wand anymore”, Draco explains to you, but you can only look at him speechlessly while tears run down your cheeks in waterfalls, not knowing what he will do next.

“I am so sorry”, is the last thing he says to you before casting a spell. “Obliviate.”

With these words, Draco pulls any memories you have of him out of your mind. Every shared laughter, every shared grief, he frees you from all of it. He frees you from the burden of ever knowing him.

With one quick movement he puts your wand back in its original place and quickly stands up, watching how your face loses all emotion as you abruptly stop crying over nothing. Before he can regret his decision, he turns away from you and looks into the corridor from which he previously heard the voices. At the other end of the corridor, he discovers Neville Longbottom, who is running through Hogwarts with some students. Clenching his fists, Draco walks in the middle of the corridor, facing them from afar.

“Neville!”, Draco shouts as loud as he can, immediately gaining Neville’s attention, who now comes running towards him with his wand drawn, ready to attack. Draco swiftly runs back to where you still lean against the wall, but just as Neville turns around the corner, Draco disapparates to another part of Hogwarts.

You are safe at last.

════════════

Surrounded by nothing but rubble and ashes, Draco wanders through the last remains of Hogwarts alone. His clothes are torn apart, and his face is soiled – all signs of the bitter fight that took place here before. But now it is over. They lost.

But Draco does not care who won or lost. He chose to switch sides in the end anyway. All he wants now is one more thing: to find you and to make sure you are okay. Every time he trips over a lifeless body on the ground, he looks away in fear that he may recognize your face in one of the corpses. Pressing his hand against his aching left shoulder, he walks into what is left of the Great Hall and a glimmer of hope builds inside of him as he recognizes Neville standing in the middle of it.

Quickening his pace, Draco walks towards him, his gaze fixed on the people he is currently talking to. When Draco gets to them, however, his heart sinks and panic pervades him as he does not see you. You are not here.

Desperately searching for any signs of you, he looks around, his pulse getting faster by the second, until Neville finally taps on his shoulder and points to somewhere behind him. Draco turns around immediately, only to see you limp into the Great Hall with the help of Ginny Weasley, improvised stabilization around your broken leg.

Tears of joy well up in Draco’s eyes and he cannot help but run up to you and close you in a tight hug that almost knocks the both of you off your feet. Draco exhales in relief, clutching his arms around your fragile body, glad to hold you in his arms again, until he notices that you are trying to push him away.

Realization his Draco and he abruptly moves away from you.

“What was that supposed to mean?”, you ask him reproachfully, irritated as to why Draco Malfoy almost suffocated you in a hug.

“I- Well-“, he stutters, but the fact that you actually do not know him anymore is driving an ache through Draco’s chest again. “Where is your wand?”

“Excuse me?”, you huff out, the confusion evident on your face, but Draco quickly reaches for you wand before you can react, which pokes out of your boot, as always. Internally praying that you listened to him and did not use it when he was not by your side, he reverses the Memory Charm and watches a white streak touch your temple, piercing through your skin before vanishing completely.

You blink once, then a few times rapidly, adjusting your eyes to the light and when your gaze falls on Draco, tears well up in your eyes right away.

“Thank God”, Draco sighs in relief and hugs you tightly, but this time you actually return the hug. Weeping, you claw your hands into his shirt, your tears wetting the fabric, whispering what an idiot he had been and that he should never do this to you again. But at this moment nothing else matters.

You survived and found each other again despite the difficulties and obstacles. And from now on nothing and no one will separate you again. Ever.

[maxellminidisc]

I really do not understand where this whole idea of lesbians and bisexual women branching off into individual identities and communities being a bad thing stemmed from but god it frustrates me as a bi woman/bi person in general and as a person who loves many many of my awesome big sexy lesbians friends.

Bisexual women and lesbians may have congregated as the same group once but we're not anymore, and thats FINE and its actually a good thing! Because despite the overlap in experiences as women who are attracted to women (and yes I am including trans women when I say women), bisexual women and lesbians still have significant differences in experience and marginalization unique to their attraction that need to be addressed as separate communites because being aware of these differences provides a basis for us to tackle said issues in a way that is specifically conscious and adapted to our individual communities and forms of opression. God I hope that makes sense lol

Like as a WHOLE community we ALL have overlap in experiencing homophobia or bigotry directed as us for not conforming to gender and expression the way cis heteronormative society wants us to (i.e butch lesbians, effeminate gay men, trans/non binary people who do not pass/choose not to pass, etc) but we all as individual communities in one, face individual types of marginalization that we need to talk about so that those who don't experience it in the broader community and outside of it understand us.

For example cishet society hates lesbians for NOT being attracted to men and being attracted to women instead, it hates gay men for being attracted to men and not women, bisexuals are scrutinized for the fact that we have fluid attraction, trans folks but particularly trans women are hated for being women despite the assigned gender that society expects for them to conform to and at the same time intertwine that specific transphobia with misogyny which thusly creates transmisogyny (I'm sorry of I phrased this badly, I would absolutely appreciate correction!), etc. It is incredibly important that we acknowledge those specific and DIFFERENT experiences that we are targeted with because other wise it'd be like being blind to each others suffering.

And in the case of lesbian and bisexual women, trying to lump us in as one big group again erases the history of opression lesbians specifically face and fought for being women who do not show attraction to men and for being women who love women and take joy in sexual and romantic pleasure in loving women, and to do so proudly, despite societies insistence that women have to be with men. For bisexual women it creates and perpetuates the god awful attitude that bisexuality as an identity is simply not enough all in its own. It is yet another unnecessary ammendment made to bisexuality because y'all dont want to question the internalized issues you may have with it. Lesbianism excluding the attraction to men is not a threat to those of us who have attraction to women ALONG SIDE an attraction to men in ANY capacity, that is literally what bisexuality is for and that's ENOUGH!!! Some bisexuals are drawn more to women than men, but still acknowledge that part of them is still attracted to men and guess what, THAT'S STILL BISEXUALITY AND ITS FINE!!!! There is literally 0 need to impose an attraction to men on to lesbians like AT ALL and acting like we have to go back to being the same group does exactly that.

And to top it off, lesbianism does not exclude nonbinary folks and trans women just as bisexuality doesn't exclude nonbinary and trans people as a whole; trying to lump us in together with attraction to non binary people as an excuse is fucking stupid and gross. Because again, you're perpetuating the lesbophobic belief that all lesbians are trans exclusionist and the biphobic belief that bisexuals are transphobic and limited or binary in their attraction.

I of course haven't even touched on the specific difference of how bisexuality and lesbianism differ in terms of social impact such as ipv, addiction, depression, etc. There are lots of studies and statistics that show the numbers are different between us and even between us and the rest of the community! Being able to be separate respected communities allows us to see the impact of biphobia and lesbophobia as two specific forms of oppression and find the right kind if help and resources for us to heal as lesbian or bisexual women!!!

Do you like not literally see how trying to make us one big group with 0 acknowledgement of how significant our difference are is harmful?

[allronix]

Carth and Force Sensitivity (crossposted from Reddit r/kotor)

This is for @k-she-rambles:

Okay, so while we're shooting the bantha crap over on KOTOR fan theories, u/134340Goat mentioned my all time favorite "Have you been chewing spice?!" fan theory when it comes to KOTOR: Is Carth Force Sensitive?

So this one starts with a story. I mentioned my brother in law, who is pretty much Keeper of the Jedi Archives. Seriously, he's an English teacher and my sister is a librarian. They met at a sci fi convention and their first date was Phantom Menace. We're taking not just geeks, but geeks who can throw the damn bookshelf at you. Brother in law bought KOTOR on the day it launched and turned it into a week long binge watch at his house. And because brother in law is that kind of geek, he's translating the characters into the West End D6 system. I'm watching him do a playthrough, and he's got Canderous and Zaalbar at Ajunta Pal's tomb.

Allronix: Huh. That's odd. Why aren't commenting on anything when Ajunta is speaking?

Bro in law: Oh. They can't even see Ajunta. You have to be Force Sensitive to see a Force Ghost The stronger your Sensitivity, the better you can see it.

Allronix: Really? Then how come Carth can see it?

Bro in law (gets the "holy shit, I gotta confirm this" look): Really?! He just sees something out the corner of his eye or something?

Allronix: No, he sees Ajunta just fine. Understands what the dude's saying too.

Bro in law instantly rolls back to his last save, swaps Zaalbar for Carth, and sees the bit in question.

Bro in law: Oh. Dear. (Goes over to make some quick scribbles on Carth's character sheet)

Okay, so maybe that was a lore fail. I didn't really think about it too much until I hit that False Level Up glitch and ran around with Carth and Mission as Sentinels. Now, while I couldn't really see Mission as a Sensitive, that little bit with my bro in law nagged at me. And became a "once you see it you can't unsee it." Apologies to TV Tropes, where some of these were my additions to the Wild Mass Guess entry on this topic.

Any one of these on its own is pretty easy to blow off. After all, man is career military, and knows All this Shit is Weird. I also like to think of Sensitivity as a spectrum and not a switch. If all life is connected by the Force, then all life would be Sensitive to some degree or another. It’s just a matter of to what degree. It’s only as the list gets longer and longer does the case start looking damning...

What are the odds of surviving that attack on the Endar Spire, getting to the escape pods, sharing the last escape pod with the mindwiped Sith Lord, piloting through the chaos, landing in what passes for the "good" part of town, remaining uninjured, pulling the badly injured mindwiped Sith Lord from the wreck, evading Sith detection while all this is going on, and just happening to find a dump of an apartment where the landlord's not asking questions? That is one amazing string of coincidences and good luck. Get that many in Star Wars, and it's definitely The Force sticking its nose in things.

Piloting the escape pod to land in the Upper City, piloting the Hawk through the Sith Blockade of Taris, the random Sith patrols, the escape from the Leviathan, and the fleet around Lehon along with the crash landing that left the ship easily repairable. Now, compare to Atton who we know to be an excellent pilot and drawing on The Force who still manages to crash the ship at least three times.

He's a scary good judge of character if you're interacting with other NPCs. If you watch him with other NPC characters, he's got a pretty good compass as to which characters are being helpful and which ones are full of shit. The only one he calls incorrectly is Rukil, who is probably also an untrained Sensitive (the age, the "marked" comments) and half senile, which is probably throwing him.

Related to that, his distrust and wariness about something not adding up with the PC, the Jedi Council feeding the party a line of bull, that things just aren't adding up. And on all of it? Dead on. He's 100% right about the Player Character, he just expected something a little less crazy than "that's Darth freaking Revan."

If you play Female Revan, then Carth's the one who gets fried in the torture cages on the Leviathan. Saul comments how strange it is that Carth takes so much punishment and still remains conscious. Now, this is a low level thing, but in lore, Force Sensitives have drawn on it to keep them alive or conscious under duress. Explicitly, the first sign we got that Leia was a Sensitive when she withstood the Imperial torture droid.

Another of his scary ass judge of character feats? In the comics, Zayne (who is on the run from the Jedi, who framed him for the murder of his classmates) has a vision that Mandalorians are coming for Serroco. Saul? Laughs it off, throws Zayne in the brig. Zayne's own friends don't even believe him. Carth gets one of those creepy hunches and starts calling in "duck and cover" sirens as far as he can broadcast, which sends seventeen cities and millions of people heading for shelter. It saves their lives and Carth is called a hero for it. Armed with another hunch, he disobeys Saul (remember this is before Saul nukes Telos) and lets Zayne "escape" from custody. Mind you, not even the Jedi or his party members believed Zayne. Carth did.

Carth makes a lot of creepy weird offhand predictions about the future. He says he knows on some level he'll be there when Saul dies. That certainly pans out. He makes an offhand prediction that the Jedi have set the party up to take a fall. Right again. He tells a female PC that she'll have to make a choice soon, one she can't walk away from. And then we get the temple top. He even blurts out that "I sensed you would have to make a choice soon, and that was it*, I can feel it!"* If you specify a LS Female Revan, his recording for T3-M4 says he's had a hunch Revan would leave without warning. Again, spot on.

Specify a LS male Revan, and Carth will remark to Bastila that seeing the Exile reminds him "there are worse things to lose." The only other people who can see just how screwed up the Exile is are the Jedi Masters, Chodo Habat, and the Force Sensitive party members.

Specify a LS female Revan, and Carth will insist that he would know if Revan were dead (again, scary ass intuition) and that there's an "emptiness" where she used to be. Now, remember one of the things about a broken Force Bond? It would simply be "empty, a wound."

You know how your party members in KOTOR 2 feel upset or even horrified as they realize they feel compelled to protect Exile and can't being themselves to leave, even when said actions are kicking puppies? And how they swing wildly from being crazy, almost stalker level possessive of them to being scared out of their wits and clamming up when you try to pry anything out of them? And the more potent (and untapped) their Force Sensitivity, the more they get hammered with the effect? (Mira and Atton in particular) Yeah. Now, Carth's "I don't wanna talk" looks a bit different, doesn't it? It could also account for that romance arc, especially if you roll a DSF Revan and go for that "everyone dies" ending.

Again, Ajunta Pal. Seeing a Force Ghost? Yeah. Some degree of Sensitivity needed. Understanding what he's saying? Yeah. Takes a bit more than that. And Carth makes a weirdly insightful comment about the Dark Side on top of it.

Notice that this a wall o text argument already, and I'm now just getting to the "Yeah, his kid is able to throw around mid-level Dark Side powers and packing a red lightsaber." Given the jawline and the muleheaded attitude, no way Morgana was fooling around with the pizza delivery boy. That's definitely Carth's kid, and that's definitely Force Sensitivity. Now, while it can skip a generation (see Theron Shan), it tends to run pretty heavy in families.

Lastly? Gee. He comes from a planet settled by and heavily populated by descendants of Force Sensitives who failed their training. I'm also willing to bet some bastard children of Jedi get passed off as "foundlings" and "orphans" and dumped there, too. Jedi are forbidden attachments, but not sworn to celibacy, so...yeah, bastard kids are gonna happen. There's probably a Jedi or two in that family tree. It's circumstantial evidence at best, but it still supports the case.

Now, any arguments I missed? Counterarguments?

And the million credit question: If there's a character who gets to break this news to poor Flyboy, who do you think would actually take that on? How do you think Carth would take that kind of news? And what, if anything, would come of it?

I kinda figure Jolee might be the only one nuts enough to poke that with a stick...I also kinda figure "Sentinel" would fit best. Consular? Hell no. He hired Mical for that. Guardian works with the feats, but the whole "ferreting out deceit and injustice?" Yeah. That's Carth.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 21: Body Talk

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder’s thirty years past kindergarten, but the anticipation he’s feeling in his body is reminiscent of the excitement he felt as a child over bringing his new model airplane to school for show-and-tell. Except the context is very, very different.

He’s got an envelope tucked into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, and he’s highly aware of every crinkle it makes as he strides through the halls, making his way down to the basement.

He’d expected to receive a clean bill of health, so the contents of the envelope weren’t a surprise. Even so… he’s fuckin’ thrilled.

“Morning, Scully,” he says cheerily, waltzing into the office and peeling off his jacket. “Another hot one out there, huh?”

“Mhm,” she responds, already elbow deep in paperwork. She’s always got her nose in some pile of documents, his Scully. God, she’s so cute, it’s unbearable. He thinks of when they first met, how rosy and round her cheeks were. He regrets not having done something earlier; he missed out on kissing her adorable baby face.

He really wants to kiss her now, but they’re at work, and she’s made it abundantly clear that At Work Scully is not open to the physical demonstrations enjoyed by Off Duty Scully. Instead he sidles up beside her, holding out the envelope in front of her.

She takes it, clearly noticing that it’s already been opened. “What’s this?” she asks.

“Just a little something, from me to you,” Mulder replies, going around the desk and plopping into his chair. He clasps his hands behind his head casually, grinning at her as she slides the folded paper out of the envelope.

Scully unfolds the page and scans it, nodding to herself. “Congratulations,” she says, glancing up at him. “This is… welcome news. But you didn’t need to bring me the physical test results, Mulder. Your word is enough.”

“Oh, but I know how much you enjoy solid evidence,” he says with a wink. “So, uh… do you have your results back yet?”

“This is definitely not an office-appropriate conversation,” she warns him, slipping the page back into the envelope.

“Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. “But…”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Last week. I’m in the clear.”

He smiles even wider at her. “So, given this new information, what do you suggest we do, Agent Scully?”

She holds the envelope out to him across the desk. “Right now, our jobs.”

He licks his lips, nods. “Of course.”

Ten minutes later, she gets up to put a file in the filing cabinet. As she closes the drawer, she lets out a soft cough.

“Friday,” she says in a low tone. “My place.”

Mulder feels a thrill roll through his stomach. “Now how am I going to get a single thing done around here ’til then?” Mulder asks. “All I can think about is-”

She gives him a warning look.

“-You,” he finishes. “Every moment, Scully.”

Scully gives him a little pout. “I’m sorry, Mulder. That must be very difficult for you. You know what you need?”

“What?”

She picks up a stack of folders out of their in-basket and drops it in front of him on the desk. “A case.”

Mulder doesn’t find them an actual case, but he does manage to annoy Scully with conjecture and conspiracy for two whole days until it’s closing time on Friday night.

This could be the most important romantic encounter of his life, and he wants to make sure he’s adequately prepared. He takes a cold shower when he gets home, scrubbing every inch of his body until his skin tingles. He clips and files his nails, plucks some stray hairs, trims a few scraggly ones down south. He almost shaves his face before deciding to leave it be. He suspects Scully likes a little stubble, after all.

It’s a warm evening, so he throws on a gray t-shirt and jeans and bounds out the door with damp hair and crisp, soap-fresh skin.

As a rule, he doesn’t sing while driving; but today, he’s humming just a little.

He knocks on her door at quarter to seven, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to shake out a little anxious energy. This isn’t a prom date, he chides himself. Calm down and be an adult.

The lock is turning and the door is swinging open and there Scully is, looking soft and inviting and dangerous all at once. “Hi,” she says, giving him a little smile.

“Hi,” he says softly, eyes drawn immediately to the low neckline of her simple wrap dress. He snaps his gaze back up to her face again. “Hi, sorry, I’m-”

“A little distracted?” she asks slyly. She opens the door wider. “Come in,” she says, beckoning.

“I, uh, didn’t bring anything,” he says awkwardly, following her into the apartment. “And now that I’m here that feels kinda thoughtless.”

“What would you have brought?” Scully asks.

He shrugs. “Flowers, wine, something that says ‘I want to get laid but I also respect you’,” he says.

“Well, that’s unnecessary,” she says, going into the kitchen and opening her junk drawer. “I already know that.” She pulls out a small stack of takeout menus. “I’m assuming you haven’t had dinner yet?”

I was kind of planning on having you for dinner. “I have not,” he replies.

She hands him the menus. “Pick a place, we can call something in,” she says. She takes a box of matches out of the drawer and walks over to the fireplace.

Mulder glances over the menus, but he’s mostly watching Scully. She seems relaxed and comfortable, lighting a few candles atop the mantlepiece.

“You want a little music?” she asks, blowing out the match.

“Sure,” he replies. “Surprise me.”

“Promise you won’t tease me for this,” she says, flipping through a stack of CDs.

“Any of those restaurants sound appealing?”

“The Italian place sounds good, but I don’t want my garlic breath to put you off,” he admits sheepishly.

She glances over her shoulder at him, giving him a little smile. “That restaurant usually sends a few mints in the bag; and you have a toothbrush here, if it’s that big of a problem.” She puts a CD into the stereo.

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” he says. “You want me to call it in?”

“Sure,” she replies. “You can order me a chopped salad and some of their spinach ravioli. And get garlic bread,” she adds.

When he hangs up the phone, he sees her standing by her stereo, nodding her head in time to the music. The song is slow and sensual, and somehow familiar. He goes to her, places a hand on her lower back. His spot.

“Marvin Gaye?” he guesses.

“Mm, no. Al Green,” she replies.

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Never took you for a Motown fan, Scully,” Mulder says, pulling her in by the waist. “You always keep me guessing.”

She closes her eyes, sways in his arms. “I save this one for very specific moods,” she admits.

“And what moods are those?” he asks, running a hand up her back.

She opens her eyes. “I’ll show you later,” she whispers.

She’s looking at him with so much heat and adoration, and her lips are so full and soft, he can’t speak; only lean down and kiss her.

They drift together, interlocking shapes moving through space, rearranging patterns of hands and lips.

“We’re going to get interrupted by a delivery guy again,” Scully says against his cheek.

“Mm… kinky,” Mulder whispers, lips brushing her ear. “This is gonna become a pattern for us. Are you an exhibitionist, Scully?”

“Baby steps,” she says, patting his chest as she pulls away. “I need to leave a few mysteries for you to discover later, right?”

They sit cross-legged on the floor next to her coffee table, knees touching companionably as they eat their dinner.

“You know,” Scully says around a bite of garlic bread, “This makes me think we should go on another picnic. Since the weather is more appropriate.”

“What, sitting on the frozen ground at night in February wasn’t your idea of a good time?” Mulder jokes, tangling his fork in linguini.

“I didn’t say that,” Scully points out. “In fact, that was one of my better birthdays in recent years.”

“Really,” Mulder says, surprised. “Why?”

She absently toys with a hole in his sock. “Because… because I’d had a rough year,” she explains, “And you put thought and care into doing something special for me. And it was perfect, in all its perceived imperfections. It made me feel that for once… you were finally paying attention. You saw me.”

“Saw you?” he asks softly, turning his head to look at her.

Her eyes shine into his. “Yes. You were there for me through my cancer, with Emily… you were becoming more attentive. And I felt like you were considering me, caring for me, knowing what I needed. Seeing.”

“I-I think that’s called love, Scully,” he says, chewing pensively. Part of him is surprised this is even happening; them sitting on the floor in her apartment, eating pasta out of styrofoam boxes, talking about their feelings. Hell, he just said the ‘L’ word without breaking a sweat.

“You’re right,” she says, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder. “It is.”

Supper completed, containers emptied, candles burning down to stubs on the mantle, Scully sitting across his thighs as they kiss slowly. She was right about the mints, it turns out.

“Mulder, I’m a coward,” she sighs, running her fingers down his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you for years and I still haven’t said the words.” She presses a kiss to his lower lip. “Even though I know you reciprocate.”

“Take your time,” he replies, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “I already know. And you technically did just say them,” he adds. “Besides, there’s more than one way to have a conversation.” He smoothes a hand over her kneecap, inching a finger beneath the hem of her dress.

“Mulder,” she murmurs into his neck, his name sweet in her mouth. “I’m ready. I want to be with you tonight. Completely.”

He can feel his pulse throbbing beneath her lips. “I… God, Scully, I want you so badly,” he sighs. “I can’t think of any other words. I'm all out.”

She kisses his nose, untangles herself from him to stand. “Come on,” she says softly, holding out a hand. “I think it’s time for a different kind of conversation.”

[saturnsummer]

hi! i can’t believe i’m doing this, being cowardly and asking anonymously, which is so not like me, but i’m really not sure about the feedback i’ll get from this ask so here goes. i really hope you don’t take this the wrong way. i just don’t know who else to ask and among the authors i see in tumblr you’re the one with all the headcanons and looks into their characterization and all huhu.

i just noticed that in the majority of angst(y) aus, sol (a) is always the one who is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, prioritising her family over hwi/not considering him her family, or ends up pushing hwi away and then the relationship turns out badly, and by badly meaning it ends. i understand the first one since that’s really been the case for the majority of what we get a glimpse of in her life. but i don’t understand the others and i want to understand because so many people are writing it that way, and i interpret it as: they see something i don’t. maybe there are things about her character that i can’t or perceive differently or my 21 year old brain lacks the wisdom for that i miss how it progresses to that. but since i’m too shy to interact with anyone i don’t have anyone to compare notes with, huhu. i don’t really understand the others them because:

she basically said she’ll root for him in his uncle’s place which isn’t something to be taken lightly, she knows the gravity of what she said and more than anyone else she knows what it feels like to have family leave you behind/alone and all (i hope u get what i mean here and that this is sufficient, it’ll get even longer if i add more explaining)

she has high EQ, she basically hit all the right spots in the before they uploaded the video part (if it wasn’t for assemblyman ko…) and this scene is also another example of number 3 where she ends up opening herself up to him again

she knows he understands her in a sense and has this certain level of trust towards him, it can be seen on how she told him about dan but not about anyone else, and even if hwi didn’t show up at that time it can also be seen that she somehow opens up to him in the drinking water as if its booze scene. I guess i just observed that in the instances where she takes the first step and tries to push him away, she rather ends up opening herself up to him.

hwi also has high EQ or at least towards sol (lmao) and combined with his high IQ and the fact that he understands her contributes to number 3

and not all of these scenes can be considered as “working out alright and happily and greatly” since there are challenges in them but somehow it never reaches to that degree :<

as i said i want to compare notes because i understand only a portion of where its based on. i’m not saying its ooc since there is a bedrock on where that could possibly come from, it’s just that i can’t comprehend how its probable to reach up to that degree based on my understanding of their characters huhu. if it is a writer’s thing though perhaps it’s most likely why i don’t understand since all i’ve ever done my whole life is read and not really the type that writes. huhu.

i’m really not complaining or insulting or saying anything bad about or offending the fics, honestly huhu. i just want to learn more about her character and i’m bad at saying things not bluntly :< i tried my best :<

also, if you’re not comfortable with answering posting the answer publicly but still considering to or want to answer my question (i’ve used tumblr for so long but don’t know how asks work) if know a way to kinda hide the ask but answer it and say you want me to dm you about it, i can :<

hello anon! thank you for this analysis that while lengthy, does give me a bit of insight!

I think all your points are valid! about why she’s the one that is the start of the angst, why she pushes him away and not the other way around! I completely get your meaning, and honestly i do see the things you are seeing too!

this is just my personal take on this and how i view sol as being the ‘start’ of angst, why aren’t there fics on joon being the ‘start’ of angst and all, so please do take this with a pinch of salt!

I’ve personally not written any headcanons/fics that are mainly angst centred yet, so I would have to draw on my understanding of sol and joonhwi as characters from law school.

for sol, she’s a big emotional girl. you could see from the way she argues in class, with her friends, with how she reacts all the time. she rides on emotions and uses her heart a little more than her brain. like the bad fama case, she couldn’t give up cause she was emotional about it. like you said, she has a high EQ!

a possible reason to the angst on her part is due to the emotions as well. being someone that follows her heart so closely, she’s easily affected by the people around her and swayed easily. it would make a little more sense for the angst to derive from her, maybe from feeling that she lacks the love for joon. or maybe, a certain incident and she breaks it off.

one other reason is her upbringing. we know that she has biological father that is different from her stepfather. we also know that it is implied that her biological father is not present in her life, and her stepfather is abusive to her mother. as such, this must have been hard on her. imagine growing up in a family far from perfect, would one believe in love? many cases, some say no. they have never seen a healthy relationship before, much less seen one grow in their eyes from young till adulthood. this is the same for sol too. she didn’t see a perfect family, she saw a broken family, no father figure and her mother who endured abuse. this ultimately might make sol think “why is there a need for love? will I end up like my parents? is joon going to leave me, like my biological father did?” it’s undeniable that she might have these thoughts in her mind. thus, it’s a more common catalyst of angst, in a breakup thinking she’s not good enough, or she’s not ready, or undeserving.

as such, most writers might maybe find it easier to draw on this aspect of sol as the angst starter. a short example of this would be in my ongoing “the fairytale you never had (would you believe again?)” fic and in my oneshots “worthy” !

however, I do wonder, “why isn’t joonhwi the one with angst? is sol the only messy one here?” quickly, I thought back to most of the scenes of joonhwi when he is troubled, confused or any sign of him showing emotions.

joonhwi can be an angst starter, but I think it drawn on less since it’s so hard to draw on. from the base line, we know he’s smart. we know he’s probably rich. we know his uncle is the closest person to him. we know his parents died. but all these are just facts, no emotions. in everything that joonhwi does, he does it out of compliance, law abiding, or of a moral code. very few instances does he act of emotions or show a raw side of him.

the only times we could see it would be when he’s confronting his uncle, or the moments with sol later on in the show. he rarely shows emotions, and it’s hard to understand him or his troubles when he doesn’t show many emotions and we don’t know enough about his life. we know he looks up to his uncle, but it’s impossible for him, an orphan, to not miss his parents or have his missing parents not play a role in his development.

thus, his angst would most probably derive from “can i trust her, even after this?”, “is she lying, to cover up something?”, “is sol really the sol I believe in? or was it an entire lie?” his angst would come from one of trust and not from emotions.

i would really love to give a full analysis, but im no good with this. you can always dm me on Twitter or tumblr and we can always have a chat on this! would love to draw from my fellow writer friends to pitch in on this too, since they are honestly better at the analysis. im just a free writer!

thank you anon for you query! do dm me on tumblr/twitter (whichever is comfortable!) and we can discuss more! i’ll keep your identity secret, no worries!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

To that last anon, I thought you raised some really interesting points, especially on how differently society and fandoms, and by extension the whump community, tend to treat female characters compared to others. I'm kinda biased myself since I've always been drawn to reading and writing male characters (and lately nonbinary and every flavor of trans), but don't often feel a deep connection with woman in fiction. I guess a part of the way Nova is or isn't loved can come from that, but I think a big part of it is mostly from the way she seems "unsafe" to someone who is definitely a fan favorite. She is of course a survivor herself and, like Jameson, deserving of understanding for her mistakes, but maybe the fact the we never had a glimpse inside her head has a lot to do with it. I didn't like Jameson at first and I love him now because we got to understand his thoughts and feelings.

The closest we ever got to Nova was her therapy session (which was still not from her POV) and a couple really short bits way back in the beginning, so maybe that's why she's hard to relate to. But make no mistake, there's a bunch of Nova stans around here, I've seen them lol

About the whole infantilizing Chris thing though, my view as an autistic person is that it's both a complex thing and actually very simple lol. There's definitely an issue irl with babying disabled people and/or seeing us as babies/angels/cinnamon rolls too perfect for this world. BUT, I personally very much do just call every character I love "my child". There are characters ten years older than me (and a couple immortal ones with centuries to spare) that I very much do call my babies and a part of being a very invested fan is usually the whole "they can do no wrong! Murder isn't even that bad!"

So yeah, while the way other characters act around Chris can be discussed as possibly infantilizing sometimes*, I think the way we act about him doesn't have anything to do with his neurotype lol

*(I mentioned in a previous ask that this could be from having met him as a kid and their brains not updating the fact that he's an adult. Or that he needs help and support with some things that make him seem as he's being treated as a child when he's actually just getting the support he needs)

-🍄

Yeah, long before I was specific on Chris's diagnosis, when some of my regular readers were starting to ask me if he was autistic (largely because, in a lot of cases, they were picking up on stuff even I hadn't noticed was working its way into my own work yet!), people were already big Chris fans! He was adored right from his very first appearance.

I also think you really hit on a good point at the end when you note that he appears still very much a teenage boy, and that especially with nonlinear writing, it's easy to just kind of keep seeing him that way. And also, because he IS sunshine boy a lot of the time, it's easy to read that as 'childlike' as compared to the occasional cynicism or anger of the others around him.

I actually love Nova more the more I get to dig around inside her head. I've got some ideas on her brewing, but unfortunately have been far too busy to write much the last week or so! But I like her, and I think she's going to really find herself soon.

She was unsafe to Chris, for sure - but she is ALSO hurting, and badly, trying to find her way out of conditioned behaviors. She's fairly clear even when she assaults Chris that she's acting out the way she was taught to 'fix' the bad mood of the people who are important in the household - originally her Miss, and now Chris, Jake, etc. That mixes with her sort of latent crush on Chris (which is less on Chris and more on the way he seems, to her, like he's come impossibly far from being a pet) and just becomes a very dangerous combination... but not a malevolent one.

Nova is very complex - low-empathy but deeply injured and traumatized, working hard but taking the wrong direction with it at first. She likes the people in the household but hasn't figured out how to act around them quite yet.

She's not a villain, she's just not a perfect victim or survivor, she's a difficult one. So is Jameson. But I see a lot in them both that I love.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Wrong Place, Right Time

For the @malexremix, I remixed @insidious-intent’s excellent frat bro Michael fic! Fair warning, though: it’s rule 63

Also on AO3!

***

Fuck this fucking planet, Guerin thinks as she shivers in the icy December chill, leaning heavily against the cold metal of the bus stop shelter. The minutes drag by slow as molasses as she waits for the shuttle that was supposed to take her home almost half an hour ago.  

Ugh. This is the goddamn last time she tries to do the responsible thing and doesn’t take her truck when she’s heading to the bar. Now, with her patience and her alcohol blanket wearing thin, she’s never been more disappointed that her alien powers don’t include flight or teleportation. 

With a beleaguered sigh, she takes her phone out of her pocket and pulls up the bus schedule. The tips of her fingers grow numb with the cold as she waits for the piece of shit app to load, and when it finally does she’s met with a red banner that reads, Late night buses cancelled due to icy conditions.

“God fucking damn it,” she groans, throwing her head backward in frustration so forcefully that her skull smacks against the hard metal bus shelter. “Ow, fuck,” she winces, the pain flaring up instantly. She reaches up to rub the tender spot with her cold fingertips, wishing she had a bottle of acetone at her disposal.

It’s the thought of acetone that reminds her of Isobel and, more importantly, Isobel’s car, which is undoubtedly sitting in the lot outside her sorority house not too far from here. She’ll mock her mercilessly for it, but she probably won’t say no to letting Guerin borrow it if she promises to buy her bubble tea when she brings it back. 

Without a better idea, Guerin pushes off the bus shelter and starts walking, head downcast as her numb fingers type out a text to Isobel. 

She heads a few blocks down Sorority Row, eyes scanning the houses for those familiar Greek letters. When she finally spots them, she recognizes Isobel’s handiwork immediately in the tasteful Christmas decorations adorning the house’s brightly lit facade. Garlands encircle the tall white columns that line the porch and each and every window is framed with pale yellow lights, a festive wreath in its center. 

She also notices, much to her chagrin, that there appears to be some kind of party going on inside. Muffled music seeps through the walls and she can see people mingling inside through the large windows in the front of the house. 

Guerin checks her phone one last time, but Isobel’s read receipts tell her she hasn’t even seen the message yet. Looks like she’s going to have to go inside and find her. 

She looks down at her jeans and fleece-lined jacket, both threadbare and thrifted, and briefly considers some light carjacking, but in the end, she decides against it—as annoyed as Isobel will be with her for showing up to a party at her sorority dressed like this, it’ll be much worse if she wakes up to find her car missing. 

Sighing deeply, Guerin turns down the red brick path to the porch and makes her way to the front door.

One fist is poised to knock, the other buried deep in the pocket of her jacket, when an unexpected voice comes from her left.

“You lost?” the voice says. 

Guerin’s curls whip through the air as she turns to see Alex Manes, the very talented, very hot musician who sometimes plays at the undergrad cafe Guerin works at on the weekend, sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. How she missed her sitting there is anyone’s guess, but now that she has the opportunity to look at her she isn’t going to waste it.

In the glow of the Christmas lights, she can see Alex is wearing heavy black combat boots and the tightest skinny jeans she’s ever seen with a thick knit maroon cardigan drawn closed across her chest. Her dark eyes are lined in black, as always, and in her lap is a battered moleskin notebook with a pencil caught between its pages.

“Nope,” Guerin answers, smiling as she turns more fully in Alex’s direction and takes a step closer. “I’m looking for Isobel.”

“Really?” Alex asks, head cocked to the side in confusion. “Why?” 

It’s a fair question, Guerin supposes. Isobel doesn’t exactly broadcast that their campus’ resident bisexual stoner is also kind of her sister.

“The buses stopped running apparently so I need to borrow her car,” Guerin explains.

Alex barks a laugh, a bright sound that makes the pit of Guerin’s stomach warm in spite of her. “Good luck with that.”

Guerin smiles good naturedly, but doesn’t head back to the door just yet. As cold as it is, she’d rather see if she can make Alex laugh again.

“I’m Guerin, by the way,” she introduces herself as she sits down in one of the rocking chairs next to her.

“Alex,” she says unnecessarily. “And I know who you are,” she continues, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smile. “You work at Bean Me Up, right?”

“I do,” Guerin says, face brightening. They smile at each other for a moment, neither one really sure where to pick up the thread of conversation before Guerin asks, “So, what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Oh, uh, wine mixers aren’t really my thing,” Alex answers, gesturing over her shoulder to the party inside.

“A sorority girl who doesn’t want to party?” Guerin asks, equal parts amused and confused. “I think you maybe joined the wrong crowd.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Alex sighs.

That brings Guerin up short. Sure, she’d been surprised to hear that Alex was in Isobel’s sorority—her emo aesthetic doesn’t exactly match the sorority girl stereotype that lives in Guerin’s brain—but she figured she at least enjoyed being a part of it.

“Do you really not like it here?” she asks.

Alex shrugs noncommittally. 

Guerin frowns. “Why not leave then?”

Alex is quiet so long Guerin wonders if she’s crossed a line, but eventually she gets an answer.

“My mom’s a legacy and kind of an asshole, so,” she says, as if that explains everything, and then adds, “If joining Greek Life is what it takes for her to keep paying my tuition, I guess this is where I’ll be.”

That is something Guerin can understand. If her scholarship relied on participation in Greek Life, she sure as hell would’ve pledged too. 

“Mm, gotcha,” she says with an understanding nod. “That sucks, though. I mean, we’re in college, right? Isn’t now the time we’re supposed to spend doing whatever we want?”

Alex raises her glass—a pink solo cup that’s been resting on the small table next to her—in agreement.

Silence stretches between them for a long few seconds. She should probably head inside to find Isobel now, but Alex is beautiful and talking to her and she just can’t quite bring herself to walk away.

“So, are you working on a new song?” she asks eventually, looking down at the notebook in Alex’s lap.

“Trying to,” Alex admits, her cheeks flushing just a little. 

“What’s it about?”

Alex bites her lip for a second before she answers.

They talk about the song, and music in general, for so long that Guerin forgets about Isobel entirely. It isn’t until Alex brings her up that she remembers.

“Oh, shit, don’t you need to find Isobel?” Alex asks, breaking off in the middle of her story about the My Chemical Romance concert she went to when she was thirteen.

“It can wait,” Guerin shrugs.

“In that case, you want a drink or something?” she offers, looking over her shoulder and through the window into the house.

Guerin thinks about it before she answers, “Wine mixers aren’t really my thing either, but I wouldn’t say no if you’ve got something stronger.”

Alex gives her a considering look before she says, “Alright then,” getting up from her chair. “Follow me.”

As she heads for the front door, Guerin follows close behind.

She’s a little surprised to be led straight up the stairs to Alex’s bedroom, but she isn’t about to complain about it.

“You can take your jacket off and sit on my bed if you want,” Alex says as she lets her inside. 

Guerin unzips her jacket and lays it over the back of the chair by Alex’s desk before she kicks off her boots and climbs onto her bed. She sits with her back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles as she watches Alex rifle through the top drawer of her nightstand. 

She comes back a minute later holding a clear plastic baggie with a rolled joint and a shitty bic lighter inside. She tosses it on the bed beside Guerin’s thigh.

Guerin has it out of the bag before Alex can get her boots off and climb onto the bed, but she waits until she’s sitting next to her, too close to be an accident, to light it.  

 With one end between Alex’s lips, Guerin lights the other. She watches Alex take a long drag off the joint, watches the smoke curl around her mouth as she exhales. Her lips look so soft and pink and—Jesus fucking Christ, Guerin has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her life.

It must show on her face because after a calculating look Alex takes another drag and holds the smoke in her lungs as she leans in close enough to kiss her. Guerin gets the picture and follows suit, her eyes slipping closed, lips parted and waiting. 

She inhales as Alex gently blows the smoke into her open mouth, their lips touching for a brief and charged moment. She holds it in her lungs for a minute before releasing it into the air between them. When her eyes flutter open, she’s as pleased as she is unsurprised to see Alex staring blatantly at her mouth. 

Without letting her eyes drift, Guerin takes the joint from Alex’s fingers and brings it to her mouth, sucking the smoke into her lungs once more. When she leans in to return the favor, she can’t resist flicking out her tongue to taste her bottom lip.

Alex moans softly against her mouth, the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, and the next thing she knows Alex is climbing in her lap.

Guerin lets out a shuddering breath against her mouth, the warmth of Alex’s thighs around her waist as intoxicating as the smoke burning her lungs and the lust rushing through her veins. It’s by a stroke of luck more than anything else that she doesn’t drop the joint onto Alex’s comforter and set her fucking bed on fire in her haste to get her hands on her hips.

Gentle fingers reach for Guerin’s hand then, taking the joint back from between her fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Guerin asks against her lips as Alex settles her weight on top of her. 

She feels it when Alex smiles against her mouth.

“Whatever I want,” she answers cheekily.

“Fair enough,” Guerin smiles back, and as she leans in to press their lips together for real this time, she can’t help but think that maybe leaving her truck at home wasn’t the worst idea she’s ever had after all.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 41

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor begins to grow impatient.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Fear, mild horror

AO3

You knew you had to stay as healthy and strong as possible, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to eat much after that. Whenever the man returned, he stared at your untouched meals and said nothing. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t matter because Bucky would arrive soon.

But the man realized something was wrong when, according to your own tally marks, the third day had passed. The loud noise of the wooden door banging open woke you from your fitful sleep, and you raised your head to find the man standing before your cell.

You grabbed the blanket around you and pulled back as far as you could. He wasn’t particularly large in height or weight, but the dark way he glared at you made the back of your neck prickle.

“Call him.”

“What?”

“Sergeant Barnes.” His voice was still soft, but it held an unmistakable warning. “Your bond allows you to alert him when you are in danger. Send out your distress to him. Call him.”

You returned his frown, making sure it was meaner than his.

“No.”

He stared at you for such a long moment, you shifted uncomfortably.

“If you don’t, you’ll die. That mark on your shoulder will end your life if you do not fulfill your end of the bargain.”

Your hand cupped your shoulder as if to protect yourself from his words.

“Yeah, I know how it works,” you snapped. “I’m still not going to help you.”

Instead of making him angrier, the man peered at you closer, a glint of curiosity in his eye.

“Your intentions shouldn’t matter; Sergeant Barnes should be drawn to you on an irresistible tether. So… why has he yet to arrive?”

You met his eye unwavering and said, “I don’t know.”

You couldn’t tell if he bought the lie or not. He only continued to appraise you as if you were a mild nuisance.

“Perhaps he needs a little persuasion.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A puff of black smoke poofed into existence, clearing to reveal the Alp standing hunched and timid at his side.

The man stared straight at you as he commanded his demon.

“Feed.”

Your heart leapt up your throat, and you scrambled back against the wall as the Alp stepped forward. It seemed to step into the shadows and slipped between the bars, which should have been impossible, but there it was, in your cell, glowing green eyes so bright they case a light in your dim cell.

“No, no, no, stay back!”

The man ignored your pleas and turned, walking out of the room and closing the wooden door with a resounding thud.

The demon also ignored your warnings and advanced on you, and you threw up your hands, stuttering in your panic as you cried, “Wait, wait! He’s gone, just wait a second! Can we talk first? Please?”

The Alp paused, tilting its head as it gazed down at you. It seemed mouthless and noseless when it had its face closed like this, but it was still absolutely terrifying to look at.

And then you looked closer, noting more details from the short distance. There was a telltale pentagram carved into one of its shoulders, but there was something else. It had looked… different when you’d seen it in your bedroom Halloween night. It had seemed larger, healthier, with more body mass. Now with the way its dark furred skin was pulled taut over what seemed to be bones, it seemed almost… starved.

“Look,” you said, trying to catch your breath. “If this guy gets what he wants, I doubt either of us are going to make it out alive. You understand that, right?”

The demon said nothing, but he didn’t launch his teeth-mouth-face at you either.

“I’ll… I’ll let you feed on me. You look like you could use it.” You winced, but the situation was desperate enough that you were willing to bargain. “Not that you have a choice, right? You try to disobey, it hurts. Right there, on that mark. I know from experience what that’s like.”

It took a step toward you and you lifted your hands as if to hold him back for just one more minute.

“I’m-I’m going to lie down now, okay? You don’t have to-to paralyze me. I promise I won’t move.”

You were terrified, trembling, every nerve in your body screaming to run because there was a big predator only a few inches away, one that was quite literally going to use you as a meal.

It waited, glowing eyes watching, so you hastily laid flat against the stone bench, trying not to shudder in fear. It shouldn’t hurt, if what you remembered was correct, or at least there wouldn’t be lasting harm, but holy shit waiting to be fed on by a giant monster-parasite wasn’t exactly something you could talk yourself through.

As the demon loomed over you, you spoke, voice slightly trembling but clear.

“Go to New York. Find the Sanctum. Tell Doctor Strange where I am. Do you understand? He can help you too; he’ll find a way to free you from this asshole.”

The demon tilted its head as if pondering your words, and then the petals of its mouth opened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. You shut your eyes tight, using every ounce of strain you had not to turn away. Or scream.

A puff of warm, sweet air washed over your face, and you instantly relaxed, muscles going slack and limbs becoming boneless. There were points of pressure around your face, from the teeth was your guess, but they didn’t hurt like you thought they would. The struggle to stay awake was quickly conquered; heavy drowsiness flooded your limbs as you slipped down into the darkness.

“Should have figured you’d get into trouble.”

You opened your eyes, blinking in confusion at the familiar room and the warmth encircling your waist. You turned your head to find Bucky staring back at you, a half-smile brightening his face.

“How did we get here?” You looked back to search your childhood bedroom for an answer but found none.

“Hello to you, too.” He chuckled, turning your face toward him and brushing the hair out of your eyes. “Thought you’d be glad to see me.”

“I am! I’m just… really confused.”

Your bedroom looked exactly the same as when you’d left it weeks ago, but the room was dim, and through the curtains it seemed to be twilight. You turned back to Bucky, your questions arrested as you took in his face. He seemed so real. Was this truly a dream?

“It is,” he said, answering your unasked question. “But that’s all right, isn’t it? It still feels nice. Feels real.”

It did, but… there was something you had to tell Bucky, you were sure of it. Something extremely important, balanced on the tip of your tongue. But you couldn’t remember, and it made you suck in a breath in frustration.

“Hey, now. What’s with the look?” He pulled you closer, planting a kiss on her head as he stroked your back. He was wearing the dark windbreaker and jeans that you loved, one wing draped over you while his tail was wrapped securely around your knee. It was familiar, comforting, and unfortunately, distracting.

“Bucky.” You frowned, trying to search your mind, but it was filled with a thick fog. “Something’s wrong.”

He didn’t say anything but continued to pet you, lulling you into the sense of security and safety you craved so badly. You buried your face into his jacket, gripping him tightly, hoping if you held on tight enough it would chase away the fear.

“Why can’t I feel you?” you asked in a choked whisper. “Something is wrong. I can’t find you, and I’m scared. I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m right here,” he said, soft. “I’m always right here.”

“You’re not.” You shook your head, eyes stinging as you were confident in your words. “Not this time.”

He pulled you back far enough to meet your eye, carefully stroking one cheek with his armored claw.

“I will be. You just have to hold on a little while longer.” His eyes were so blue, so gentle, that it hurt to look at. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You would try. You would do anything he asked, but you were so scared and alone and cold. A kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made you forget what it felt like to be warm.

“I know.” He bent his head closer, the breath that wasn’t really there ghosting across your face. “It won’t last forever. Be brave.”

His lips touched yours, chastely at first, and then he deepened the kiss into an all-consuming fire that burned away the chill.

You tangled your hands in his hair, tried to wrap yourself around him, but suddenly you were holding on to air, the pressure against your lips vanishing and you opened your eyes to darkness.

No, not darkness. The dreary light of a cell. You sat up, gasping as your tired muscles were forced to move. You were uncomfortable, your clothes tacky with cold sweat, and your head pounded in time with your heart.

But you were awake; you knew that for sure this time. Only reality could feel so barren of warmth and hope.

You pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. To keep the despair at bay, you recalled the dream. How loved and safe you felt, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace. It had been so wonderful, a breath of oxygen after suffocating in cold, dark waters.

And there was something else, a tidbit of information you remembered from your initial research into demons. The Alpen usually left nightmares in their wake. This one had left a dream of the one person you wanted to see most.

Burying your face into your legs, you allowed the small kernel of hope to blossom in your chest. If you were interpreting the demon’s actions correctly, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

You might have an ally.

Next Chapter

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock & Mycroft Friendship/Brotherly Bonding - Prompt: Holmes brothers as kids, Myc being a good brother, playing the deduction game. - Words: 1,715

WARNING: MYCROFT IS A BIT NOT GOOD AT THE BEGINNING. THIS IS NOT MYCROFT HATE THO! ALSO, DEVIL CHILDREN WHO DON'T LIKE SHERLOCK MAKE AN APPEARANCE. IT DOES END WELL THOUGH.

That being said, I guess I should add a Trigger Warning for bullying.

I do hope you enjoy the story! Let us know!

"You simply are not trying hard enough, Sherlock! It's quite obvious!" Mycroft yelled. The Holmes brothers were standing in the living room in 221B. Mycroft had decided to pay his brother an in-person visit rather than just turning on the security camera he'd installed. Sherlock had decided to ask Mycroft to play the deduction game with him over a cup of tea. Sherlock was rarely so cordial with Mycroft thus Mycroft was, not that he'd admit it, concerned that something was wrong. He realized he'd miscalculated greatly (again, he'd never admit that) when, only an hour later, a shouting match had ensued.

"Really? Obvious? You're bloody insane, Mycroft! That solution is simply not possible!" Sherlock yelled, dressing gown swishing dramatically as he waved about.

"Look at the facts little brother. We've eliminated the rest. And what do we say about what remains?" Mycroft attempted to bring his voice back down to it's normal, placating, patronizing tones.

"Must be the truth," Sherlock replied, hanging his head low as he finally came to rest on the couch. Mycroft briefly, and rather guiltily, pictured Sherlock as a whipped puppy tucking its tail between its legs. He hadn't intended to hurt his brother so, but the damage was done.

'Nothing worse than past fights,' Mycroft thought. 'He'll recover in a few hours.' He decided not to reconcile at the moment as that could quite easily be taken as caring. 'Sherlock knows I care about him, I just don't want to appear too soft,' Mycroft justified mentally.

"Very good, Sherlock," He said aloud. "I understand you couldn't see it my way today. Perhaps one day you'll be able to think clearly about things." Mycroft turned to walk away. "Perhaps once your brain recovers from your last overdose. Maybe then it will return to acceptable functionality."

'Why did I tack that last jab on?' Mycroft wondered. 'Perhaps I really am becoming too calloused.' He shrugged off the thoughts for the moment as he got in his usual black limousine for the ride home.

Back in 221B, Sherlock sat crying on the sofa for some time. Soft whimpers of "Myc" fell from his lips occasionally. Eventually, he fell asleep, although not a restful one.

"William! Come outside! It's a perfect day to explore!" Sherlock's mind palace had conjured up the memory he was trying so hard to forget. He saw everything so clearly though. Mycroft, still as proper as ever, yet this Mycroft was more free, more innocent. About 14 years old and just under 5' 7", Mycroft had already adopted most of the personality that would stick with him for the rest of his life. Sherlock was seeing his memory as though it was a movie he could walk through. He didn't see it from his 7 year old point of view. Rather, he watched on the sidelines. He looked around and found himself in the backyard of their childhood home. Mycroft was examining a particularly bright patch of flowers by the corner of the house. Some of them had been crushed, others torn up.

'The old tabby cat,' Sherlock remembered fondly. 'Mrs. O'Malley did always let that cat wander too much.'

"I'm coming, Mycie!" Sherlock heard behind him. Turning about he saw himself, right at 4' tall, running out of the house to join his brother.

"Tell me, William," Mycroft said. "How do you think these flowers were destroyed?"

"The old tabby cat, Mycie! That's easy! Find me something harder!" His 7 year old self exclaimed. Mycroft smiled approvingly and patted little Sherlock's shoulder.

'I can't seem to recall why he ever stopped calling me William,' Sherlock thought. Shaking his head in his dream, he chuckled silently. He knew he would remember, but his mind was attempting to fool him.

"Timothy Lexington," Mycroft called out, tossing a frisbee to young Sherlock. He caught it absently, brows drawn together in thought.

"Blond and blue, 19, 5' 9", science class, held back a year," Sherlock replied, throwing the disk back with a smug grin.

'The original deduction game!' Sherlock thought with an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. Sitting on the grass, he settled in to watch.

Mycroft had gotten into the habit of having Sherlock deduce his classmates to the nth degree.

"Why was he held back?" Mycroft quizzed, returning the frisbee.

"Cheating," Sherlock replied, about to throw it back. "Wait," he paused. "Cheating and skipping class." With every throw, Mycroft would ask a question or name a person, and with every catch, Sherlock would answer.

"Samantha Hanshaw."

"Red and green, 17, 5' 5", fairly intelligent. Moved ahead 2 levels over the summer." Mycroft was just about to catch the returning disc when Sherlock added, "And she has a crush on you. She likes your intellect." Mycroft completely froze. The frisbee hit him squarely on the forehead, snapping him out of his trance. "Mycroft! Are you ok?" Sherlock yelled, all deductions forgotten.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Mycroft assured him. "Let's go up front." The two Holmes children ran around to the front yard and Sherlock hurried to catch up. As he was about the round the corner, he noticed a group of boys, about his younger self's age, bicycling down the road.

'Oh,' Sherlock remembered. 'This was it.'

"William! Want to come and play with us?" One boy yelled, coming to a stop in front of the house.

"Can I, Myc? Please?" The younger Holmes asked. Sherlock could see the love and care in Mycroft's eyes. But also the sadness.

"They're no good for you, Will," He whispered, kneeling down to his brother's level. The younger's face dropped, tears welling up in his eyes. Mycroft hesitated briefly, hoping with all his heart he was making the right decision and that his initial readings of those boys were false, and added, "But if you want so badly, I suppose an hour or so wouldn't hurt." Sherlock lit up and hugged his brother around the neck.

"Thanks, Mycie! I'll be good! I'll be back in 1 hour!" Sherlock then ran across their large front yard to the road to meet up with the other boys. Mycroft began to walk into the house when he heard yelling.

"Where's your bodyguard now, William? Think you can just use your brain to get out of this, William?" Mycroft's heart sank. Those scumbags were holding Sherlock down on the pavement, kicking him. "Freak! Weirdo!"

"Leave him alone!" Mycroft bellowed. Sherlock had been struggling, trying to get away from them, but there had simply been too many. The bullies quickly scattered, grabbing their bikes and running off. Mycroft pulled Sherlock onto the grass immediately.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whimpered.

"No, no, William. You don't have to be-"

"Don't call me that!" He yelled. "Never again! If I'm to be a freak, I'll be named as such. Never call me by that name again. Call me Sherlock from now on." Sherlock's face had turned adamant, a preview of his future personality.

"But-"

"Please?" Sherlock begged, face softening once again. Mycroft silently nodded and pulled Sherlock in for a hug.

"Come on inside. Let's get you washed up and have some cake together, hm? Sounds good, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, the name feeling strange on his tongue. He certainly did not think the name sounded freakish, nor was his brother a freak, but he would, at least for now, make his brother happy.

"Yes, please."

"And Sherlock?" Mycroft continued, pausing his steps. "I'll always love you and I'll always take care of you. I will never hurt you. Never forget that."

Sherlock woke up with a start, gasping and still sobbing a little. His face was sticky with half-dry tears.

"I will never hurt you." Those words echoed in Sherlock's mind. It seemed that these days all Mycroft had done was hurt Sherlock.

'Not that it was really his fault,' Sherlock thought. 'I'm really the cause of it all. Maybe if I could find a triple homicide I could finally make him proud.' Sherlock shook his head. He'd already solved those types of cases. He really didn't know what to do to make his brother happy. Turning over on the sofa, he looked to the abandoned mugs on the coffee table. No doubt, the contents were far past cold so Sherlock got up and took them to the sink. Hearing the door lock click, he readied himself for an intruder since no one else he knew should be coming in at this time of day.

"Sherlock?" He heard a voice call out.

'Mycroft?' Sherlock wondered. 'Why is he here?' Slowly, Sherlock walked out of the kitchen.

"What do you want?" He spat, unintentionally angry.

"I wanted to apologise. I'm sorry," Mycroft said, absolute sincerity showing on his face. Sherlock was surprised beyond words. Mycroft quickly took in his brother's appearance and realized he was responsible for it. Mycroft sighed lightly before continuing, "Lately all we've done is fight. That's not right for brothers. Even arch-nemesis brothers," He said with a smirk. Even Sherlock chuckled at that. Turning serious once again, Mycroft continued, "Please believe me when I say I'm sorry. I-" He paused for a moment, deciding he may not have another chance like this for a while. "I'll always love you, little brother, and I'll always take care of you. I will never intentionally hurt you. Never forget that. I may be harsh sometimes and say things I don't mean when I'm especially frustrated but I'll try to say 'I'm sorry' a bit more."

"I love you too, Mycie," Sherlock replied, hugging his brother tightly. Mycroft smiled fondly at the man who, at the moment, was burying his face in Mycroft's suit jacket. Mycroft hugged Sherlock back.

"I'll always care, William," His brother's name finally felt right again after all these years. "You're never a disadvantage."

"Neither are you, Myc," Sherlock replied with a smile. "But you know you're not allowed to call me that around anyone else. Not even Mummy and Daddy." Mycroft nodded. "Good. Now why don't we stop this emotional madness and finish what we started," Sherlock commanded. To the average person, it would seem Sherlock had gone back to normal. But Mycroft saw the glint in his eyes. "Chocolate cake with whipped icing?" Sherlock offered.

"Of course," Mycroft smiled, taking the plate and sitting again in the living room. "Cluedo?"

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