#I am aware of it but it's hard to turn those thoughts processes off

[tleeaves]

The art is lovely and now I'm gonna ramble because that's what I do when I care about something.

For the love of women, please PLEASE can fan artists remember to add muscle to their Shadowhunter ladies? I'll commend Bowater for cleverly giving James that sculpted and lean look without making him a beefcake (nothing against beefcakes, I'd love to hug them), but Cordelia is once again suffering from Arms And Shoulders Too Slender It's Hard To Even Imagine Her Picking Up A Sword. There is some there, yes, but artists shouldn't be afraid of giving particularly Female Main Characters weight and toned muscle. Cordelia is supposed to be nearly the same height as James as far as I can remember, and she's curvy, and full, and she wields a sword like it's second nature to her. Please explain why she looks so tiny in James' lap.

Also I'm pretty sure marriage runes are supposed to go over the heart whenever possible (thinking about Will's parabatai rune being over his heart instead -- he didn't get Tessa to draw over the scar, did he??) and... either I'm looking at the picture wrong or James' rune is not over where his heart should be.

For the matter, where are their other runes and scars?? James' Voyance rune isn't even on his hand. And I'm pretty sure he's right handed. I could have that wrong though.

Another thing: no one can ever decide what Cordelia's hair looks like and it's the funniest thing to me. This is what happens when all you do is vaguely say the colour is like fire but also like rose petals but also a flowing river of those things but also is Red (probably for redhead, but then from there I never understand where the rose petal analogy comes from considering the typical rose is a deep bloody colour -- I do acknowledge the existence of those light orange varieties though which might more closely resemble red hair). In the end, I'm glad readers can infer what they want and imagine the characters how they like.

Anyone else think James looks like he's built like a tennis player? Oddly specific, maybe, but it was a thought I had. Mostly the arms and somewhat narrow body.

James' hair is nice, his eyes are an interesting take on gold in the shadows. Bowater managed to also make him look closely related to his father, so bravo for that.

In the end, the focus is obviously on the marriage runes and not other physical aspects outside of it being clear that this is James and Cordelia. Bowater's style is very beautiful and elegant. Love the way fabric and lighting is done too. I'll add also that it is possible to be a smaller person who is slender but still strong so I mean Cordelia's not necessarily done wrong, I just interpret her appearance differently. Obviously, they're both hot and they're both attractive and I have my qualms with the series, chronicles, and author -- the fandom I am so-so on, though I'm still here, aren't I? And I'm taking the time to ramble about my thoughts on a piece of fanart -- but this is good. Gorgeous, even. Both James and Cordelia are beautiful.

[daisymbin]

hi! could you do fluff prompt #37 with hoshi but its yn who brings hoshi flowers AAAAAAAAAA maybe because yn knows how hard this cb has been for hoshi so they surprise him with flowers after practice ><

WHY IS THIS CUTE!!!!! thank you for requesting lovely 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // soonyoung's m.list

fluff prompt #37: "you brought me flowers? just because?"

soonyoung was getting frustrated. he had been trying to nail down the choreography for the last hour, but it wasn’t clicking. his movements were stiff, and the steps felt off. it wasn’t even about the difficulty of the routine—he was just getting too worked up over the smallest things. his temper was hot, his mind too cluttered to focus.

mingyu and seungkwan were there too, leaning against the wall and watching him with amused looks. neither of them said anything, knowing well that interrupting soonyoung when he was in this mood was a terrible idea.

just as soonyoung was about to shout in frustration, the door to the practice room opened. he watches as you stepped in, carrying a small bouquet of bright flowers, and the atmosphere immediately shifted.

soonyoung stopped mid-movement, his eyes snapping to the flowers in your hands. his irritation faded for a split second, replaced by a flash of confusion. who’s giving her flowers? he thought, his chest tightening. is it her crush?

he stared at you for a moment, his gaze slightly narrowing. “who gave those to you?” he asked, his tone a little more annoyed than usual, though he tried to mask it.

you blinked, taken aback by the question. “uh... no one,” you said softly, holding the bouquet out toward him. “i got them for you.”

for a moment, soonyoung didn’t know how to process that. “for me?” his voice was barely above a whisper as he looked at the flowers, then back to you. “why?”

his ears began to burn a little, the tips turning a shade of red that was impossible to hide. he wasn’t used to this, to being the center of your attention like this. he could feel his heart racing slightly as he tried to make sense of it. why would you get me flowers?

“just because,” you replied with a shrug, offering him a soft smile.

soonyoung stared at the flowers again, the blush creeping further across his cheeks. “you... got me flowers? just because?” his voice dropped, quieter now, a little more vulnerable. he could feel his own heart hammering in his chest.

before you could respond, mingyu, ever the troublemaker, jumped in with a grin plastered on his face. “you got soonyoung hyung flowers? what about me? what about us? we want flowers too!"

"they're just flowers, friends can give each other flowers! calm down." you answered, trying to calm your hammering heart.

seungkwan chimed in, barely able to contain his laughter. “just flowers? just because? this is a whole new level of romance,”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his ears turned even redder as he shot both of them a glare. “shut up,” he mumbled, his words barely audible. he was trying to keep his composure, but it was hard with mingyu and seungkwan giving him no mercy.

you, on the other hand, felt your stomach twist with nerves. you had no idea what was going on, but it sounded like they were making fun of you. was it that obvious? you thought, trying not to fidget with your hands. maybe bringing him flowers wasn’t such a good idea after all.

soonyoung, still flustered and now very much aware of how loud mingyu and seungkwan were being, took a deep breath and finally looked back at you. “thanks... really. i, uh... i appreciate it.”

you gave him a small smile, but you could feel the tension between you two. “no problem,” you said, shifting awkwardly. “well, i’ve got some errands to run. i should go.”

as you turned to leave, soonyoung’s eyes followed you, his mind racing. what am i doing? he thought. just tell her you like her already, you idiot.

mingyu and seungkwan shared a knowing look, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, they wasted no time.

“you’re such an idiot,” mingyu said, his voice dripping with teasing. “how much more obvious can it be? flowers? just because? come on.”

seungkwan snorted. “seriously, how can you not see it? she brought you flowers, you’ve gotta make a move, or she’s gonna think you’re either completely stupid & clueless or you just don't have feelings for her.”

soonyoung’s face was burning now, his fists clenching at his sides. “i know, okay? it’s not that simple.”

mingyu rolled his eyes. “it’s not that complicated, you just need to get your act together. you’re lucky she even likes you.”

soonyoung didn’t say anything more. he was too embarrassed to admit just how nervous he was about the whole thing. he didnt want to admit that something as simple as flowers got to him, but something in him clicked, and without another word, he turned and rushed for the door.

he dashed down the stairs, his mind made up in an instant.

you were just outside the building, walking down the street with your head slightly lowered. soonyoung caught sight of you and nearly tripped in his haste to catch up. “hey!” he called out, his voice breathless. “wait up!”

you stopped and turned to face him, eyes wide. “soonyoung? did i leave something behind?”

he ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. "no, uh," he took a deep breath, then blurted out the question he had been dying to ask. “do you have time tonight? for dinner? and maybe a movie?” his eyes shifted to yours, trying to read your expression.

you blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of his words. “dinner and movie? like... outside?"

he nodded quickly, his nervousness creeping back in. “yeah, like... outside.”

your eyes flicked between him and the ground, trying to process what was happening. “like... a date?”

soonyoung’s heart skipped a beat, and he nodded again, more confident now as a smile creeps onto his face, “yeah. like, a date.”

[melithril]

[Adar] - Safe With Me

♫ - Sanctuary - Welshly Arms

TW: abuse (non-intentional choking), mention of trauma and nightmares (Adar) . If this triggers you, skip this one and take care of yourselves!

A/N: A request from AO3, please enjoy! <3

Sleep was a blessing. It was not often that Adar managed to get a good nights sleep wherein he could rest at a decent time and sleep all the way through until dawn. Sometimes, it was stress that kept him awake, other times it could be slight bouts of insomnia. On the rarer occasion, it was his nightmares.

Adar didn't have them often, he had learned to push those bad thoughts of his past away. He was not always successful, and sometimes they crept in. He had quickly learned to deal with them, but the more violent ones were hard on his own. He would wake, sweating and panting, feeling lost and empty and unable to sleep the rest of the night. 

However, once he had met you, Adar found his nightmares became few and far between, that you had become a safe beacon for him in those times of need. Each time he woke with fear, you shushed him back to sleep, and he let himself rest knowing you were there.

Only one time had it been significantly worse than the rest.

You had awoken with the movement of Adar beside you, who was tossing and turning, tiny little groans coming from his throat as he did so. Sweat laced his forehead, and hie had a tight grip on the cover where his knuckles turned almost white. Adar's soft features were curled into a grimace, and he looked very pained at what was happening in his mind. 

Concern had washed over you although you had been here many times before. You were not annoyed at being woken up, far from it, you knew it was a time in which Adar would need you the most and somewhere you had sworn to him you would always be.

"Adar?" you whispered, leaning down and laying your hand onto his shoulder, shaking him very gently. "Hey, come on, wake up."

Adar was notoriously hard to pull from his dreams, especially bad ones. That's why you handled him with care, squeezing his shoulder and laying your free hand on his face, the pad of your thumb rubbing his cheek. He tended to take comfort in your touch on his skin.

"Adar, my darling.." Your voice was louder this time and he had jumped bolt upright in bed. A little startled, you had jumped back, not too far as you kept yourself in his reach.

It must have been a terrible one, as Adar's eyes were glazed over as though he wasn't even there. In a fraction of a second, Adar's hand shot up and found home around your throat, though there was little to no pressure. Inside, you panicked, but on the outside, you knew you had to remain calm. Whatever his dream was must have gotten to him badly, as he would never have laid a hand on you any other time. 

Not knowing what else to do, you did the one thing you thought may ground him again. So, you used your voice and talked to him.

"Adar.." your voice meekly trailed off, and Adar's hand had not moved a muscle. 

Those eyes you had grown so accustom to staring at you with love were a haze, and he narrowed them as he looked at you in what was left of the moonlight. Merely moments had gone by, but it felt like a lifetime. Worry evident in your tone, you carried on in hopes you could get through to the uruk.

"My star, I know you are there. It's me, my love. Please come back to me."

Your voice broke at the last words, and Adar began to blink rapidly. Perhaps less than thirty seconds had gone by in the whole exchange, and his hand dropped as a look of shock found its way onto his face.

"Oh, starlight," Adar spoke, barely above a whisper. "I - I am sorry."

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a hand on his temple. You sat before him, letting him process what had happened before making any move. Opening his eyes once more, the look of sorrow on his face broke your heart. 

"I did not mean that, please forgive me. I was not aware of who you were... for a second, I thought.. I thought you were.."

"Shh, Adar. You need not relive it. If you wish to talk about your dream I am here, but do not worry, there is nothing to forgive for your actions. You acted out of turn, you did not know."

A sob left your lover, a very rare occurrence to hear out loud. If he did cry, it was mostly silent. You knew he was in a bad way right now. Leaning forward, you crawled to his side and took his hand in your own. Adar could not bear to look at you, feeling horrible for how he had treated you.

"My light," he began, eyes pointing down to his lap. "I promised to never lay a finger on you, and I am ashamed that I would allow myself to do that. If you no longer feel safe with me, I would understand."

Your eyes widened,saddened by the implication you would want to go anywhere else. "Do you think one small instance in which you have a natural trauma response would make me leave you?"

Your question was rhetorical, he knew he didn't have to answer. You tilted Adar's chin so his eyes looked into yours, and you wiped his tears as you always had done. 

"Now, you listen to me, Adar," you began, cupping his face to keep his attention on you. "I know these nights will happen, they have before and I know your past is what causes them. Your dreams are of that, and that is not something easy to deal with for you. It would not be for anyone. But, your trauma is not something worth leaving you for, do you understand? I am here to help you. I know there was no malice in your action, and therefore nothing to be ashamed of. I am still here, I will hold you and kiss you until every bad thought is gone tonight. You are not alone, and you never will be."

Adar could see the sincerity in your face. The fear in him that you would leave after he had placed his hands on you in such a manner had dissipated, but still the remainder of his nightmare lingered. Your arms reached around him, pulling him into your side. One hand ran through his soft locks, your other hand entwined with his own. 

Silence fell on the room as you sat together, Adar in your arms as you held him close. Your lips pressed kisses to the side of his head as he lay it on your shoulder, keeping himself nuzzled into your side as best he could. The sun had started to rise, and its rays crept in through the crack of the curtain. Still, you paid it no mind. In a way, it felt fitting. The darkest was done, and the calm after the storm washed over you both as you enjoyed each others company. 

Adar stirred from his place, propping himself up on his arm as he leaned facing you.His hand came to your face to brush through your hair, and you had not flinched. You knew he was harmless, and you knew that he would never hurt you with intention. With Adar, there was nothing to fear.

"Thank you for staying with me." Adar spoke softly now, and you smiled down at the handsome uruk. In the pale glow of the sunrise, his features lit up in a beautiful way. You took a second just to admire him before responding.

"There is nowhere I would rather be, my beloved. I have never felt safer with anybody, you have kept me protected enough times for me to know I will come to no harm with you. Your burden is mine to bear, too. I will be here for you, always."

He leaned up to kiss you, lips touching yours softly. You returned it, just as gentle. As he pulled back, Adar spoke against your lips. It sounded more like a promise to himself, but you took his words in as the last thing you heard before the two of you drifted off into an early morning slumber.

"You are safe with me, my darling. I promise. This is our sanctuary, and I will always keep you protected."

Thank you for reading! <3

[ky-yk]

2:28 am (hyj x f!reader)

genre: fluff || word count: 968 author's note: back from the dead with smth self indulgent and way farther from what i envisioned

in. out. deep breaths, y/n.

lying in a pool of your own sweat, you heaved while staring up at the ceiling. not even a blasting a/c could stop me from shedding my weight in sweat, huh. you learn something new every day, you thought to yourself.

you turned my head with what energy you had left and squinted your eyes to look at the time: 02:28 am, it read. you closed your eyes and sighed, turning to look back up at the ceiling.

"literally, why do i do this to myself. i had a whole day to work out and yet here i am," you muttered to know one in particular. maybe it was a way to distract from the baby hairs sticking onto your forehead and the ends of my locks feeling like you'd taken a shower that you'd suddenly become hyper-aware of.

"i wonder the exact same thing."

a husky voice broke you out of your reverie. you propped yourself up on your arms as you looked over to the door that you're surprised you didn't hear open and met the striking brown eyes of a certain songstress. your eyes grew wide as you tried to sputter out an answer.

"o-oh, hey yunjin!" such a charmer, y/n. nice going.

you then got up and ran over to the couch where your towel lay and tried to at least make myself look presentable. "what're you doing here? it's so late," you asked in english.

"i could ask you the same thing, y/n," she chuckled with a shake of her head. she turned her attention to the lone yoga mat near the end of the room.

"i-i'll clean that up, don't worry!" you sputtered out. you then scuffled over to the yoga mat and started rolling it up. "anyways, what're you doing here again?"

"leader's orders. she's been trying to contact you all night," she replied nonchalantly. you cringed at the thought of worrying your chaewon-unnie. yikes...

"um, tell her i'll be home soon," you replied.

the quiet hum of the air conditioners was the only thing filling the awkward silence between you and your same-aged friend. who you also happened to be crushing on. hard. i mean, it was hard not to. she was quite literally everyone's dream girl. insanely talented, creative, witty, and not to mention, absolutely gorgeous. when she came home from the salon after dyeing her hair black for unforgiven promotions, your soul quite literally left your body.

aside from those, though, she felt like home. the whole debut process -- from getting scouted at a school talent show to moving to korea barely speaking the language -- would've been even more hellish had she not been around. your first training session with the girls was nothing short of grueling, made even more so by your evident insecurity and shyness. you sat on the couch with the girls as they chattered away nonstop among each other, their conversations going in one ear and out the other as you stared off into the distance and just let everything sink in.

"hey, you good?" she asked you in english, and the familiarity in a strange land lifted a whole weight off your shoulders.

only for it to make it so easy for you to fall into the trenches that is huh yunjin.

"i'll wash up real quick and then head home," you told her after cleaning up after yourself. she hummed noncommittally as you picked up your belongings and made your way to the hybe showers. when you came back, she was sitting patiently with her legs crossed and her phone in her hands, looking at it intently. you finally got a good look at her: how her glasses hung on for dear life at the end of her nose, how her hoodie engulfed her and made her look oh so cuddly, and how she let her hair down and had it frame her face perfectly.

goddamn, get up, y/n.

"let's get going?"

"come here, first."

she put her phone down and opened her arms up for you to come into. you confusedly put your bag down and walked over to her, only for her to turn you around and pull you into her lap. your eyes widened as you felt your heart beat against your chest. you looked down at her arms tightening around your waist, hoping your hair would cover your reddening face. that was probably fruitless though because you were certain she could feel the heat radiating off of you with her chin resting on your shoulder.

"um...care to explain?"

"i'm just feeling affectionate," she mumbled.

"ah." she probably would've clung onto kkura-unnie if she was here. i just happened to be the only person around. get up, y/n.

"besides, i haven't seen you often. you're always disappearing after our schedules; my english is getting rusty, you know?" you could hear the pout in her voice. you turned to look at her and completely underestimated the distance when she turned to look at you too, noses barely touching.

"so when chaewon-unnie was going to ask zuha to look for you, i stepped up. i missed you."

"we see each other every day though."

"but we never get to hang out."

"valid, i guess."

you broke her gaze and turned to look at yourselves in the mirror. yunjin plucked her phone up and turned her camera on.

"look, y/n."

your idol instincts turned on and posed for the camera in front of the mirror: hand on your cheek, face scrunched up in a smile as yunjin shot away until...

you felt her nosing away at your neck and leaving a little peck on the spot. there was no way she couldn't feel your heart drumming against your chest.

"cute. let's get going?"

"yeah, sure..."

[razorblade180]

Clashing Feelings

With another day of training ready to wear out March’s muscles, the girl gladly took her time walking into the court yard. It was strength day with Yunli and that meant figurative and literal heavy lifting. To prolong meeting her master in Aurum Alley, she had told Yunli she had conventionally forgotten her blades; allowing her to walk back.

As March walked to the bench where they rested, her eyes honed in on Yanqing lying flat in the grass. An instinct took over and she ran over to find him completely conscious.

March:Master Ya- oh… you’re awake. Good! That’s good.

Yanqing:Forgot your swords?

March:You could say that. Master Yunli gave me an ear full. Uhh, why are you on the ground?

Yanqing:I’m organizing my very, very jumbled thoughts.

March:So you won’t be observing today with-

Yanqing:Pass

March:…Master Yunli really bothers you, doesn’t she?

Yanqing:She’s just so…annoying! Her remarks never let up! And don’t get me started on her attitude! I know I shouldn’t pay her any mind and yet…agh! *sits up* I’m not stupid! I’m well aware of my flaws in swordplay and I don’t need her pointing them out all the time. I mean would it kill her comment on my effort at least once!?

March:You want her to compliment you?

Yanqing:*red*That’s…not what I said! Not like her opinions should matter to begin with. I know I’m trying and so does the General; and yet…tsk! Why do I know her acknowledgement matters to me!? I-

March:Is this your first time having a crush?

The silence was loud. The boy pouted and sulked as he turned his head away.

Yanqing:That doesn’t properly describe the situation. Do you really think being around a girl my age would throw me out of sorts. Cut me some slack! I’m aware Yunli is a capable sword master. Frankly, she’s incredibly skilled. It’s hard not to admire that.

March:Yanqing, that’s still a crush.

Yanqing:Fine! *throws hands up* I have a crush on Yunli! Are you happy now!?

March:Haha, aww. Chin up okay? It’s perfectly normal for someone your age. Even adults get crushes; I’ve had my fair share. Unlike you though, I get along with them.

Yanqing:How so?

March:Well…*blushing* Let’s just say there’s a lot of truth opportunities to get to know each other on a deep level.

Yanqing:So what would you do in my situation.

March:Umm hehe, let’s not tackle it from that angle. If it’s advice you want then I think it’s better to let yourself feel everything you’re feeling. It’s confusing but important.

Yanqing:Are you saying I should say something to her?

March:Oh Aeons no! Somehow I feel like that would turn into another sword match.

Yanqing:That’s…an accurate assessment. *lays back down*

March:All I mean is don’t try do or act in ways that reject those feelings. No running from her or saying things you don’t actually mean. Believe me, it’s embarrassing. As for acknowledgement, I can’t say if this is her thought process, but whenever Dan Heng or Mr. Yang are strict with me I know it’s because they believe I can do better. You’re the young prodigy and lieutenant of General Jing Yuan. There’s no way she doesn’t think you’re not talented. Believe in yourself more instead of the flaws.

Yanqing:..I can try. Thanks, seriously.

March:See? Talking and feeling the emotions is so much better!

Yanqing:This conversation remains private.

March:Who do you take me for!? Not only am I good student, but a quality friend and trustworthy girl. It’s not cute to spill secrets.

Yanqing:Heh, I’ll take your word for it. But as for a good student…maybe say that when you aren’t late for a session.

March:gasp You’re right! I gotta go! Bye master!

She grabbed her blades and ran off. Hopefully Yunli wouldn’t be too mad. March expected the courtyard and immediately stopped did in her tracks when her head looked left. Right outside the entrance, Yunli leaned against the stone archway. Her arms were crossed and her face a mixture of pensive and pouty. She locked eyes silently before standing up properly and walking back to the alley. March quietly followed clos behind.

March:Sooooooo, what brings you back over here?

Yunli:Oh I don’t know. Perhaps it was student taking exceptionally long for unknown reasons? Next time, don’t drag your feet longer than someone’s patience.

March:H-How long were you waiting there?

Yunli:Long enough.

March:(I’m so sorry Yanqing!!!) Then-

Yunli:If you’re asking for my thoughts then don’t bother. Nothing much to say. Only a moron would gain such a mess of thoughts in the short time of a few weeks.

March:Hey. Don’t you think that’s a bit too mean to-

March stopped herself short. It wasn’t instant, but her master’s ears gradually began to become a dark red that was hard not to notice. She couldn’t help but smile.

March:Ah~ fair enough. I guess it’s a little moronic, but nonetheless sweet. Hehehe.

Yunli:I’m doubling your weight today.

March:Yes ma’am! Let’s both do our best!

Yunli:Hush!

[emmitaaa4]

Getting exponentially tired of the “elriels want 👹” posts in the elain tags where they proceed to either A) outright invent stuff B) act holier than thou about how they care so much for Elain because they C) misconstrue the little they hear from our side in bad faith, or D) just completely miss the point they’re addressing.

it’s one thing to be bitter about a ship, but geez theyre getting mad at generalizations they made up about what we think. it has to be tiring. non?

small rant beneath, just to vent. yes i know i can (& should) block certain tags, but reading frustrating content is a hobby of sorts.

Im genuinely convinced all these “ewriel”-myths they keep talking about are a result of a bad game of telephone—they hear a random thing a gwynriel says, go “they’re all stupid/delusional/immature (insult of choice) so i don’t doubt what you’re saying”, then repeat it to others.

It’s obvious by the way they wholeheartedly believe that Elain is our puritanical-warrior-self-insert we use to vicariously F Azriel (😃✋). Doesn’t help that they usually don’t look as deeply into Elain as we do & tend to get stuck on obviously superficial statements about her: they cannot seem to fathom an Elain that isn’t just a once-bright socialite wilting away sans her sun-mate. So any hint of darkness/savviness we see in her is just us moulding her into Y/N. sigh

anyways.

I can say i’ve read their posts on here, a ton prior to being involved and some now. I’ve seen their tiktoks & video essays, their powerpoints & reddit posts. i’ve seen their comments all over insta/tiktok (kinda hard to miss, they jump on elriel content with their “um shadows and um pliable bones and mates!!” comments). I am WELL aware of what the general consensus is on that side—which is why I am generally unbothered by GA, don’t mind EL, and am just peacefully sailing aboard my ship waiting for it to reach destination.

And because I care about Elain’s journey, I try to see the story the way they do when i encounter certain elucien arguments. For if i am to even just privately engage in the sHip wArs, i know to remain ✨critical✨ and ✨open minded✨.

… there’s no point turning discussions into angry posts against imaginary adversaries.

EVERY elriel i’ve talked to would read an elucien book because it is Elain’s story we are most anticipating. It’s just very telling to me that very few would do the same; that there’s not a whiff of willingness from most of them to listen to the other side.

The funny thing is that all those anti eWrieL posts** i’ve read tend to address twisted versions of “the elriel narrative.” They take things out of context, or say we have the same 3 arguments—which is genuinely insane bc if you know our ship so well, how can you be off by like 2 orders of magnitude ??? (exaggerating if it wasn’t clear, we can’t know these days).

** Their pro GA content reads very anti-Az, used to be very anti-elain, and has a narrow scope ngl. While the bonus matters, it seems like that is ALL they’ve read. They don’t think much about Elain’s journey or powers or decisions, which is just logically not the best way to analyze the series given she IS what’s to come.

✨Just some common myths they believe✨:

they repeatedly claim that elriels want poor elain to be a kickass warrior torturer to fit Az because they A) don’t actually read our stuff B) enjoy thinking we hate elain, and C) can’t fanthom that spying isn’t 007 ninja activities.

apparently we ship elriel because we think they have this big great romance OFF PAGE 😭. how in the hell— i’ll make a post on this one istg it’s lowkey funny. quick, were nessian strangers and unfeeling towards each other at the start of SF ???? damnit i must’ve missed that.

En tout cas. End of rant the rest stays in the drafts lmao.

but istg one day i’ll cave in and unleash the essays of rebuttals and psychoanalyses of their arguments / thought processes just for shit and giggles.

[a-couple-of-notes]

OKAY what a finale, folks! Deliberately not reading everyone else's thoughts until later (although I did chat briefly with @kshaar -- thank you for enduring my walls of Discord text), but I'm beginning my processing by writing this out.

I have a few issues with how all of this played out, as I'm sure many of you do, but I mostly really liked this finale. I'm so, so aware that it's hard to stick a landing--especially in a fandom as theory-heavy as Marvel, with the dedication of the queer fanbase on top of it. I think it's commendable how much they executed well, and how deliberately they aligned it with their vision of the show, not the one that would make everyone happy (if there is such a thing).

To the stuff I liked: unpopular opinion, but I like the order of the episodes as it is--final big boss fight first, quiet intimate flashback as the finale. Or, at least, I see the vision--I'm still iffy on whether the pacing actually feels good, but that probably needs another rewatch. This show has always been about unpacking Agatha, peeling off her masks until we get to some kind of truth, ugly or beautiful or both. Of course the ending is the truest thing we've ever gotten out of Agatha--the real story of her son and his death.

I loved everything about Nicky, Rio, and Agatha in the flashback. It is so beautifully mundane. A mother's love. A natural death. Selfishness. Grief. Anger. It's gorgeous, and the version of the ballad we got felt so, so fitting.

Everything about Jen! That unbinding spell...whoo. Sasheer Zamata knocked it out of the goddamn park with her performance--the joy, the sorrow, the agony of relief. Man. Even if the rest of the finale flopped on its belly (which it didn't), that alone would have been worth the price of admission. (Also ALSO: Agatha hate-flirting with Jen over confession of horrible traumatic action that fucked up Jen's whole shit! The Jen/Agatha truthers win!)

Alice. Alice my beloved. Ali Ahn, you do so much with the little screen time you have and I applaud you for it. I'm very grateful their cap on her arc was "I could make my life mean something/you're a protection witch. You died protecting someone" and not "you get to see your mother again" because, as I pointed out in the tags of one of my previous posts, that's the real tragedy of Alice. Her life, her freedom, her potential.

To the things I'm mixed on: that final battle, man. I think they did an admirable job of focusing what could have been a generic Marvel magic-blast-y slugfest into distinct character beats, but there was a lot going on in that fight. And compared to previous Rio and Agatha interactions, their big climactic one felt a little...weightless. Those factors make it much less clear why Agatha and Rio are fighting--like, on an emotional level; I understand intellectually why--which means that what also feels unclear is...

...The not-a-sacrifice. I like 90% of this. I like that Billy is finally able to communicate with Agatha via mind powers, because he's started to accept how alike they are. I like that Nicky is once again Agatha's turning point. I even can get behind the sacrifice as the creators' intention--not what I would have preferred, but a solid narrative choice nonetheless. Still, I am super unclear what, exactly, Agatha is thinking when she turns around. Is she just remembering Nicky himself--how much Billy is like him and how ashamed she would be if she left? If so, it feels odd that Agatha's version of sacrifice is kissing Rio so honestly. Later, we learn that Agatha was taking a risk to become a ghost. So when Billy asks how Nicky died, is Agatha remembering how Rio gave him time--the kiss as a fucked-up version of recognition, the risk being Agatha relying on Death's special treatment once again? That would be a better end to Agatha and Rio's arc, but there's no expository line, no echoing "I can only offer time." And Agatha and Rio. DON'T. TALK. IN PRESENT-DAY EPISODE 9.

This is my main gripe. I am aware I am griping with Megalopolis and FFC, not the show or its creators. But goddamn if more Aubrey Plaza would have fixed almost everything in that finale--and I mean this in a narrative sense, not just because I love Aubrey Plaza. It would have clarified where Agatha is ending re: her relationship with Rio (and Nicky), and it would have bookended the first episode so well (the three-player drama returns!) I am actually irritated about this.

Ghost Agatha looks so goofy. Like, I understand the vision here--the parallels to her mother, and of course Agatha would find a way to piss off Rio in her own domain. It's iconic. Still. There's something about Ghost!Agatha that's so much harder to buy into on a gut level, a kind of emotional distance created in such an emotional, tactile show.

Billy. Oh, Billy. I like your arc. I like its execution, while heaving a grudging sigh of "yeah, that makes sense for this story but I'm still kind of disappointed" re: the creation of the Witches' Road. I love the idea that Billy's ultimate arc was to accept the darkness in himself, and all the things he's capable of. But I really, really wish Agatha had had one more conversation with...not you. (Agatha naturally falls into a mentor-type role for Billy, which isn't necessarily bad or not part of her arc, but does at least lead to me feeling like we don't get an endpoint for Agatha in present day that's entirely her own.)

And I suppose that's the crux of my mixed feelings: the show began with Agatha asking who she was, before Billy even came into the picture. The viewers get to see a glimpse into Agatha's real self in the Ep. 9 flashback. But at the end of episode 9, Agatha is still running from it. She's barely touched her own grief (yes, yes, insert joke about Rio here), and we don't see her making that choice. I emphasize that because I am not categorically opposed to Agatha not completing her grief arc; god knows 9 episodes would have struggled to do that. I'm fine that they left some threads hanging. It's just that something in between Agatha (not-)sacrificing and Agatha coming back as affably-evil Casper is missing, and it feels like a gaping omission.

Other notes: Billy dramatically charging up the hex to create a memorial was great--another way the finale lets us into the beauty of the mundane. It's not to bring everyone back, or go down the Road again. But it's important, this act of remembering.

Though I'm disappointed we didn't get found family coven true, I'm at peace with how that thread wound up. This was a show about Agatha; the coven as individuals act as foils and reflections of her. They break and succeed in similar ways as Agatha. And they were a coven--a messed-up, broken coven who tried their best. It wasn't enough to save them, but it was enough for them to grow closer to the people they wanted to be. Agatha using something from every witch in her coven--Alice's protection spell, Lilia's divination, Jen's healing--in the fight was truly poignant, and tells me she'll remember them and carry them forward. (Also, the contrast against the flashback! "I cannot heal, I cannot protect you from what's coming, and I cannot divine when she'll come for you." Agatha needed them to be her coven! And they were. And they were.)

Final thoughts: (This is a misnomer; I'm still digesting.) Agatha All Along became a more complex, difficult show than I thought it would be pre-Episode 5. Occasionally this meant it disappointed me, had places where its budget, scheduling, Marvel-ness, and decisions regarding exposition struggled to connect things, but overall, it's a damn good show. And I would rather see a funny, challenging, ambitious show made with love for the craft than a safe, big-budget, chopped-up Marvel movie in a blender. And hey, it was super gay! (Please don't come near me with the "Bury Your Gays" stuff. Please. It's not that, I promise you.)

[forcebewitht]

Can I request the Yandere tweels x reader? I just can’t get enough of those two

The Sharks And The Minnow (Yanderes!Jade Leech and Floyd Leech x MC!Reader)

(TW: Stalking, mentions of blood, obsessive behavior, mention of drugging, forced kiss)

...You could no longer process how long you had been running for. Ace, Deuce, and Grim had all quite promptly been knocked out by your two pursuers....your two admirers. Ever since you had arrived that fateful day, they had been watching you- of course, they keep tabs on every little new fish that enters the walls of Night Raven College. However, you were....different in every way. Originally, it was merely another task to complete for their benevolent dorm leader, Azul- keep an eye on you and see whatever could arise that would prompt you into a deal.

It did not take long for this to twist into something new....something completely different altogether.

Your every habit, your manner of speaking, even the means in which you cared for yourself and/or others was all taken into account. Every moment, one was there, and the other was not far behind. Those eerie, seemingly bioluminescent eyes and forms always watching- always following. One would grin, the other would smirk. Two sharks, forever following their new favorite little minnow in the sea.

As you hide behind a profoundly sized tree, nearly upon the steps to Ramshackle- you heard it. Well, them. Their voices. Calling to you. Always behind, yet seemingly a few steps ahead of you in your thought patterns.

"Heeerrreeeee, fishy fishy fishy, ehehehehe~! C'mooooonnnn, shrimpppyyyy~! We won't bite you too hard, okay? I just wanna squeeze you real tight and never let go!"

Floyd, as usual, was the first to speak, his wild mannerisms and obsessive behavior always rolling off of his tongue in waves. You could practically hear his sick, manically twisted grin as he spoke.

"Ahehehe~ come along now, (Y/N), I am most certain we are all aware of the fact that....you cannot run from us for much longer, yes?"

Jade was next. The calm, collected composure in which he always carried himself and spoke in was as worrying as his sporadic twin. You too, could hear the smirk in his voice- confident, slightly cocky in an imposing yet subtle manner.

Your head turned away from their voices, not wishing to think too drastically about how close they currently were to you- all you had to do was get to that front door, get in, slam it shut, and get the ghosts of Ramshackle to make sure all the windows were locked, and call Crowley- Crowley? What would he even do, in the situation-

You heard a twig snap directly beside you.

"Oh? What have we here? Did our little minnow get too caught up in their own thoughts to properly plan~?"

You barely registered Jade's voice before you took off in a sudden bolt, desperately trying to reach your door and get to safety-

"Yaaaaayyyy~! Eehehehehe~! I wiiinnnnn the tag game!"

Floyd was far too quick- he had already linked his arms around your waist and hauled you off of your feet, carrying you back to his twin as though you were a mere parcel. He sighed, lovingly nuzzling your neck and inhaling your scent- that is, until he grew bored of this- and sunk his sharp teeth into the flesh of your shoulder. A cry of utter pain slipped free from your lips as you were bucking wildly, desperately craving your freedom. The blood from your wound stained his teeth, which you soon saw reflected in the light of the grand moon above your heads in his smile- the sole witness to your plight.

"That you did, Floyd, as usual. Good job. Now, as for you- we cannot have you making too many more sounds, can we~?"

Jade was quick to step up, caressing your chin with a gloved hand for but a moment before it was fiercely grabbed. You noticed something was covering his lips- some sort of liquid? Your eyes widened as you struggled to escape the grip that Floyd had you in currently, Jade bringing his face dangerously close to yours. You could see the slight madness in his eyes, a predator satisfied with the catching of his ideal prey with his twin. Some fingers were trailed under your lips, and the next thing you knew, Jade's lips were upon yours. You muffled out a cry, and Floyd giggled at the sounds, his own lips finding your neck.

The second Jade pulled back, you found yourself slowly entering a dazed state. You were slipping free from consciousness, your sight beginning to dull you- whatever Jade had used, it was incredibly strong. You barely could register Floyd hauling you over his shoulder in victory as they laughed in unison at their catch, now walking back to the deepest recedes of their dorm with their beloved minnow......

(Hey hey, my dear Readers! Sorry I've been out of it for so long- lots has been happening behind the scenes 😭 I'm going to try to get to these asks whenever I have breaks! Thanks for the read, and I hope you all enjoyed this! ✨💕)

[willowser]

willow i am wondering and pondering on your thoughts on bakugou saying i love you🤔 I’m not sure if you’ve written anything on it (i would read it immediately fyi so do tell). i think i hc my bkg similarly to yours especially your younger bkg even though it’s so sad and tragic to think of him during his late teens-early 20s :( do you envision him ever being in love at that time also?? i doubt 22 year old bkg could pull himself together 🥺😔 but he’s been through a lot so loving someone is last on his mind but i like to think that at maybe 24-27 he’d be soooo okay with saying i love you first🥺 like you said he’s such a random romantic he barely even registers that he is🥺😭 sorry for rambling will kissing and smooching u first!!

oh man, early 20s bakugou 🥺 my poor sweet 🥺 tbh i really don't see him being in love at that time 🥺 i think even if he found you at that period in his life and you were everything he could ever dream of—i really think he just doesn't have the emotional capacity to touch that with a ten foot pole like. he can't give the time or the vulnerability or the sensibility. i think bakugou finding love for the first time is a real discovery process for him, and i think early 20s bakugou is so incredibly and whole-heartedly devoted to heroism, like there's just no room for anything else. maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—he would try it out for a hot second, and it wouldn't go the way it should and he knows it and at that point he would just call it quits to be safe.

i think by the time he hits around 25 though he's on the up and up !! a little more familiar with navigating everything that's happened to him, able to become more aware of his feelings and the things he wants and what he's able to give to those things. i think this is the point in his life when he really shows his feelings through his actions 😌 like he's really going all out to show you how he feels, because i think he still might feel a little awkward voicing those things—unless it's in those random moments where he's not thinking about it too hard LOL

when i picture him saying it for the first time, i imagine you're in bed together, cooling off, catching your breath. you roll over to rest your head on his arm, even though he's sweating LOL, and he turns his head enough to press his mouth to your hair, even though you're sweaty LOL, and he just kind of quietly mumbles it after a long moment.

just a very simple and quiet i love you 🥺 doesn't want to make a big deal out of it 🥺 but when you say it back, he's trying very hard not to smile aifnruajaka he's so cute i'm biting him

[nalyra-dreaming]

What did you make of the hate sex? What do you think was the process of that, mentaly for them

Mentally?

Louis channeled his anger, and relief (to finally be able to let himself give in) into it.

And for Lestat it was pure relief.

But...

I actually think the actual hate sex was the easy part.

The afterglow and healing, and then the discussion that we didn't get to see, that must have been the hard part.

We see Lestat still dirty, bruised, and bloody back at Rue Royale.

Which means that Louis only let him dress before driving home. (They obviously didn't swim or the blood would have washed off.) Lestat has (healed and dried) bite marks on his throat. There are bruises and dried blood on both temples and the corners of his mouth. You can see some beyond the open shirt. There's bruises of fingers on wrists and upper arms, dried blood on arms and elbows.

We know Louis stabbed him after that first kiss.

I know this seems obvious, but this was very rough sex. And the bite positions mean Louis bit from behind, and at some point he had Lestat's wrists in a bruising grip.

And I wonder if that bite didn't change the tide.

Because as just said in another ask, but they can glean knowledge from blood. And so Louis took a look. Probably hunted for the truth.

His attitude to Lestat is very different after. Extremely mellowed. I could have easily seen him still simmering, but he wasn't. He was firm, but willing to empathize, and at times seeming more annoyed by Claudia's attitude than the situation itself.

I don't know what he may have seen or not, but I think it made a difference.

Also, to consider the vampiric aspects I mentioned in the car ask earlier - Lestat could, at any point, have fought back, and won. Could have gone home and subdued them.

But he did not. He let them be and respected their wishes, for years.

And... he let Louis do to him what will likely be an echo to what Magnus did I think. He let himself be... raped, to put it plainly. I know this sounds harsh, but this show is fearless. I think those bruises etc will make a reappearance in season 3, only we might get to see it then.... :(

But... this time... it was voluntary. Transformed through love, ultimately. Invited even.

Nonetheless - this wasn't a fight, whether it be one-sided or not, or justified or not (and there could be a whole discussion on that, I'm aware^^, especially to the vampiric rape Lestat was shown to do).

And the amount and placement of the wounds and their meaning always makes me wince.

And I do wonder how Louis actually felt about them, after.

Edit: And just to be clear, because people are willfuly misinterpreting: this does not state that Louis raped Lestat. What I am pointing out is that the very rough sex, and the bruises, and the wounds and the bites likely echo (some of) what we‘ll still get to see in s3, that Lestat probably thought about similar things happening to him. And he let it happen nonetheless. There have to be reasons why the body language and attitude of BOTH Louis and Lestat are so different after. The show connects with the turning there (which is written as rape with forced orgasm), which surely is no coincidence either.

And the discussion that had to happen after, after Louis saw something, after Louis, our Louis, probably felt extremely ashamed of seeing what he did this time... that discussion was probably painful beyond imagination.

And that is why Louis did not tell of it.

[salvatwh0re]

Sending as an anon since my loa blog is a secondary 👋 just a quick question and my little story <3

I was scrolling through your blog for a bit, how did you set your intention? Silly question I suppose, but I always forget. I’ve been in the void before, but I wasn’t completely sure- I doubted myself just a little because I was like “wait, really? am I? Is this the void?” And then I affirmed for longer until I left 😭

Your proof photos definitely motivated me LOTS! This morning after WEEKS of saying I’ll do my meditation and then falling asleep instead of meditating, I went back to my basics and put on two of my favorite videos. I restarted the meditation like twice because I kept moving, but I told myself, just like you said, that the void is accessible for EVERYONE and focused on my eyes (thought I probably forgot after a bit lol). Anyways, I also used a bit of daydreaming but I can’t really zone out on command when I daydream, but thanks to the background I did for a bit! I used my waves after and my body went numb and I definitely feel like I entered the void, I had a lapse in my consciousness so I know I didn’t just fall asleep but I wasn’t aware at the time.

Not really much more than a story and a little thanks for those photos! You reminded me that you don’t have to put some torturous, laborious work in for this and because of that, I was able to do two things I haven’t done in a VERY long time. I hope I can come to you with a success story soon! 🫶

Yay! I’m so happy for you

I understand the process of letting go of that desperation and doubt is hard, but in the end it’s necessary and you’ll realize how simple it is.

For me, I just thought of it as a mediation. When i felt like i was getting jittery or anxious i allowed myself to just get into a comfortable and drift off to sleep. I usually set my intention by affirming for a bit or just telling myself that i’m going to tap into the void state! If i start feeling drained or tired from the meditation (which rarely happens because i get so relaxed) I just turn off the subliminal and go to sleep with the intention of waking up in the void.

[sylvaridreams]

Speaking of Auruim, (nobody was speaking of Auruim, but I just came off of a 12 hour shift and I need to talk about the reform process and the tragedy of its shortcomings before it becomes too vague of a memory for me to recant,) speaking of Auruim and my reformed mordrem in general: why are they *like that*? Let's discuss.

The easiest answer is of course to look at Auruim and his rage, and his hurt, and his trauma and say that he has misdirected his anger towards Alba and the Pact and the guild as a whole and determined that they are at fault for his pain. And to some degree YES that IS why Auruim is like that on the surface layer, he has nowhere to point his anger over his pain, he has no one to blame, and he has to find The Source of his agony, and the easiest thing to point at is The Commander who didn't protect him.

But I also think that it's too easy of a cop out, and it disregards the overarching theme of why is he LIKE THAT, though? and for that matter, why are the other two reformed mordrem like that? Darlio has no pre-blighting memories. Venasis had zero connection to the Pact or the Commander before meeting him during Icebrood Saga. Neither of them have Auruim's same experiences, so why are all three of them still so incredibly rough around the edges for several years after leaving the lab?

And I am certain that the answer to that lies in the question "what does the reform process for mordrem DO?" At its base, the reform is meant to turn them back, physically. It severs them from the mordrem hive, mentally. But that is where the process ends, and that finish line is where all three of them were failed by the process. It ended before it had completed, in some ways before it had begun. To call it an ego experiment is not a massive exaggeration; the krewe involved wanted to see if they COULD do it. Turned out they could, and so they called it a day at that point.

Taimi mentions to Alba on one of his first visits to the lab that this is the case, though not in the same verbiage. "The physical process is basically over, and mentally they're severed from the mordrem hive and aware of themselves, but socially… well it would be dangerous to just let them go, obviously. They need constant supervision and correction right now, and honestly, this krewe doesn't have people to spare to babysit."

Constant supervision and correction, babysitting-- for mental and emotional issues that remain. What she fails to bring into this is any plan to close the gap. They've changed the three physically. They've severed them from the hivemind. What more could you possibly want them to do? Provide emotional recovery and rehabilitation? Mental exercise and support?

Because in those ways the three mordrem are still 99.5% mordrem. They don't have emotional regulation or impulse control; they don't have the mental capacity for complex thought and decision making. They are hive creatures taken from their hive. They do not know how to handle the very harsh world they've been forced back into.

I put a lot of personal allegories into writing my sylvari but especially my mordrem. There's the theme of societal otherness and intense unregulated emotions that I can point to and say yeah, that mirrors some of my autistic traits. There's the themes of physical and mental disability stemming from sudden violent trauma that I can point to and say yeah, that's my TBI. There's the intense dysphoria, the disconnect of physical body with what "should be" and that's where we hit my transgender narrative. There's more but I've made the point.

So it comes back down to WHY does Auruim continue to be so cruel and hateful towards Alba and so "stupid" for years after Icebrood Saga; why is Darlio so similar without the reason of "hating the Commander," why does Venasis also struggle so hard with the same things-- or more importantly when and how does this begin to change?

The answer to which is "basically, as soon as they leave the lab, but very slowly, and ultimately not for a long time." Auruim only begins to improve in how he thinks and how he relates to others after the end of EoD, even past the end of SotO. Between Icebrood Saga and EoD, he's sent on his quest to better empathize with Alba (by going through his memories of HoT through LWS4,) and learns compassion for another person, though he struggles to express it appropriately. EoD sees him learning new outlets to exercise his mind and fine motor skills; writing letters to Deidre allows him to regain some pre-mordrem literacy skills and practice the art of holding and using a hand guided writing instrument like a pencil. He spends most of SotO comatose, and deteriorates physically and mentally while in that state; afterwards, as he struggles to regrow his missing limb, he is again relearning fine motor skills, speech, communication, emotional regulation, etc.

Things the lab failed to notice he was lacking and provide him with. Similar to their failure to provide him adequate medical care; post-reform saw him as chronically ill and physically unwell, but there was a refusal to see him as a person in need of treatment for conditions he could not control versus a specimen that needed observation and a cattle prod to approach. Something that has failed to come up on here is mention that there were not initially three mordrem captured in Auruim's group, there were five. The missing two both died within a few months of capture; one of them overnight while the others slept, separated from Auruim by a wall, and no one was aware that anything was amiss with her until late into the next morning. For the lab, this was a minor paperwork annoyance, but for Auruim this was terrifying. This was a fresh trauma, one of his own kind dying in a cage less than a foot away from him as he slept, seemingly for no reason. The fifth mordrem passed a couple of months later when the krewe refused to enter his cell to help him unless he assumed a surrender position; the mordrem was unable to stop convulsing, and no krewemate entered the cell until he had already died, while Auruim and the other two survivors pleaded with them to do anything to keep him alive. Even after the physical reform eventually leveled off and finished, these three were not people but specimens of beasts, and they eventually had to be carefully retaught so much of what being mordrem and being prisoners in a lab had stripped them of: personhood.

(And then there are a number of physical issues that Alba starts to notice during Icebrood Saga but which he fails to address promptly; it's not until after EoD when Auruim is living with Canach for several months that anything gets done about most of them. Both times, Taimi is consulted, and the answer boils down to that "you can't expect my krewe to have dealt with that" -- i.e., it wouldn't have been safe for them to treat Auruim's physical ailments, even the ones that they noticed were causing issue. Then of course there are the issues that fail to be noticed; no one realizes Auruim is very close to legally blind, because his communication that "I can't see it" and "you didn't show it to me" are taken as obstinance and push-back rather than admission that he *isn't* seeing things that are being held up to him. It's not until close to EoD that anyone realizes he's being literal when he says he can't see something directly in front of him and thinks to do anything about it.)

I think Auruim has a uniquely sad and frightening perspective of having had his identity as a sylvari stripped of him by the war he was handed off to, surviving as a feral thing for four years, and then being ripped out of his territory, tagged and collared, and told to act like a normal member of society. He was acutely aware of what he was lacking but had no way of knowing how to correct those things and close the gaps, and no one who understood or wanted to show him how to do so. And I think this is also why he clashes with so many people, but especially Alba. Alba fails for a long time to see that Auruim is lacking in things in all departments. He wrongly assumes that Auruim is just not trying hard enough, or that he's intentionally being difficult out of anger, leading to a lot of tension and distrust between them. It would not be incorrect to say that Alba is openly cruel and cold to him at times, because he perceives Auruim as treating him the same way. What he fails to see is Auruim's struggles with understanding his emotions and thoughts, and he fails to acknowledge that this is a person who relies entirely, 100% on him for care and guidance, which Alba falls short on often early on.

For example, during much of Icebrood Saga, Auruim refuses to wear a coat or sleep off the floor. Alba quickly gives up on both topics, deciding that Auruim has made the decision and can suffer the consequences. He fails to understand that Auruim cannot make these decisions, that mentally he cannot process the information or understand the unspoken implications presented to him of "this climate is intensely cold and very harsh" which therefore means "you can and will get sick and even die if you don't do these things." From Auruim's perspective, Alba attempts to dress him and give him a bed to sleep in out of some kind of roundabout cruel streak; he is rubbing Auruim's face in his "domestication." It is once people who don't like Alba (Meisi) become aware that Auruim is not being taken care of to meet these needs and kicks up a fuss that it begins to somewhat click that such points are possibly for his own good, or might otherwise benefit him somehow.

There is a certain gap between him and Alba bridged during EoD while in Cantha; throughout Icebrood Saga and the time between the two adventures, personal hygiene has been a point of conflict between the two of them. Auruim hates bathing because 1. he's lost his mordrem pheromones and identifying smell, and clings to this belief that maybe if he can regain it somehow, he can also regain his rightful place in the world (as a mordrem.) This leads into point 2; hygiene proved to be an issue early on in the reform process as well for the same reason, and the closest the krewe could offer to a shower was a cold spraydown of him and his cell with a hose. There's trauma in the act of bathing from "this is what they did to me in the lab too" and also "this is how my identity was stripped away from me." Alba does not get this until EoD; and until that time would also gladly take any opportunity to spray Auruim down from afar. While in Cantha, he actually attempts to communicate at Auruim's level and understand him past the surface level aggression and hurt, and is able to propose compromise, though it proves unsatisfactory-- Auru essentially tells him that the smell of soap is "wrong," so Alba takes him to a specialty shop to pick out his own. When that proves to not be the full answer, he also eventually coaxes out of Auruim that the imbalance of "power" in being bathed makes him upset and uncomfortable; Auruim does not want to be alone and feel cornered in this retraumatizing experience, and so Alba joins him in that vulnerability and they bathe communally, allowing Auruim to see him as an equal suffering through the same horrifying process (a bath.)

But it takes a certain amount of first admitting that Auruim is trying to communicate, and carefully presenting the right questions, prodding at the right angles to get information out of him, because he doesn't understand essential and appropriate communication skills. Auruim's idea of communicating wants and needs is to stare from a distance in silence and then start angry crying if you eventually ask what he wants. He is not The Talker-- because again, they failed to re-teach him skills that he needed to go back into the world.

I have more to say, I could discuss Ven and Darlio furher too, but like I said, 12 hour shift and at this point I'm meandering. TLDR the krewe in question when it comes to mordrem:

[zumpietoo]

She was mad and bitter that they attended a protest together, and tried so hard to made it seem like they were a thing. It's all so childish lmao - she also couldn't stand that Madelaine was always supporting the idea that Cole deserved better than her. And - allegedly - Madelaine tried to tell Cole that Lili cheated on him while on set, which ofc caused hostility..

As for the fan accounts, Lili's had them since 2017! Was always behind the rumors that he was the one cheating. Also heard she pays her "fans" to promote her skincare brand, and back in 2020 tried to make the cast choose her over him since she couldn't handle how much time they wanted to spend with him.

I am just sooooo sorry it took me so freakin' long to answer this---because I was aware of it, but between work being just super busy/a big hot mess lately and my having somewhat melted my olddd laptop (yes, for realsies, it remains usable, but there's a big burn splotch on it, so I opted to wait for my new one to get here)/setting up the new one (and ongoing Xmassing) I just didn't have the time to reply and respond the way I wanted to....

I could believe all of that about Mads, honestly......their "friendship" was clearly always all for show. Interestingly, back in the day, I thought PP was the innocent one and Mads was simply jelly, etc, but it's become moar and moar apparent the opposite was true.

Still think Crotchi was always wanting Cole's D, but that remains on her.....I mean consider, excepting the highly staged, embarrassing Halloween stunt they'd do every year (until this one), PP almost never attended either of their Bdays, etc....but Cole frequently did.

And, OFC, there was MM's verrryyyyyy quick escape from attempting to be roomies with Peepster during Covid quaranteen, to the point of her leaving in a very few days to live with Joey and Danny(????), even as, turns out, they were in the process of breaking up....but THAT was actually preferable for her.

I have zero doubts her fan accounts pimp that shit and, again, as we've always seen, while she does have a rabid (but, LBR, ever-dwindling) fanbase, it remains verrryyyy finite. It's precisely why nobody's bought Horn and Hardart and most of her other stuff seems to simply disappear in a few hot seconds....

Given how fucked up it all would turn out to be, I frequently wonder if those weird, gaslighting trolls I used to get in DMs, desperately seeking to convince me Cole was an OHHH EMMM GEEE cheetoh cheetah!!! Weren't spurred by Amy, as well.....

Plus, OFC, it remains, even now....why TF do they exactly hate him soooo much? Even if Cole HAD cheated, whelp, there's no shortage of that----and they carry on like he was a serial rapist/murderer on the level of Ted Bundy.....seriously. And plenty of other peeps in that case to legit hate on in TinselTown even then....

And we all know Cole didn't cheat (that was PP and they were on again/off again....but we also know they all freak out that Cole started dating "other" wimmin well past 6 months after fully dumping her psycho ass, once and for all), and, honestly, never remotely as serious as Cole now is with Ari...full of lots of break-ups, too....

And if anybody's gonna "buuttt Breetchhh....."

A) loony-toons and, frankly, is most famous for having been his bitter ex, THAT was also like a decade ago, so that she can't move on is just beyond pathetic.

B) See above AND his freakin' college GF.....

I will now answer your OTHER ask/points, because there was lots there, too....

[mynamesaplant]

The Headspace that is Grief (Ch. 3)

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Summary: The grieving process is different for everyone, Emmet and Olivia know that first hand but they just don't know it yet. Sometimes it takes another person experiencing the same things as you to move through those feelings. Together, they learn and grow with their grief and each other.

In this chapter: Emmet and Olivia start to get to know each other better over a home cooked meal.

Notes: This was not beta read - so if there are spelling or grammatical errors, let me know. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!~

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The course of the next few weeks was a trial of getting used to each other's habits. Olivia often found Mr. Emmet's things strewn around common areas, his Pokémon sheepishly trying to help her pick up as he slept at odd hours. A combination of adjusting to the time difference and a plague of insomnia. She also found that he was very picky, not apologizing when he wrinkled his nose and started dissecting her meals in front of her.

Olivia didn't understand why he asked to join her for meals if he was so critical of the things she was making. Occasionally he would order his own food, also picking things out of it and leaving them off to the side, so at least it wasn't just something against her. Mr. Emmet would offer to buy her some food when he ordered out, she noticed he never cooked for himself - at least not from scratch - and wondered if he never learned. That would explain why he asked to eat with her.

She made a few concessions, her fridge was now always stocked with plain foods like pasta or rice, her cupboards always had some plain crackers and rice cakes. He must have been keenly aware that she found that particular habit of his frustrating, even if she never voiced it, because he did start to make a concerted effort to stop plucking out whatever he didn't fancy in front of her.

He wasn't much for chatting, either. He answered what she asked, and those replies were often short and to the point. Olivia had to wonder if he found her annoying. She eventually stopped asking questions.

Olivia was cutting up some berries for her Pokémon, some for Mr. Emmet's too. She didn't like the kibble supplement often favored by trainers. It seemed rather boring to Olivia, but it made sense when there were a lot of Pokémon to tend to, like Mr. Emmet had. She didn't know if he would be upset that she was feeding them on the sly, but they enjoyed it, so until told otherwise, Olivia would do it.

She had let them all sample their favorites, and she knew what they liked by now, collecting the fruit in a bowl and turning to start handing things out when she ran smackdab into their trainer. He grabbed her and steadied her, the motion looking practiced, and he apologized.

"I am Emmet. I thought you heard me."

"For a big guy, you sure are quiet."

Olivia couldn't help but comment, her heart stuck in her throat due to alarm. He raised his eyebrows, perhaps not expecting to be referred to as a "big guy" when he was skinnier than he had been in his whole life. She probably meant he was tall, which was obviously true. His eyes shifted to the large bowl in her hands, he had never seen berries so big and juicy before.

From his observations, her whole orchard was like that, and she tended to her crops diligently. Had he still been at the Battle Subway, they would have been waking up around the same time to start their days. He admired Miss Olivia, she worked incredibly hard and had such depth for her passions, but it was clear she was suffering some internal turmoil that she kept to herself. Only a few things here and there that Emmet noticed. Dust framing pictures that were noticeably absent from the walls. Names on the mail that he happened to see on occasion. The house just seemed far too big for one person, and it emanated an unabating loneliness because of it.

"I er... Do your Pokémon like berries?"

He nodded. Emmet detected something in her voice as she said she was going to give some to his team if that was alright. Miss Olivia, despite having him as a tenant for a few weeks, suddenly seemed uncomfortable talking with him. He had to hide a cringe at this realization.

Some of his mannerisms confused people. His brevity for one, his monotony for another - it seemed she had a hard time getting a beat on him, which made her grow quiet. Emmet couldn't stand the silence. He needed noise. The mountain was so still and quiet, it made him anxious but having Miss Olivia as a roommate (of sorts) - it soothed him.

She had a similar nervous habit Ingo had, a tendency to ramble, and he never realized how much he missed it. Now, she had stopped, and Emmet was screaming inside with how much he craved a stream of sound. It might not be Ingo, but it brought the same sort of comfort his brother once brought him.

"Miss, uh - Miss Olivia?" She was already handing out berries to the Pokémon, hers deliberately apart from his. Their body language mimicked their trainer's uneasiness, uncomfortable in their own home. Eelektross carefully took a berry from her hand with a little grumble of appreciation when she turned to him, patiently waiting for him to continue. "Have I upset you?"

"Upset me?"

"Yes. You talk less around me."

"Oh..." She seemed genuinely surprised. "I thought I was boring you. You never - I dunno - you weren't talking back to me."

"I was listening." He remarked, similarly surprised that that had been her reason. While she was no Ingo (no one could ever be Ingo), she had valuable insight to berry growing. Emmet found her process of raising and caring for her plants fascinating, but it seemed as though she needed a little push of encouragement. "I used to use berries a lot. None with quality like this. These are verrrrry good berries. Yup. I can tell."

“Oh! Er, that’s very nice of you.”

She thanked him, his flattery working as intended when he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks. She took pride in her work. Emmet could respect that. In the few short weeks there, Miss Olivia had used berries in very interesting ways for cooking and everyone that he ate was better than the last. If he was a Subway Master, then she was a Berry Master.

"Miss Olivia, I am from Unova. Berries are harvested a little differently there. There is no Berry Master in Unova."

Olivia was giving Haxorus a few berries, nervous around the sharp blades, even if the big Pokémon was quite gentle.

"If you're interested in Berry Masters, you should visit Mr. Murakami. His house is outside Hearthome's east gate on 208."

Emmet paused, slightly confused, because he had been on that route while he was looking for housing. He had seen a house with a sign outside, he did vaguely recall it saying something about berries, but that had been nothing in comparison to what Miss Olivia had here. He told her so and she smiled a little. A smile Emmet was all too familiar with. A bittersweet, tired smile that was carved into the cheeks.

"Mr. Murakami has orchards to the south of his home. Real estate around Hearthome isn't cheap - I was lucky... He has a green thumb like you wouldn't believe. He's practically giving berries away."

He didn't fail to notice how she diverted topics. It was somewhat subtle, but he noticed. It was his job to notice. Emmet allowed the diversion, even if he was curious, he was more invested in starting a dialogue. He needed noise.

"Do not sell yourself short. Your berries are delicious."

She seemed genuinely caught off guard by the statement, her hand falling to the side as she turned back to look at him. She was trying to gauge how serious he was. Miss Olivia looked back into her bowl, an odd quirk to her mouth that Emmet wasn't quite sure how to interpret.

"Thank you." She didn't say anything for a long moment, returning to her present task and handing out berries to all of their Pokémon. "What do you want for dinner?"

Miss Olivia didn't usually ask him. She had returned to the sink and was drying her hands, awaiting his response.

"I am Emmet. I am in the mood for some fried rice."

"Are you going to pick out the chilies if I add them?"

“I am Emmet. No, I will not.”

His cheeks turned light pink and Olivia offered him a smile, she was teasing him. A first. She pulled out a wok and got to work - to his surprise, she barked some commands at Mr. Emmet. She wanted his help. She had never asked for his help.

"Grab some green onions from the garden, give them a quick rinse, and chop them up for me, please."

Emmet stood there for a moment, watching her add oil to her wok and working it around as the fire below heated the bottom.

"Um... What, uh - What does a green onion look like?"

Olivia half thought he was joking before recalling that she had not seen him cook once. It stood to reason he was being utterly serious.

"Infernape," the Pokémon perked up when called, loping over to her. "Sweetheart, take Mr. Emmet to the garden and show him the green onions, okay?"

Infernape tilted his head before moving across the kitchen and to the back door, waiting expectantly for Mr. Emmet to follow. The Fire type allowed him to follow, it was the closest he had allowed Emmet to be to him without growling.

The Infernape was a weird Pokémon for Miss Olivia to have. It was abundantly clear that he was competitive and highly competent, two very good traits to have for trainers taking on tough challenges. She did not strike the Subway Boss as particularly confrontational - so why did she have him?

Perhaps a relic from a previous life, hers, or someone else's, he reasoned. Infernape glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, narrowing them when Emmet met them, and growling.

"You do not seem to like me much."

The Pokémon huffed and moved a little faster, not that that deterred Emmet. His long legs quickly matched Infernape's and the Pokémon jerked to a stop, long tail twitching, and glared at him. Emmet's smile tightened.

What was it about him that seemed to annoy the Fire type? It wasn't that Emmet was rude or mean to his trainer, he wasn't acting defensive per se. He just seemed threatened by his presence, like he knew all about Emmet's desire to battle him, because he was still a facility head at heart, and he knew a fun challenge when he saw it.

"You want to battle with me. Test your mettle?"

Infernape huffed at him, as if to say, 'yeah right', but Emmet saw the glint in his eye. The same one he saw in his and Ingo's Pokémon. He had to ask Miss Olivia about her Pokémon... perhaps when they improved their relationship and she felt more comfortable around him again, he would ask her to battle.

He was led to quite the expansive garden that overlooked the region below like a green patchwork quilt. Emmet never realized just how high up they were... He looked away, his stomach heaving and his head spinning from vertigo. How he had survived on an airplane for fifteen hours to end up in this damn region he didn't know, but he wasn't looking forward to the return. He had done it for his brother. It was all for Ingo.

Emmet felt a little tug on his coat sleeve, and he looked around, Infernape gently pulling him toward the garden and a wrought iron bench.

"Thank you."

Emmet murmured, sitting down heavily, and burying his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight and breathing slowly. Get a grip, he tried to tell himself. Infernape chittered his concern beside him, but Emmet reassured him with a little wave. He just needed a minute to collect himself. The doubt in the back of his head was creeping up on him again as he looked up, gazing across the garden with slumped shoulders.

What if this lead turned up nothing like all the others had? Five years and Emmet was working on morsels and scraps of rumors and myths that might lead him to his long-lost sibling. Miss Olivia's home had been some kindness granted to him by the universe after such an arduous journey of heartbreak. He had already had a few minor breakthroughs here, he found books in the Canalave Library, the invaluable information from Champion Cynthia and Professor Rowan. He had plans to return to the library and do more research where Cynthia and Rowan had suggested.

"Sometimes strange things turn up in and around Sinnoh because of space-time rifts opening. I know a few centuries ago that problem was a lot worse, but that isn't my area of study, so I couldn't tell you much more."

Emmet had come to this region in a last-ditch attempt to seek the help of legendary and mythical Pokémon alike. Kanto, Johto, and Hoenn had all been busts - his failure in Hoenn feeling particularly sharp because Jirachi could have solved all his problems, if only he could have found it. Sinnoh was the last before he swept Paldea and Kalos for scraps.

He had felt he was onto something in Alola, but the authorities had shut down his investigation pretty quickly and sent him packing. The man with the International Police... What had he said his name was? Looker, and his superior Anabel. They seemed sympathetic to his plight but were pretty tight lipped beyond that. He left Alola furious. Sinnoh had proved to be more fruitful, but to what end? How did this path lead to his brother?

Emmet pushed himself up, starting a circuit around the garden as he tried to quiet his brain. His arms swung wildly at his side, marching along with a fierce determination. Infernape watched him with mild concern before moving into the patch and started uprooting some tendril-like plant tipped with white bulbs. Oh right, Miss Olivia had sent him out here to collect some green onions.

He squinted as he passed by Infernape, the Pokémon patting the disturbed soil back into place, and realized what she called a green onion, he called a scallion. Emmet came to an abrupt halt and thanked her Pokémon once again. He nodded. It was uncanny how intelligent he was. The Subway Boss really needed to ask about him.

"I have returned. This is a scallion."

She glanced over from her wok at the stalks in his hand, in part to make sure it was correct.

"Is that what they call it in your region? A scallion?"

Emmet felt his smile broaden when he heard the slight sarcastic lilt to her voice as she said 'scallion.' She explained where he could find a cutting board and pointed out her knives in a wooden knife block that held an impressive number of knives, all of which Emmet had to assume had different uses based on size and design.

His Pokémon must have noticed his stiffness because Eelektross was hovering by his elbow, a few Joltik skittering up his legs and settling into his clothes, Excadrill stationed himself between his legs, and Chandelure leaning over his shoulder, chiming softly.

"Are they really all your Pokémon?"

Emmet stopped chopping, gripping the handle of the knife more tightly, and trying to exhale quietly. Did she know? Miss Olivia had seemed pretty clueless and uninterested in his work prior to arrival, but perhaps she had done some research. No, Emmet told himself, swallowing his paranoia down with a grimace. How did she sound? It was an idle question. Something to fill the silence. It was unusual to have such a large team in your possession at all times. Perhaps the inquiry was brought up because they were acting so clinging at the moment.

"It is unusual, yep. Verrrrrry unusual. They are mine."

That seemed to give her pause. Miss Olivia used a big wooden spoon to agitate the rice and eggs, some sort of pork she must have added when he was outside was sizzling in there too and it smelled heavenly. She only had two Pokémon and that sometimes felt like a handful. She couldn’t even imagine twelve... Plus the little yellow ones that Mr. Emmet was not doing a good job of keeping secret.

Infernape and Raichu didn't seem bothered by them, so Olivia didn't bring it up. So, he actually had more than what he said, even if they didn't seem to be caught like the others. She didn't mind as long as they all behaved. There was something she didn't quite understand though. Mr. Emmet was so clearly unused to this place and this lifestyle that it almost seemed counter intuitive to his being here at all.

Something brought him here. Olivia could tell he and his Pokémon could not get comfortable here, why force yourself to be in a place where you'd rather not be? Perhaps solace from his previous city life. Some peace and quiet with his Pokémon in a place he wouldn't be bothered. Olivia hadn't run any sort of check on him. She didn't need to.

All it took was one look at Mr. Emmet and she knew he was just like her.

With what few personal details he revealed, Olivia took him at his word. His prolonged absences where he wouldn't appear from his room for days on end because he was deep into something he had not yet divulged. His desire for quiet and his furtive nature, like he was trying to hide something.

Olivia knew.

She knew all too well.

He might tell her in time. He might not. All she knew was that she wouldn't press him for anything. It wasn't her business to.

She stared into the heat simmer of steam, bathed in the smells of a home cooked meal that she was getting help to make, and Olivia felt a blossom of companionship for this man in her chest. A kinship born out of grief that neither of them were willing to admit out loud, but instantly recognized in one another.

"The furry yellow ones, what are they called?"

Olivia had hit the jackpot. Mr. Emmet lit up, a smile as bright as a ten-thousand-kilowatt bulb on his face, and was on a extended explanation of each of his Pokémon almost instantly. She didn't know any of them and allowed him to get into the nitty gritty of each. It was rather sweet to realize how much he loved each and every one of them by the way he spoke about them. He was talking so much that he barely touched his food, only when Olivia insisted and filled the silence with regurgitated information about Infernape and Raichu from Gina.

His head bobbed as he listened, savoring the rice he helped make and felt a bubble of pride in his chest because the meal he had helped make tasted wonderful. Emmet rarely cooked and, when he did, he was more likely to make a mess than to make an edible meal. He resorted to frozen or quick meals frequently. Ingo hadn't been much better, but he had had staples, and Emmet helped him prepare food. Emmet liked to chop and grate and wash - he liked preparation, it was the cooking part he wasn't good at.

For a brief moment, he felt like he was in his apartment in Nimbasa with his brother and they were making some pasta primavera...

The memory almost got him. His face twisted painfully into an uncharacteristic frown, one that did not suit his face. Emmet was trying hard to hold it in. Swallowing hard, the cords in his neck standing out in an effort to push the emotion down. His eyes burned and he shut them tight. He turned away.

Water.

He needed water.

Thankfully, Miss Olivia was over at the counter, packing up the leftovers.

She did pause because he had stopped midsentence. Panic spiked through him. He didn't want to ruin this! It felt like he was finally starting to connect with someone outside his inner circle. Someone who didn't share his grief about Ingo. She was starting to turn her head and Emmet, frantic, forced himself to cough. He kept coughing until he pushed himself away from the small table and raced to the sink, Miss Olivia already holding out a cup for him. The cool water shocked him out of his thoughts. Drinking slowly and deeply to give himself time to recover.

"Sorry. Aspirated." The blank look told him she didn't know that word and he clarified for her. "Something in my throat... Yup."

He replied weakly, offering her a wobbly grin and she seemed to understand, returning to her work, exclaiming,

"I hate when that happens!"

Although she did hate it when that happened, Olivia could tell that was not the only source of his distress, but she kept quiet.

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[z0ruas]

I'm nervous to share this but I need to get better at it. In March this year my therapist diagnosed me with OSDD - otherwise specified dissociative disorder - or one of the variations under the umbrella of what used to be called multiple personality disorder. I didn't know my undiagnosed autism in early childhood could become something this advanced, and I can never find out what trauma exactly caused it because 1) that's the nature of the disorder and 2) my parents who homeschooled/abused me will never help me remember. My best guess is CSA that they tried to cover up and it should bother me more to share that but despite having been a walking billboard of the symptoms at times I don't recall the trauma itself whatsoever so whatever, just the rituals I used to do to try to get out of any more of it happening I guess. Telling my therapist that as a child I stopped bathing for days at a time and don't remember when it started and to this day I'm still mysteriously horrified of the shower tipped her off to my dissociation being highly abnormal

"DID is a dissociative trauma disorder in which a survivor has undergone longterm, repeated trauma in early childhood. This trauma, combined with other factors, results in a rather dramatic interruption of psychological development -- particularly as it pertains to identity. Through a process known as dissociation, this thwarted development results in "differentiated self-states" (also known as alters/parts) who may each think, act, and feel considerably different from one another. These parts of the mind - who may have their own name, age and personality - are able to take executive control of the body, leaving the survivor without any awareness for the time they were gone. These amnesic gaps in memory can be for just a few moments, a few days, or even entire chunks of one's childhood. The alters in a DID mind exist to help the survivor cope with deeply painful and unconscionable trauma, holding it outside their awareness to the best of their ability. However, often once the survivor begins to find safety and/or enter adulthood, this once supremely creative and protective mechanism can turn into a maladaptive trait causing real life consequences."

I'm not sure if I count as fully DID because of my likely low end alter count, which I'll explain, and because how my amnesia works. I want to say I am because I don't remember anything before the age of 7 and didn't know until recently that not everyone forgets early childhood that hard, lately everything before age 13 is on its way out too and I'm gathering that the degree of my short and long term memory loss are pretty severe during times of stress, but I don't currently have blackouts or alters who keep each other out of consciousness to "take over" and are damned to keep secrets from each other, so I don't know. It feels more like they just filter themselves through me, like we're all living the same life but just deal with it and feel about it different ways.

They've written a lot of notes/journals to me over the years, so as an adult as long as I check those I usually remember what they do and feel generally and don't ever wake up like "where the fuck am I," but in the past I mistook them for fictional characters or "intrusive inner monologue" that conflicted with "me," because I didn't know what this was. With more therapy and introspection I've figured that 20+ years ago I once had alters who I can't remember anymore who took a lot of memory away whenever it was they "left"/I no longer needed them.

Turns out even if I hadn't decided to formally learn creative writing I would've been coming up with other people in my head to cope anyway. Kinda puts a damper on the last decade I've spent as a writer or so I thought. Similar to the ablutophobia I don't recall when exactly I started coming up with and illustrating stories, just that I seemed to be able to and I needed to do it as much as possible.

Without prodding off the top of my head I only have two clear memories of being 7, I don't know when they are and they aren't reels of continuous moments more than they are snapshots of just having been there, but I can still see what the rooms looked like when I was in them: 1) playing Pokemon Yellow in my bedroom for the first time and 2) sitting down at the brick computer in my parents' bedroom to write my first word document story.

I say my alter count is likely to be low (but I can't be sure until I get a therapist who specializes in this disorder, mine only does in autism) because I, the host of this blog and normally my brain/body, used to feel like a singlet (someone without DID) and was long unaware of what this disorder was besides the name of it, so we didn't have a naming or recognition method for alters for 20+ years. The way its portrayed in media and online I see a lot of systems with drastically individualized members, but a lot of mine are just "me but with certain emotions dialed up" "me slightly to the left or right" "me at 13" "me when I've suddenly forgotten x important thing again"

Like the autism this is definitely one of those things I needed to know about myself decades sooner, but unlike the autism which I was #bornwith this feels like something I need to apologize for, despite not having the language or knowledge to express how it felt and despite not remembering why I started doing it.

If I'd been able to always express myself as a "we," if I'd known, I wouldn't have hidden this from people, so that I can get better. Whether that be through "final fusion" (all alters becoming one) or "functional multiplicity" (less alters becoming as few as possible) I plan on healing as much as possible despite no longer being able to recover all the pieces of my puzzle

[highwaywhump]

Would you be up for writing a little piece about kill shelters, from the pet’s POV? I saw that you said you wouldn’t write about pets actually being PTS - completely understandable! - what if someone were to come in at the last second with the news that the pet’s original owner had been found? I’m so curious on what the process would be for the shelter handling this- since it would technically be murder, how would it be done in a way to remain ‘legal’? And what would the pet be told? Would they tell them what was going to happen, or just ‘get on with it’? :o

TW/CW: A CHARACTER THAT IDEALIZES DEATH/HAS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. to be clear, he doesn't die, but another character does (this comes through very vaguely - never voiced outright). brief and vague mention of a gun, talk of scars, low self image, talk of collars and chains and cages/kennels, description of a hit and run victim (still alive), brief description of a dislocated hip, talk of restraints, talk of syringes and needles.

i know our community has suffered these past few days, and i was seriously debating whether i should post this piece or not. in the end, i figure that writing has been my way of overcoming difficult feelings for many years now, and i have been dealing with a lot of them lately, including intense stress and depression. if anyone feels i am doing something wrong in posting this piece, please let me know and i'll see what i'll do about it.

i am also painfully aware this ask was sent over a month ago (in reference to this ask), but i had to sit down and think about how i wanted to go about it. BE AWARE that the following piece features a character that idealizes/wishes for death - please sit this one out if you are struggling with such thoughts. i'm putting everything under a read more so that you can avoid reading a single word if you don't feel comfortable. my dm’s are always open if you want to talk about anything. <3

this character might seem familiar to some. spoiler, this is how poker from this piece ended up. he was about 35 when joey met him and he’s a few years older in this piece. and i'm sorry but there’s just something about men in cages… (also, let’s ignore that i add a bunch of details here that weren’t present in the first piece with him. also also, i don’t know what happened to the verb tenses in this one. it’s the middle of the night. roll with the punches i guess)

-

It might’ve been months since the guard dog saw his owner last. He doesn’t know. He’s stopped counting. 

Well. 

He never really started. 

He doesn’t remember much about him. He’d lost another fight, the last one in a long row of losses. He’d been pulled into the back of a car by his thick collar afterwards, dazed and hot and sputtering blood all over the leather seats. They’d hit him in the ribs for it and he knew he’d deserved it. 

Whoever was driving had been given orders in his owner’s rough voice. 

“Go down to the docks. Get rid of him.” 

He knew there was a lethal piece of metal stuck down the waistband of the driver’s jeans. 

He’d been taken a few hours outside the city instead, deposited on the wet asphalt outside of a brick building and chained to a drainpipe. The driver had gotten back in the car and sped off. 

The guard dog had leaned against the hard brick, watching as the brake lights disappeared. He didn’t think much, other than okay. As if he had anything else to say about his situation. 

His surroundings turned into a shapeless blur from there. Hands touching him, cold and unfeeling and clad in blue rubber. A couple were soft and took their time to stroke his hair, scratch the hard to reach place between his shoulder blades. He savored those moments, and tried to remember the hands and the face they belonged to, but none of it lasted. 

Nothing ever lasted around him, it seemed. He couldn’t keep an owner for more than a few months, never more than a year. Couldn’t keep winning. Couldn’t keep anyone safe, even though that was the thing he was made for. The only thing that kept, were the scars. 

And the fucking tattoo on his wrist. Not even the facility that had made him, wanted him back when the shelter called them about him. Too old. They had no prospects who would want someone like him. 

That was what the visitors said too, few and far between as they were. Too old. Too big, too many scars, too scary, too ugly, too old, too dumb, too old again. They talked about him as if he wasn’t even there, huddled up in a corner just on the other side of the chain link. 

He knew it was his fault. He should be, or at least seem, happier to see them. Smile. Wait at the kennel gate, like all the others did whenever somebody stopped by. 

But to what end? Another owner who would put him in the ring again, just to be angry at him when he loses? Or someone he can take bullets for again, even though he isn’t quick and bright enough to anticipate them anymore? 

He doesn’t dare hope that anyone else would want him, not in his condition. It’s true, what they say. He’s old. Scarred, slow. There are sunshine stories of even the most unwanted of pets, expenses in every way, who somehow end up on the couches of kind people who just want a companion, their head resting in their laps, petted by soft fingers.

Those people get platonics, though. Domestics. Even the occasional romantic can adapt to such a lifestyle. 

But not an old ex guard dog, like him. 

He’s no use to anyone, not anymore. 

They remove him from the kennel one day. For a moment, his heart beats a little faster. He can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement, but it turns out neither is warranted. He’s taken to another room, a chain attached to his collar, the other end pin shackled to a ring in the wall. Another pet, younger and prettier, is put in his kennel. He can see them through the frosted glass on the door. 

He turns away. 

He doesn’t cry. 

Visitors don’t come through this room, he realizes, and for the first few days he’s happy for it. Nobody talks about him now. It’s quiet and the cold linoleum floor is almost comfortable on his joints. The only bad thing about this room is the other pet, chained to the wall opposite of him. The man is curled up, breathing shallowly through dried blood in his nostrils, and the sound is annoying. He’s younger than him, and he was probably very pretty once, but now his face is bruised and swollen, and bloody in the crevices even though they washed him with a damp cloth when he came in. Hit and run, somebody had said in passing.

That was four days ago. The guard dog watches him, mostly because there isn’t much else to look at in here. His leg is in a weird position, he’s noticed. It’s as if the thigh has rotated where it attaches to the hip. He wonders if it’s supposed to be that way. It doesn’t look very comfortable. His stomach is weirdly distended, too. It looks out of place on a body that is otherwise slim and smooth. 

Two workers descend on him one day, kneeling down beside the misshapen figure. They talk to him, sweetly, as they gently lift him over on a gurney and start wheeling him through another door. “You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up,” one of the workers say, a vinyl clad hand patting his shoulder. The one part of him that isn’t broken. 

The guard dog catches the faint smile visible through a swollen cheek as they pass him. The other pet is happy they’re coming for him, making him feel better. Finally. 

Maybe twenty minutes have passed when the workers come back. One of them wipes their hands on their worn jeans. “Glad that’s over,” he mutters. "Should have been done when he came in," the other says. The guard dog meets his gaze as they pass. Neither of them say anything. 

They’d come for him a few days later. They wear the same smiles and the same gloves as they did with the other pet, but he doesn’t need the sweet talking. He goes with them willingly. He’d stopped eating a while back and his muscle tone had disappeared a long time ago, so it was easy for them to help him up to his feet. He’s taller than them, still, and keeps his head down the way he’s always done. 

He’s known cold. Heat, pain, pleasure even, in small stints. Grief, fear. Rage. As he places one bare foot in front of the other on the beige linoleum, obediently following the worker in front, he knows he will soon know death. 

And he isn’t afraid. 

“You won’t feel a thing,” one of them says as they help him sit on the steel table in the next room, as if anyone has ever cared about how he’s feeling. 

“You’ll feel much better after,” the other worker says, without specifying exactly what was supposed to be better, as they gently lay him down. The table has leather straps hanging down the sides, ready to restrain its more unwilling cases, but he doesn’t move and they don’t use the straps. In the corner of his eye he can see two syringes on the counter. One of them is skinny and filled with clear fluid. The needle is small and will slip into him easily. He’s had many needles before. This won’t feel any different, he decides. The other syringe is larger, the needle too big to be used on somebody who was awake feel it. 

It doesn’t matter. He’ll feel better after. The guard dog refocuses his gaze on the bright light overhead. He closes his eyes. 

“Small pinch, now,” one worker says, and he can feel a pinprick at the crook of his elbow, the cold liquid fanning up his arm as it is being pushed in. His heart beats a few more times before the serum reaches it. He can feel his pulse, docile to begin with, calm down even more. He feels sleepy, his body heavy, as if he’s being pushed into the table from above. The hard metal digging into his joints doesn’t matter anymore. He knows he won’t even notice the other syringe. He knows he’ll feel better soon. 

A grating ringtone interrupts his silent mind. One of the workers picks up, speaking in a low voice. Sleep tugs at the edges of his mind, and he wants to follow. Right before he goes under, the sound of hard plastic hitting metal and a few words make it through the fuzzy walls inside his head. 

“No trouble at all. You’re just in time, sir.” 

--

to answer your other questions, anon: in the legal sense it wouldn't be murder, as the pets aren't people anymore, they're only human at the biological level (again, in a legal sense). it's necessary :) and humane :) euthanasia :). the pets aren't told anything/they're gently reassured and told they're going on for surgery, or something similar. i think "you'll feel better when you wake up," is a classic in these circles. i'm sure some understand what is about to happen (hence the restraints on the table), but the majority goes quick and silent. i have no idea what happens to them after though so don't ask me about that :)