#I am so not used to the cage of editing anymore

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

me, a few days away from my period, watching Daryl edits to get into the headspace to edit the Daryl fic (that has no smut) and most of the edits are severely horny, making my hands itch to open a doc and write smut: stay focused, stay focused, stay focused, stay focused, stay focu-

[jaebeomsbitch]

Hi! Pls could you write a Roman fic with the following prompt: 36.“i know i said we couldn’t do this anymore, but i need you. please.”? Thank You!

Scotch and Tears

Summary: Comforting Romey and hurting him at the same time or Roman comes to you needing release and the painful reminder that he'll never be loved because he's broken.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Hurt, Crying, Jerking off Roman...

A/N: Not edited and written at 2 AM like every other fic of mine. I never ever intend to make this one so sad but.... Romey is just a sad little boy trapped in a dog cage :( GN!reader

You don’t know who you expected on your front door but it wasn’t him. Maybe a DoorDash delivery person or another Amazon package but not Roman Roy. His hands intertwined in front of him, that cocky smirk of his face. 

“If it isn’t my favorite whore” he says, a little too boisterous for your liking. 

“Welcome in” you say sarcastically as he bulldozes his way inside your apartment despite his small stature. 

“God if I thought you dressed shitty… this is a fucking rat-infested dying Victorian orphans type of shitty” he says, his hazel eyes analyzing every single detail of your apartment. You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorframe of your small living room. You’d never have the type of money he had but you were comfortable. More than the dozens of New Yorkers that couldn’t heat their apartments through winter or the ones that had eleven roommates. 

“Why are you here Romulus?” You ask in a cool toned manner. His head snapping towards yours, he hadn’t heard that name in a while. Not since… well not since his father died. 

“What, not happy to see an old pal?” He grins, taking off his little leather gloves. He makes a face as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to clean your little side table placing the gloves on it.

“Why are you here?” You ask stalking forward. 

“Don’t make me ask you again Romulus” you say with a bit more force in your tone. Roman gulps, those big doe eyes looking up at you with a mixture of fear and something else. That underlying swirl of emotion you were all too used to seeing many years ago. 

“Don’t-“ he says, trying to act strong but his voice slightly wavers under your watchful gaze. He tried to busy himself by taking his coat off. 

“I saw he died” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest standing toe to toe with Roman. He grunts in acknowledgment, afraid of opening his mouth. Afraid that the pent up tears will come crashing down the fragile walls he built. Because truthfully Roman hadn’t been coping. He thought it would get better with time. 

Thought a shrink would fix him, but they never did. No matter how expensive, how experienced they didn’t understand Roman, not in the way you do. So he comes crawling back every time. The pain and loss of memory crushing him into a little ball. 

Your fingers reach out to him holding his bicep lightly but he shrugs you off almost violently. He hates himself for being back here, for needing you. 

“Yeah he’s dead, should’ve gone a danced in his chew toy mausoleum when you had the chance” he tries to joke but it comes out slightly strained, at least to your ears. 

You circle him, reaching for the expensive bottle of scotch he gave you as a parting gift all those years ago. Popping in some ice cubes already prepared for his little digs but surprisingly nothing comes out. He gulps it down like he’s hasn’t had a drink in weeks. He quickly pours another glass taking that one back wincing at the burn

“Slow down,” you say sternly

“I’ll- I’ll fucking buy you another one” he immediately fires looking at you with an intensity. You can tell he hates being here. Well, hates that he has to be here again. He’d been okay for the most part but then every single person he loved had died or left him.

You silently take a seat on your couch, sipping on the scotch savoring the complexities on your tongue. Roman grips the glass tightly, hands shaking. 

“I-“ his voice wavers, that first sense of vulnerability sinking deep into Roman’s bones and it fucking disgusts him. It rips him to shreds that he can’t keep his voice steady. 

“I know I said-” he continues, filling up another glass. Watching the little ice cubes swirl in the amber liquid. 

“I couldn’t… we couldn’t… please,” he says looking at you with those big puppy dog eyes, all wet, as he tries to hold back his tears. 

“C’mere” you say softly spreading your legs and downing your scotch. You place the empty glass on the side table over his gloves as Roman shuffles towards you like a scolded child. 

His heart sinks deep into his gut. The vile thoughts filling up his head, screaming at him not to do it but, he sits on your lap with shaky breath. Your fingers find the familiar path towards his knees. 

Just like that the words dim and his breath picks up. The warmth of your palms seeping into his slacks, you knew that if you could see his eyes you’d see the swirl in them. The pink, smokey, tendrils of lust churning in his brain. 

It wasn’t that Roman hated you, he didn’t. In some sick twisted Roman way he loved you. You were the only person who could touch him, the only person who could untuck his fresh pressed dress shirt and undo his slacks. The only one who could slide his zipper down without him immediately going into a manic state. But after the comfort always came the guilt. That’s what he hated, he hated the crashing of sadness and despair pulling him down after your touch was over. 

Hated that he had to imagine it was your hands on him. That he yearned for you but you never sought him out. Not once, not even after he’d wined and dined you. Not after he let you into his fucked up head. 

Of course Roman never knew the truth. It hurt. It hurt seeing him cry, it hurt seeing him broken beyond repair. You take solace in the fact that you were the only one that brought him relief even if it was momentary. So you press your face into the line of his back, fingers taking his leaking cock out. Roman’s practiced spit falling onto his cock, his eyes closed shut not wanting to look at it. Not right now. 

He hated you for abandoning him. Hated the way he instantly moans when your warm hand wraps around his cock. The pool of heat burning deep in his gut.

“Fuck” he moans at your slow strokes. You wanted to prolong it. Smell his clean scent a little longer, feel the flex of his thighs on yours, memorize the hitch of his breath but Roman hasn’t been able to get off in a long time. 

His breath heavy as more profanities leave this pink lips of his. 

“Oh fuck” he groans, fingers digging into his slacks. You swirl your palm over his sensitive head, his toes curling in his dress shoes, jaw slacked. 

“Fuck I’m- so fucking disgusting” he swallows his spit. Your other hand working at his balls, rolling the skin in between your fingers matching your strokes. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck fuck” he whispers hurriedly, fingers clenching the fabric harder, his head hanging in submission. Giving into the pleasure, his stubbled jaw pressing into the pin-striped light-blue dress shirt. 

You missed him. You missed his stupid quips. Missed the way his dumb little grin would show the dimple on his cheek. You missed that stupid idiot even when he was insulting you. 

“G-god” he chokes.

“Just me” you chuckle, stroking him faster knowing his telltale signs like the back of your hand. You could feel his thighs clenching under your forearms, his back tightening, and his hips trying desperately to follow your movements. 

He finally comes as he heaves for breath. A strangled noise leaving his throat as he ruins his slacks. All the pent up cum spilling on his stomach. You stroke his cock until he’s a whimpering mess. The back of his head tilted back pressing into your shoulder. 

You wanted to hug him. You wanted to tell him everything would be okay but you know he’d only push you off. You hold your tongue as he slowly sits up pushing your hands away and tucking himself back into his pants. He swallows hard, trying to busy himself with wiping the cum off with a napkin. 

You keep your lips sealed when you see his face. That anguished look in his eyes, another painful reminder of why you didn’t do this anymore but his little ‘please’ broke you down. He leaves mumbling some stupid line about you being a whore. His heart aching as he tries to straighten out his wrinkled slacks. 

Your heart hurts, it hurts so much but this is what Roman did. He used and abused because he was broken. You could never fix him not even if you tried but what would happen when you found a partner? When you wouldn’t let him into your apartment again?

The next day another bottle of scotch sits at your doorstep, you tuck it away into the same cupboard, holding his glass as a tear slips down your cheek. 

[acourtofsnakes]

Desolation - Freefall, Chapter 4 || The Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Can you always trust a Force vision? Knowing what Anakin saw of his mother, you've always believed in them. But the things you see... They might just be the end of you.

Warnings: 18+, TBB Season 2 finale spoilers, extensive injuries, descriptions of drugs, blood, falls, canon violence and weapons, swearing, nicknamed reader (Ghost)

A/N: A good chunk of this chapter will describe in detail the events of the finale. I wrote this chapter shortly after watching it and needed to get that emotion out somewhere. I am more than happy to send an edited version without those scenes, just shoot me a message✨

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Now

During your time with the boys, you had never felt a hand of violence. Never seen anger in their eyes, never seen them look upon you in disgust or confusion. You had never watched their expression glaze over when you went on an infodump about something, and they never rolled their eyes when you struggled to explain the howling storm inside your head and chest. 

Even after everything, Crosshair never laid a hand in you with the intention to hurt. Ever. 

There may have been fury in his eyes sometimes but there was never violence toward you. 

Not from any of them. 

Not like now. 

Your body screamed, howled with agony every time your heart struggled to beat, to push blood around your shattered form. 

Every breath was a mixture of fires hotter than Mustafar, ice colder than Hoth and lightning fiercer than Kamino. As if someone was pouring jet fuel into your lungs and setting it ablaze.

You didn’t feel the cold anymore though, so that was something. 

Everything was a drug fuelled haze, the very life, the Force, in you choked and restrained, leaving you shaking, numb, cut off from the world and the living energy of everything. 

It was like being in a pit in the darkest, deepest corner of the Galaxy. 

Of course, there were days where you were in somewhere just like that. 

Not a pi though, but a box. 

A coffin, almost. They’d found it in the rubble of the Clone War, copied its designs and commissioned a handful to be made for moments like this. 

If it could hold Darth Maul, it could hold you.

That’s what they said. 

You’d never be able to break out of that, regardless of your power being up by what Anakin’s used to be. 

Don’t worry about her, she’s too weak to be a threat. Not anymore. 

Were you still a threat? 

You didn’t know now. 

You flexed your fingers as much as you could, feeling the dried blood crack on your skin, thick and itchy. 

They hadn’t bothered to clean you off before they hauled you in here, the screams of their brethren still echoing from your loss of control, the moment where you snapped and let that beast rage free. 

I let it out, Crosshair. 

But you weren’t there to see it. 

None of you were. 

The liquid they pumped into you felt heavy in your veins, sick, wrong. It dragged through your body, leaving it icy cold and numb. The force presence in your soul was limp, whimpering in agony from the effects of the cage, so ravaged that it couldn’t even alert you to the fact this drug was poison of the worst kind, chugging slowly towards your brain. 

It was slow enough that you felt it, felt the way it left nothing behind, dragging the life from your body so delicately, so painfully that it was as if you felt every single limb go dead and weak. 

You were effectively paralysed, lungs feeling like duracrete was being poured into them, each breath like shallow fire. 

It slowed down your heart, so slowly you swore you could hear each tendon and muscle pushing blood that was too thick and too cold into unresponsive veins.

Then it reached your mind.

It paused, as if assessing where to begin but then it tore through your mental shields, destroying you so potently from within that you were out cold in less than a second, flung into a heavy oblivion that weighed in from all sides, stuffing down your throat and ears, strangling you within your own body, leaving you defenceless and subservient as that crackling, thundering fight dragged out of you in an instant.

~~

You were crushed in that awful place for what felt like forever yet no time at all, for then you were dumped into the middle of a storm, the sky roaring in fury, crashing, echoing like it was trying to come apart as harsh lightning forked across the sky with enough power to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Then you were knocked sideways between one blink and the next, suddenly on a traincart hundreds and hundreds of feet in the air. It was rocking heavily side to side, that sickening screech of metal protesting as it barely hung on. 

Bright, searing bolts shot past on all sides, whizzing through the air from the TIE fighters advancing in relentless waves. 

It was clear that luck was not on the boy's side, even though you flung your hands out to try and deflect the bolts. But nothing happened. Nothing. 

“Hunter!!! Hunter, we need to get this cart moving, they’re going to swarm us.” You looked around frantically for something, anything to help… Yet Hunter didn’t respond. He just kept firing, like he hadn’t heard you. 

That was weird. 

You frowned at the side of his face, drawing your sabers and you lifted them to try and deflect this way - but the shots went straight through. 

It’s like… Like you weren’t here. 

Present yet invisible. 

Confusion clouded your mind until a memory surfaced from the fog, one of Anakin, frantically pacing in front of you, sandy hair in wild disarray as he recounted the dreams he had been having of his mother, how he was there with her but could do nothing. 

Visions, brought forward through the force, sometimes seconds in advance, sometimes right in that moment. 

Which meant whilst you were here, bound and gagged in a beskar box, your boys were fighting for their lives. 

And you could do nothing to help. 

There were no words for the terror you were feeling, side by side with Hunter as he fought for his life, shooting down TIE fighters with nothing but his blasters, but for every single fighter that fell from the sky, another took its place, battering the cart with relentless shots. 

“Hurry up, Tech!!!” Wrecker’s strained voice rumbled from somewhere behind you, and you spun round to see Omega and Wrecker hovering at the end of the card, Wrecker’s hands wrapped around the very framework of the adjoining one and his muscles rippling as he fought to keep it stable. 

But then that meant…

Your heart dropped somewhere to the ground below, and you raced across the cart, the debris causing you no trouble as you simply passed through it like a phantom. Thankfully, that would mean your weight couldn’t shift anything, because…

Because what you saw over Wrecker’s shoulder was enough to churn your stomach and rip away every single breath and coherent thought you had. 

Tech was dangling below the destroyed cart, his grappling line looped around the frame as he pulled himself up as quick as he could, one hand over the other, up up up but it felt like he was gaining no ground, still stuck in the same place as another wave of attacks rattled the entire structure. Metal screeched and rumbled, the sound tearing through your limbs because there was only one way this thing was going to end.

Omega sobbed, dancing on her feet behind Wrecker, her bow drawn in readiness but the tears building in her eyes were going to make any target a blurry mess. You would know, you felt the same. “Come on, Tech, just a little more, you have to hurry!!” The fear in her words was so potent, so raw that it caused a sob to wrack in your chest and you looked down at Tech, wishing you could be there, could be truly beside these boys so you could help.

You could have had him up now, safe, all of them safe. 

“I can’t keep them back for much longer, there’s too many of them!!” For the first time in the entire time you knew him, there was panic in Hunter’s words, a franticness that was so different to his usual composure. 

It was like that moment in a bad dream, the second right before you fell, that one moment where primal instinct told you that you couldn’t make it. That nothing you did would get you out of this. 

Tech looked over his shoulder at the rising attacks, the whir and hum of more fighters approaching, the onslaught of enemy fire becoming something that would be impossible to fight, even if you had been there with sabers in hand, “Wrecker, you must take Omega and Hunter and leave me, get back to Echo. Now!” 

No, no no no no no - you knew that tone. You’d heard that tone from so many of your friends, so many of your loved ones over the years. And it always ended in agony. 

“No.” Wrecker’s snarl was more animal than human, violent almost in its outright intense refusal. “Don’t you dare. That’s an order, Tech.” 

Omega was choking on sobs now, trying to get past Wrecker but he was managing to block her as well as hold onto the bars, “Tech no, please!! Please don’t do this, you can get up, you can do it!” She threw her bow to the side, ducking underneath Wrecker’s arm and she flung her own out into open space, “Here! Take my hand, take it!! I can pull you up - please Tech!” Her body was hanging far too close over the edge, and Wrecker shifted, his boot coming across to in front of her knees, bracing her but he made no moves to stop her - he couldn’t. 

Tech slowly looked up, his honey eyes heavy and weighted. Knowing. “When have we ever followed orders, Wrecker?” He sounded weary, as if… As if he’d already accepted what was to happen. He lifted his hand, his blaster nestled between his fingers and he took aim at the bolts holding the cart to the line, his aim as sure as Crosshair’s, as calculated and perfect. “Bring Ghost home safe.” 

And then if in slow motion, his finger squeezed down on the trigger, the blaster bolt cutting through the air, through your heart. 

Time sped up again and your silent scream tore through your body, helpless to be heard or to help, yet echoed by Wrecker’s roar of anguish as the structure slipped through his palms, cutting deep. 

Omega’s mirroring scream as both Tech and the cart fell, his eyes drifting to the space where you were, widening for a second as if he could see you there. 

~

Before you could do anything, you were flung sideways, everything going black before it exploded into colour again, damp clouds flashing past your vision, the sickening sense of every organ, every drop of blood being propelled the opposite way as your body hurtled toward the ground with unstoppable force.

You were in Tech’s body.

It was only when the clouds, smoke and debris blocked his vision that he allowed himself a cry of fear, instantly snatched away by the wind, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. 

Through the haze of terror in his brain, he frantically tried to think of a way out of this, think of something he could do, something he could use to stop his fall and get back to his brothers - but he came up empty. There was nothing. He couldn’t do anything.

He could only watch the display through his visor, the number of feet dropping so quickly that the symbols were a blur as the ground came racing up toward him. 

At least he managed to save his brothers, give them the chance they needed to escape, to get to you and save you. 

Bring you home, finally.

A sense of peace washed over him, washed over you, the pair of you spinning through the air, down, down, down. 

When his descent dropped into triple figures, he closed his eyes. A single breath, drawn in, filling his lungs, his last image not that of the debris rushing down to meet him, but of his family. 

All of his brothers, together, laughing with Omega. 

Of you, in the middle, laughing with your head tipped back and not an inch of a stormcloud weighing down on any of you. 

Double figures.

Then single.

Then… Nothing.

He was gone. 

~

Yet, if you thought this vision would end there, you were so very wrong. 

Now, you were in Hunter’s body, silence raging in his head above the chaos of battle around him, because he could no longer hear his brother’s rapid heartbeat. 

He heard the impact, the thud of bone on duracrete, the screech of metal - a cacophony of sounds that would hound him for the rest of his days. 

He couldn’t think. 

Couldn’t do anything.

Tech was gone, he was dead, and he could do nothing to stop it. 

He had failed his brothers, and he had failed you.

He wasn’t a leader, and he never would be. 

A leader wouldn’t let their family die. 

Seconds flew past, maybe hours and you were suddenly with Hunter, Omega, Echo and Wrecker, into the parlour. 

The very still, very quiet parlour.  

Empty. 

Desolate. 

Like a literal ghost, you travelled through the Force alongside Hunter, as he knocked on the door to a back room and entered. 

Omega was sitting up in the cot inside, hugging Lula to her chest, tears still tracking silently down her bruised cheeks.

Whatever had happened in the latest vision jump had caused her injuries as well, scrapes on her arms too. Something else that ripped guilt through him, and you. 

“Tell me this is all a dream, Hunter.” Omega’s voice was so torn, so broken as she looked at Lula’s face, hands squishing her plush body, “Tell me none of this is real and I’ll wake up and everyone will still be here.” 

Hunter swallowed, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, pain evident in every line of his body, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time we stop fighting and… rest.” Even now, the words felt foreign in his mouth, “The time we had on Pabu, it was what we all needed, I think.” He looked down at his hands, hanging loosely between his spread thighs, “We’re going to clear things up officially with Cid, then head there. To stay. Be a.. Be a family.” 

Omega’s lower lip trembled again, a sob breaking free and her little body bowed forward over her knees, crushing Lula to her chest, “A family? Half of our family is gone, Hunter.” Her words were almost indistinguishable through her sobs, pain that a child should never feel, even though technically, she was older than them.

But without the accelerated ageing, she was still a child. And despite how well she kept up, she wasn’t a soldier. 

Hunter’s face collapsed, his back straightening as he watched her crumble, his own eyes glassy and he whispered, near silently, “I really wish you were here, Ghost.” He shuffled over on the bed, winding an arm around Omega’s shoulders, and then coaxing her into his chest. 

You were almost expecting it this time, being going through the Force, but it was only a few metres now. 

The main parlour, only an hour later by the looks of the dusty chrono on the wall. 

Wrecker looked up from his slumped over position at the bar, their usual table too painful and too full of memories, “She okay?” His voice was devoid of its usual fervour, his usual energy sapped from him. 

From your space across the parlour, you could see the anguish etched on his face. 

He was the strong one of the team, the literal muscle that always forced their way through any situation where delicacy didn’t work. 

He was the one holding the train cart. 

He should have been strong enough. 

He should have saved Tech. 

Hunter shook his head, pausing in the middle of the parlour, at a loss at where to put himself, “No. Not at all.” He sighed, head ducking down to stare at the floor, his hands curling into fists, “I don’t know how to make this right, Wrecker. We were supposed to save Ghost. We were supposed to get Crosshair back. We weren’t supposed to…” 

Wrecker turned on his stool, facing Hunter and by theory, you. “This wasn’t your fault, Hunter. This…” He sighed, slumping even more, “It just went wrong.” 

Hunter opened his mouth, but he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up again with sluggish warning. 

But, yet again, for what seemed to be the hundredth time lately… he was too slow. 

The parlour was filled with the unwelcome sound of swift feet marching in, controlled and precise footsteps, the clatter of armour plates against one another. 

The doorways were suddenly choked with the imposing presence of the Commando’s, their visors glowing the dim white-blue that was a painful reminder of your sabers. 

Wrecker was off his stool in an instant, his rage and pain fuelling him as he leapt for the closest handful despite the brace around his neck. 

“Wrecker!!!” Hunter lunged for his brother, yanking his blade free but more Commandos came flooding in, cutting them off from each other. 

He too engaged with the closest enemy, delivering a swift blow to the Commando’s arm, causing him to drop his weapon and allowing Hunter to plunge his blade between the armour on his chest and helmet. 

Yet again, you were helpless, watching the battered remnants of your family fight for the lives mere hours after they’d been ripped apart looking for you. 

You had no idea where Echo had gotten to, or if Omega was okay, pinned helpless in this vision like a butterfly. 

Wreckers grunts and growls echoed under the blast of weapons, the crashing of furniture as bodies and blasts flew into it. 

But the boys were broken, inside and out. 

They were injured. 

Their usual deadly precision was tipping closer to a frantic desperation, clawing at escape and defence rather than their unbreakable offensive manoeuvres. 

Everything blurred to sound and colour before Wrecker’s roar of agony shattered the cacophony, his body being pulled to the ground by the stinging clash of a dozen stuns, forcing him to his knees whilst restraints were slapped on him.

Hunter’s head whipped toward him, his growl of anguish swallowed as he too was taken down with a vicious punch to the head, leaving him reeling and collapsing to one knee. 

“Stop fighting, Sergeant. Or your brother joins the rest of them.” The Commando holding Wrecker jammed a blaster into the side of his head, safety flicked off and finger hovering over the trigger. 

But the thing is, Wrecker didn’t even try and fight. At full strength, he could have easily overpowered them… But he just stayed there. Back slumped over, head hanging as low as his brace would allow him. There was no fight left in his body, no spark. 

He’d given up. 

Hunter snarled at the Commando, fighting against the hands working to pull his arms behind his back, hair falling in his wild eyes, teeth bared. 

He was an injured animal on the back foot, desperately trying to protect his broken pack, to tear apart the enemy and hold onto whatever semblance of safety they had left. 

You were forced to watch as Hunter was restrained, a hand gripping the back of his head, forcing it down toward the ground. His eyes flickered as another set of footsteps appeared behind you, revulsion written clear on Hunter’s face. 

Yet that wasn’t what scared you. 

What terrified you the most was what you felt in his signature. 

Guilt and pain so potent it nearly choked you, fury that could rival the fires of your own, bitter desperation, but underneath all that? 

The faintest trace of hopelessness and fear. 

~

Before you could try and help to no avail, the edges of your vision started to blur and you felt the overarching suffocation of that previous darkness. 

The vision was coming to an end, muffling your ears so all you caught were the faint snippets of words. 

“A shame about your brothers.”

“-Could do nothing to help them.”

Omega’s scream of fear, so young, so helpless. 

“-Broken promises.” 

“-found your brother outside.” “-killed him, of course. I have no use for clones who aren’t whole and CT-one-four-oh-nine should have died a long time ago.” 

Oh stars, no, Echo. He was… No no no no. 

Hunter and Wrecker’s combined roars of anguish. 

The hissing spark of them being stunned. 

With a scream that echoed in your own mind, you tried to swim back through that oppressive shroud, needing to hear, needing to know - 

“-We caught him helping you. Warning you.”

“…such behaviour cannot be condoned, of course. He might have been useful but he was a traitor. First to you, then to the Empire.” 

“A waste of a good soldier and sniper, but necessary.” 

Crosshair was gone too. 

It was too much, too much to bear. 

The vision was nearly fading, your family falling apart one by one, and right before your head broke the surface, you heard blaster shots. 

Three of them, the impression of their fire like muted lightning in oblivion. 

Three shots, for three remaining members of your family. 

Then silence. 

There was no relief when reality came flooding back by way of the cage. 

The agony was too raw, too potent, too fucking suffocating. It wrapped beskar hands around your throat and restricted, it ripped your heart and lungs from your chest. 

It tore through you with a pain unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You’d lost your family. You’d lost your friends after the Order, and that almost broke you. But you didn’t see that. You were with the boys. Your boys. Family. 

And you just watched them die. 

You just watched them die and you weren’t there to save them. You could have. You could have stopped Tech falling. You could have stopped Hunter from losing control for the first time and Wrecker being used as bait. Crosshair wouldn’t be dead trying to protect them and Echo wouldn’t have been shot outside, alone. And Omega…

You were supposed to save each other, that's what you did, you looked after one another and fought anyone who tried to change that. 

The hands pulling you from the cage felt simultaneously like fire, burning your skin, your bones, making you want to rip them off yet you also couldn’t feel them. 

You couldn’t feel anything except this pain, this agony and fury and rage that you couldn’t save them, building up and up and up. 

The pressure in the room filled too, the air becoming charged, zapping and pinging against people's skin but they passed it off as an off-charge from the cage. 

Fools. 

Their clipped words to put you back in your cell, restrain you until you gained consciousness fell against your body and to the ground uselessly.

Falling. 

When do we ever follow orders? 

He was right. 

Something snapped. That energy, the link to the rest of the world came roaring back to life, almost knocking you back.

With a hoarse scream that was more tortured animal, more tortured beast of vengeance than human, you exploded. 

Force-fuelled lightning crackled out from your fingertips, from your feet, your eyes, everywhere. It burst from you like you were the centre of a galaxy-shattering storm, filling the room with its blinding white glow, shorting out the electronics. 

The sparking, forked tips found their purchase in the scientists surrounding you, burrowing under armour and helmets to bare skin, to vital organs and frying them from the inside out. 

You fell to your knees, fingers scrabbling on the ground as you vowed an unbreakable promise to the galaxy, to the Maker, that you would make every single person suffer, find every single one who’d ever hurt your family, your boys, and you’d rip them to shreds. 

Then you’d join your family. 

Tears streaked your face in an endless torrent, chest caving open and you were still sparking and exploding like a star, so you were helpless to notice the gas filling the room, the polished boots suddenly inches from your face. 

You didn’t even feel the disturbance in the force, the vile poison spreading through the room and making the life energy itself recoil. 

“Well, this is just fascinating, isn’t it?” 

That voice. That voice saying his words. 

That quiet, silken, sick voice that stole along the corridors of this facility, more monster than anything. 

Everything was growing hazy and dark, your senses screaming at you that there was something wrong with the air, something tainted and foul but it was lost to the pool of darkness, sinking to the bottom like rocks. 

His boot moved to tuck under your chin, forcing your head to lift from the ground and for your tear-filled eyes to meet his unnaturally blue ones, one half of his face in shadow. 

Hemlock smirked at you, face full of violent delight even as his workers smouldered and smoked around him, and you snarled at him, ““I had a feeling that would work. Now, let’s get to it, shall we?”

He removed his foot as quickly as he’d lifted your head, causing your chin to smash into the floor and your teeth to sink into your lip. 

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t think. 

It was almost a relief to succumb to the gas in the air and drown in the dark again.  

Hunter jerked awake, that sense of other pulling him from slumber, telling him to get up, that there was danger. 

He lifted his head from the bunk, finding his hand curled around his blade already, yet the Marauder was silent. As always. 

They were in the middle of hyperspace, so the chances of danger were few and far between - but you never know. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and he paused for a second, just to listen. 

Nothing. Just the sounds of his brother's breathing. And Wrecker’s snoring.

Yet he couldn’t shake it, the ripple down his back, the tightness to his skin. 

It was a cold breath along the back of his neck, a flutter in the air around him, something deeper than a gut feeling. 

His fingers tapped along the hilt of his blade before he sheathed it, the faint sing of metal providing a small pocket of calm but he was too agitated, too wound up. 

Waiting. 

Something was inherently wrong, but it was nothing here, nothing he could see or touch. But it was there. 

He rose from the bed, moving through the ship on silent footsteps, keen eyes roaming the dark recesses and shadows, checking everywhere even though he knew.

He knew deep down what this was, what had pulled him from his slumber. 

As he passed out of the bunk area, his gaze snagged on the fact there was an empty bed - another empty bed. 

Hunter moved through to the front of the ship, the glimmering lights of hyperspace casting a cobalt glow over everything, softening the instruments and chairs, the metal hull. He’d often wake up in the middle of the night and find you here, cross legged on the floor, just watching out the windows as the galaxy flew past. Sometimes you were looking for Purrgils, other times you were lost to memories that he didn’t want to break you out of, so he would just sit by you, his foot resting against your leg to let you know he was still here. 

Right now though, it wasn’t you seated in the empty cockpit, it was Echo. 

He was leaning forward, elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, apparently lost to memories too. His foot tapped absently on the floor, and it was that agitated movement that told Hunter that he wasn’t the only one who felt this disturbance.

“You felt it too.” Hunter sat down in the pilot’s chair, spinning it round to face Echo, his agitation clear as day and humming in the air. 

Echo lifted his eyes to Hunter, then his head, his pale golden eyes shadowed, swallowed up by memories that Hunter couldn’t fix. You were the only one who had that ability, you and Rex alone. “Back when I was an Arc Trooper, with Ghost… She’d have these moments.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t feel right sharing this information. But he wasn’t blind, he saw the connection you had with Hunter, knew that he was probably somewhat aware, “Moments where… where everything built up inside her. She used to say it felt like pressure, like something waiting to snap.” 

His eyes were glazed still, moving to stare unseeingly at some point in the corner. 

Hunter half mirrored Echo’s position, leaning over, forearms on his thighs and his hands dangling between as he willed his body to be still, despite that humming agitation, “Like she has now?” He refused to talk in the past tense when referring to you. 

Echo nodded faintly, his hand curling into a fist and then relaxing, “Being a Jedi Commander, she had to muffle it, learn to not let it control her and to let it go. She would try mediation, but we could see it in her eyes when it was threatening to swallow her.” He barely blinked, entire body rigid, “Rex would try and help her the way he helped General Skywalker sometimes, but it wasn’t enough. Something else was battling her, the rage from losing her family, the fact she never quite fit in…” Now he moved, ducking his head to stare at his scomp with a tense jaw. 

Hunter watched his friend, his brother, almost seeing the memories hovering around him, the battle going on in his mind but he stayed quiet, letting Echo take his time and talk. He’d learnt that from Rex. Sometimes being a leader meant knowing when to back off. 

His brother sighed softly, brows lowered heavy over his eyes, “I was with her the first time it happened. It was after a hard mission, we lost a lot of men and a couple of Jedi too. That, combined with…” He hesitated, still loyal to his Jedi Commander, even now, “Combined with something.. It triggered her and she just exploded.” He twisted his scomp side to side absently, “It was like being in the middle of an electrical storm. There was lightning everywhere, from her hands, her body… It blew across the field and turned half the rubble to ash almost instantly.”

Hunter sat up a little straighter, because they’d all seen the hints of that force lightning, seen you wield it in the most dire situations. 

To him, it was an asset. A weapon you could utilise, something part of you, something… beautiful, actually. 

Yet it had been so ingrained into you that force lightning was wrong, it was a mark of the Sith, that you almost always fell victim to guilt, frustration and endless darkness afterwards.  

Echo was still talking, “It didn’t hurt me though.. She never hurt me.” He touched a hand to his chest, palm splaying out over it, “But I felt it. I felt a glimmer of her pain in my own chest.” Now he looked at Hunter, his expression one Hunter had never seen before on his brother but he recognised, “And I felt it again tonight. And I know you felt something too.” 

He looked at Echo quietly for a second, denial coating his tongue like acid, then he swallowed, his own fists curling up on his thighs, “We don’t know that, we don’t know that there’s something wrong.” 

There couldn’t be. Because if they’d both felt it, if Hunter’s senses had felt it from wherever you were… You weren’t just in pain or in danger. 

You were in utter turmoil. 

Echo opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by the scuff of boots, and Tech’s voice, “Neither of you are wrong, Hunter.” He walked into the cockpit, doing a double take at Hunter in his spot. His fingers twitched on his datapad, gloves flexing but he kept walking anyway, pressing a few buttons in the instrument panel, “My scanners picked up a significant disturbance in the force at the same time you both felt something.” 

Hunter blinked a few times, looking up at the side of Tech’s head, “You’ve been monitoring the force? How is that even possible?” He paused, “Why didn’t you tell us?” This last question was more a demand, his voice hardening but he couldn’t help it. This was important, something they all should have known. 

Tech glanced at him over his shoulder, his own honey eyes unusually hard, as was the tone in his voice, “Rex.” He stated it so bluntly in response to the first question that it left no room for argument, “To answer your second question, you are all aware that I have been monitoring a number of data points to look for Ghost. I did not realise I would need to give you an extensive list.” That bite, the cold tone of his voice told Hunter everything, that they were all dancing on a knife’s edge at what this data meant. 

A shrill beeping cut him off mid-sentence, cutting through the air of the ship like a wounded animal. 

There were footsteps at the door, and then Wrecker’s voice as he reached up to cover his ears, “Aahh!! Make it stop!!” He glared at Tech’s datapad, the source of the sound. “What is that?!” 

Tech frowned for a split second then looked down at the pad, “That would be another alert that I set up to monitor comms chatter.” He tapped a few things, then that frowned returned, “Interesting.” 

The tone of Tech’s voice immediately set Hunter on edge even more, something tiptoeing down his spine, waiting. “Tech.” He tried to keep the irritation and impatience out of his voice, because it wasn’t his brother's fault but he knew something was about to happen, and he’d already made Tech snap at him once. 

“It appears we have been sent a comms message from the Ojoster sector. A planet called Weyland.” He adjusted his goggles, tapping the screen, “I have begun a decoding program on the message.” 

Echo was frowning, looking at Tech but unseeingly, like he was trying to work something out, muttering the name over again. 

Hunter cocked his head, leaning further across his chair again, arms crossed over his chest, “Echo? What is it?” He observed his brother carefully, “You know that name, don’t you? That planet?” 

He shook his head slightly, “I don’t know. It sounds familiar, maybe, but only in a passing comment. I’m sure…” He trailed off, then lifted his head to look at Hunter, something in his eyes.

There was that feeling again, a whisper in the back of his mind, that voice that taunted Hunter with the knowledge he couldn’t grasp yet. “Tech, any chance you can hurry that message up?” Each second was feeling like an eternity, an anxious energy humming through his body, making him want to pace, to run, shoot something, find you. 

Hunter quelled this uncharacteristic franticness, allowing himself a deep, slow breath. 

Rex wouldn’t lose his head over this. He would be calm, efficient. He would gather all of the information and then make his plan. 

Except, as his eyes drifted to Echo again, he remembered a time when Rex was anything but that steady presence of calm. He was almost wild compared to his usual demeanour, desperate even.

Because he knew something wasn’t right and his brother was hurt. 

Just before Hunter thought he might explode out of his skin, Tech straightened, “Here. It’s ready.” He pressed play on the datapad, and Hunter was sure no one missed the way his fingers trembled as they all leant in.

There was a burst of static, an echo, before a voice came over - a droids flat tone, “The storm is coming. I repeat, the storm is coming.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed. 

The comms message plinked and then played from the beginning again those words echoing around the ship and their very souls.

That message was a distress code, a code given to you when you were separated. The Batch had a code for themselves, but this was yours. 

Except that wasn’t what the issue was. 

“Hunter…” Echo was even paler than usual, his golden honey eyes heavy, knowing.

You had never, ever used your distress code. Not even when you were facing down an entire army, not even when your ship was tumbling through space with no engines, no fuel, no brakes.

Not even when you’d been taken from them in an explosion that Hunter still heard in every hour of his waking and sleeping mind. 

So it could only mean one thing.

“It’s a trap.” Even Wrecker’s voice had dropped a level, a similar expression of sickness but growing anger, fury even, that you’d been taken in the first place.

Something rose in Hunter’s chest, a roaring beast of rage, terror, guilt, but above all, fierce protection. That heat seeped through his blood, clearing his head and he yanked his helmet back on with a roll of his shoulders, “Of course it’s a trap. Which means Ghost needs our help more than ever.” He rose from the pilot's chair, a sergeant commanding his army, “Tech, change course from Moraband to Weyland. I want the fastest route there, now. Someone contact Rex and see if he can meet us there.” He turned to face the lights of hyperspace, letting out a breath as he finally realised what those senses were screaming at him, and they finally had a course for you. 

We’re coming, Ghost.

[tounderstandthesoul]

Chapter 13: Down In Darkness

It's finally time to move on, leave Playcare behind you and continue in the direction of the Gas Production zone. You'll get there by following the instructions, even if there's a bit of stress between a pair of critters.

---

This is the edited note. Here I am again! After a few weeks, here's finally a new update for you! After all, this is one of my absolute favorite stories. Have fun reading, and feel free to read the endnotes! Have fun reading!

---

Youve always felt alone. Your Whole Life.

For as long as you can remember. People always approached you for a reason, never voluntarily. Scientists for the experiments, other children from Playcare who hurled insults at you or made fun of your scars.

It's not as if you chose it. You just don't know if you like it or if you're used to it, but one thing was clear: being lonely does things to you. You've always Felt like shit, bitter and angry all the Time.

Until you've Snaped.

It was predictable, it had to happen at some point. All the experiments, the bullying from the other children and your steadily deteriorating mental state. It had built up, from the trembling of your legs to the headaches you couldn't stand anymore.

You couldn't take it all anymore, either you were locked up in the cold all-white lab rooms like a wild animal in a cage. Or you were in Playcare, an outsider that nobody wanted to sit next to, nobody wanted to eat and nobody wanted to play with. Both possibilities tore at your psyche and left you helplessly crying yourself to sleep every day, if you got any.

But now you were here, with the Smilling Critters and this woman called Sophie. You were already outside, on the Playcare lawn next to the big platform with the statues. The atmosphere was...well. While you and DogDay waited together the whole time, walking out of the large common bedroom of Home Sweet Home, the others looked on quizzically. But DogDay didn't seem to care at first, she helped you fill your little bag with a few things and walked off with you.

"So, are you all ready?"

To be honest, you're not. You couldn't sleep that night, you're really hungry and scared. Yesterday, when you and DogDay... kissed, the moment was incredibly beautiful. You can't stop thinking about it, but then you always think about afterwards: Your look at 1188, the giant monster version of CatNap.

The hungry white eyes that stared at you from afar, the feeling that this lust for murder would only make you fall over from the feeling of death. At that moment, you and DogDay were the prey and CatNap was the hunter who had already spotted you and was about to catch you.

But he didn't, as far as you know, I hadn't even seen DogDay. It would have been so easy to just attack from the darkness and put an end to you both. Cut you to pieces with his claws and feed them to the Ruined Critters.

And now you were standing here again, your gaze unable to move from the distance, it was as if the CatNap version was still standing there. But CatNap wasn't the only problem, because there are two of them. And the second CatNap, the female one, gives you a strange look out of the corner of her eye all the time that awakens a strange feeling in you.

Why...Why is she looking at me like that? Have I done something wrong?

But when you feel DogDay's warm paw on your hand, you stop thinking. You just keep walking with her, with the whole group, but hardly any of them notice you. Your feet, now wearing shoes, miss the cool grass. Your lungs feel as if they belong to you for the first time, the air flows through your body and makes your icy breath appear as a small cloud from the corner of your mouth.

"So, do you have it?"

"What, the battery?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Na Klaro"

You turn to the side, behind you Bubba and Sophie are talking to each other. While Bubba only has a backpack on, Sophie is carrying a blue battery that even glows slightly. The other Smilling Critters were also behind you, so behind you and DogDay, but they didn't look too happy to be here.

Of course, they are not here by choice, in this place, or as you understood from their explanation, in this dimension. Sophie also said that she remembers that DogDay and CatNap were boys, at least male characters in Cartoon and also as overseers here in Playcare.

You like DogDay, her sunny way of just smiling even in the worst situation no matter how bad it is. Her warm presence, the way she touches you and makes you feel like you're not everything.  Everything about her was just perfect.

And what were you?

Filth. Absolute scum. A little boy whose ribs are visible because he's starved. An experiment that helps people escape, then allegedly lies to them and nearly kills himself. No, that doesn't sum it up well enough. After you came through the Cavern, into the Playhouse, you almost killed yourself. But what happened instead? Someone else had to suffer because of you.

The two little Ruined Critters that look like Hoppy and Kickin. They may have served CatNap and the prototype, but I don't think even they deserved what you did. Completely at the end of your pointless life, you took out your frustration, your fear and your hunger, which is no different from the other experiments, on them. You didn't eat them, but you turned them into a bunch of incapable abominations with your Soul Transfiguration.

And now, as if nothing had happened, you walk with the other Smilling Critters in the direction of the Gas Production Zone. The Red Flower Door is already in sight and you are almost there, but behind you the voices of some critters slowly reach your ears.

"Yo Nap' Whatcha Looking At?" Kickin shouts, hands clasped behind the back of his head. With big, dramatic steps, he moves next to Hoppy and looks into the distance.

You turn directly around, trying to look as neutrally as possible at CatNap. Your eyes don't even make it far before they meet her obsidian colored ones, she stares at you.

"What do you care?" CatNap answers back quietly, still with her eyes on you. The others gasp slightly, DogDay squeezes your hand a little harder but doesn't move.

What did she just say?

"Wow! Wow, now take it easy...Are you on your period?"

"Kickin!"

"Dude!"

The others gasp along, even if you don't really understand what Kickin just said, you know it's bad enough to get a reaction like that from the others. But no one really moves, well at least until CatNap suddenly moves with a big step in Kickin's face.

"What's your fucking problem?" CatNap shouts this time, with a straight line up she faces him directly, both of them being the same height.

"Kickin calm down! And CatNap: Language!"

"Take it easy! Did you and that Weirdo get confused in the dark or what?"

The situation is becoming increasingly tense, even though you are already close to the Gas Production Zone. DogDay and you don't move, while the other critters slowly form a kind of circle with Kickin and CatNap in the middle.

"What's your problem?" Says CatNap again, this time a little louder.

"You're the one who said that! As that one!" With that, Kickin suddenly points at you, his wings forming something like an index finger and moving directly towards your head. "You've been acting all weird since you were alone there!"

"You beat him up! And now you say Weird?" CatNap replies immediately, this time shouting very loudly.

"I think we need to do something..." You look to your left, it was DogDay. She had a tight grip on your hand, while her eyes are completely dedicated to the situation behind you.

"Now calm down, everyone"

With that, it stops. Sophie stands in the middle of the circle, puts her hands in front of CatNap and Kickin and doesn't let them move a bit.

"We all have the same destination here, eat the same food and are about to arrive, so what's the point?" She shouts, stands up straight and looks at the whole group like children who have just messed up.

Nobody answers.

"Come on, excuse yourselves."

They don't move, both are still staring at each other like animals fighting for prey. In contrast to just now, Kickin stands even a little taller, stares down at CatNap and doesn't say a word. He also makes a noise along the lines "Tsk".

CatNap doesn't return the gesture; she simply turns around and pushes her way along the critters in the circle. After a few steps, she stops and looks into the distance.

"Ugh...teenagers."

Mr

After the incident and the incredibly unpleasant situation that ensued, you have finally arrived. The huge metal room with the gigantic machines and the giant glass containers with the red smoke: The Gas Production Zone.

While Sophie talks to someone on the phone, you all wait leaning against a metal box. With you and DogDay in the middle and CatNap and Kickin at the complete opposite ends of the line. No one is talking and all eyes are on Sophie as she tries to do something with the big blue glowing battery.

"I'm going to go help Sophie...best not do any nonsense...And watch out." With that statement, Bubba abruptly stands up straight. This actually startles you slightly, causing DogDay's grip on your hand to tighten. He walks over to her and stops, and it looks like neither of you understand the instructions on the phone.

"Sooooo Y/N, right?"

You turn towards the noise, to the left. On your left was Bobby, with her bag in her hand and a big grin that didn't really fit the situation.

"I didn't really catch your name back then..." She says, flashing you a grin and showing a little of her teeth. "I don't know if I thanked you for back then, you really were our salvation after we woke up in those cells."

Should I answer that? Or just nod?

"We really need to sit down in a circle soon and talk about everything, whether it's here or back home!" She raises an arm and holds it over her face, as if the sun's rays are blinding her, while at the same time she looks into your eyes. "There really are issues that need to be resolved."

What does she want to clear up? About me and CatNap and Kickin? Or maybe just make fun of me?

"Maybe Crafty can draw you a picture...of you and DoggDay."

There was dead silence. DogDay looked down at you, and you looked out at her. But out of the corner of your eye, you saw the looks of the others: Confusion, smirking, disbelief. The others only seem to have noticed now, because of Bobby's remark about the two of you. That you have something more than friendship.

"Ehm...Did I say something wro-

"GUYS, WE'VE FOUND IT! THE HOLE FOR THE BLUE BATTERY! IT'S HERE!"

Your heart almost stops, the many glances of the Smilling Critter that meet you. The screaming of Sophie and the realization that now comes: It goes deeper into the factory.

But something was still there apart from your fear, a feeling that you can't quite make clear.

You all run over as a group to Sophie and Bubba. She is standing at a blue metallic hole, which reminds you of a power socket. There's also a green one next to it, but it doesn't look right for the big blue battery.

"Now we can finally get out of here." Sophie shouts, even though you're already standing next to her.

But something was wrong, you got goosebumps that literally made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There was a metal door next to you, and somehow you had the feeling that there was something behind it that was very bad. You squeeze one hand into a fist, the one not in DogDay's paw, and prepare to use your transfiguration.

"By the way, Poppy and Kissy will be here soon too, Ollie promised me that!"

Kissy? Who is that?

"Ah the little doll and that big pink thing?"

"Kickin, now be a little respectful at last!"

"Dude, take it easy, I've already got it."

"Seriously Kickin, from now on you need to be careful and respectful to everyone, you know what happened."

"I don't care if he's lying to us all and being such a crybaby."

And that's exactly when it happens.

Time runs slower than before. Your eyes don't understand what they see, just like the rest of your body.

Sophie dropped the blue battery into the hole, said something like "Ta-Da" at the same time and then looked funny. The people next to and behind you, the Smilling Critters, suddenly screamed. You can't see why yet, but your instinct tells you to run.

There was CatNap. The giant purple monster version with the white eyes that have given you so many nightmares. A huge wide grin, sharp teeth and red smoke leaving his mouth and slowly destroying your vision.

You still feel DogDay pull your hand away, your eyes follow the blurred vision to her face. It was no longer a grin, it was fear instilled and about to break the visage.

Now he's here to Kill all of you. But you will have more use alive.

---

Wow, that was a dangerous ending. I have to say that I didn't know exactly what was going into this chapter. I often wavered between thoughts and a bit of lore from you, but I really don't have a plan at all. But that's over, because I already have a fixed plot for the next chapters and the story is already a little over halfway through. Thanks for reading and please leave kudos!

[thenationaltreasuregazette]

ND for NT? Neurodivergence in National Treasure

(Ben Gates Edition)

Previously, we discussed what the casting of Nicolas Cage brought to the role of Ben Gates, namely

age

a different relationship with attractiveness, and

Weirdness™

But for a lot of fans, Cage’s performance brings something else to the character as well: autism.

I have to admit, though I am no stranger to bestowing neurodivergent headcanons on my favorite media, National Treasure never caught my eye as a potential subject.

However, y’all have spoken.

So let’s explore this!

Because it seems relevant before we dig in, I am an official member of the Squirrel Gang (ADHD) but I’m probably not autistic. I did have a “what’s the difference/do I have both?” phase, so I’m a bit familiar with the criteria, how masking affects diagnosis etc. I’ll do my best to be faithful to your experience.

Okay.

While official diagnosis is definitely not everything when it comes to neurodivergence, we’ll start with the DSM-5 criteria for autism so we have a common framework to reference from.

I thought these two sites had particularly good breakdowns, one in table form and one in infographic and prose form.

Basically, there are two main diagnostic ‘buckets.’ Group A is about “Persistent differences in communication” and consists of three subcategories. All three must be present for diagnosis. Group B is about repetitive behaviors and interests, and two of the four subcategories are required for diagnosis.

Parts C-E are more of a check after A and B are met, so we’ll deal with those last.

I’ll also be adopting the convention of changing the DSM’s language of “deficits” to “differences” throughout, because fuck that.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN GATES

A1. “Differences in social-emotional reciprocity.”

In adults this can look like “difficulty initiating or sustaining back and forth conversation; tendency to monologue without attending to listener cues; unusual response to greetings or other social conventions.”

Ben certainly does have a few unusual responses to conversation. When he meets Abigail for the first time, he’s on a very serious mission (his last chance to save the Declaration of Independence without committing a felony) but the first words out of his mouth are about her accent. Then at the end of that conversation, once he realizes she’s not going to engage with him on the topic anymore, he jumps up to end the conversation quickly and awkwardly, only reengaging with her when he brings up the GW buttons again. Ben offers no small talk that is not related to American History.

During the gala, he doesn’t seem to realize that Abigail and Stan are weirded out by his toast to high treason and enthusiasm for entrail-based punishments.

After he and Riley rescue Abigail from the catering truck, he asks her “Are you hungry?” This reads to me as an attempt to startle her out of her shock long enough to get an answer to his actual question (“Are you alright?”), but still.

And Ben Gates doesn’t not have a tendency to monologue. This is especially apparent in Book of Secrets, where he consistently talks over Abigail and Riley without listening to them. Though, as always, I do not think BoS was well-written or particularly in-character, so I treat it as canon only when it suits me.

A2. “Differences in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction”

This section is about difficulty understanding non-verbal social cues, tendency to minimally communicate through facial expression and gesture, dislike of eye contact, and difficulty moderating tone/volume of voice.

Once of the main points of evidence of this is that fact that Ben seemingly did not have any idea that Ian was a criminal, that Shaw brought a gun on the Charlotte expedition, or that they were going to turn on him at any moment.

Ben Gates is a smart man, but he’s blind to this either because he’s so desperate to find the Charlotte that he’s ignoring any troubling signs, either consciously or subconsciously, and/or he genuinely cannot read them. He might be completely unaware of the power dynamics between Ian, Shaw, and the rest of the crew, with are portrayed via tone and body language throughout the film.

Ian and Ben also agree that Ben cannot bluff. While he does manage to fool Ian at the end of the film, both other times when Ian brings up bluffing—on the Charlotte and in front of Trinity Church—Ben looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

When he gets the instructions to jump off the Intrepid, Ben doesn’t have to fool anyone, because the agents are too far away to see what he’s doing and he straight-up tells Sadusky what he’s going to do.

Headcanon alert: We know Ben has played poker with Ian. While you could certainly believe that Ian and the gang were play low-stakes cards sometimes to entertain themselves, I absolutely prefer to believe that Ben was running out of resources for the search and found his way into a back room poker game in a desperate bid to buy himself a little more time. At first, Ian saw a mark he could swindle out of his last few hundred dollars, but as Ben kept going on about this treasure and a girl named Charlotte, he got a much more lucrative idea.

In the tone of voice category, we have the exquisitely delivered “Rheallhy?” Ben also has a tendency to mumble to himself, as when Sadusky is playing with the glasses and he says,

BEN There’s more to it.

It’s hard for me to tell how Ben does as far as eye contact goes, but what’s very clear is that the time he does purposefully make extended eye contact it’s awkward as shit.

A3. "Differences in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships"

This is the part where I just copy + paste the Nic Cage and the Art of Weirdness article to answer this prompt.

As a recap, we looked at the version of Ben presented in the 2003 script (just before Cage signed onto the movie) and the final character, and noted how Ben became less social and more isolated in the final film. References to previous girlfriends and an ongoing friendship with Riley are gone, as is the landlady whom he’s friendly with, etc. The film version of Ben Gates is someone who doesn’t seem to be particularly close to anyone, other than the people he needs for the treasure hunt (Ian and Riley).

So there’s some plausible evidence in all three subcategories of Group A. Let’s move on to Group B! (Remember, we only need 2/4 here.)

B1. “Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements, use of objects, or speech”

Ben does not strike me as a particularly stimmy person. Unless he’s doing actions directly related to the treasure hunt, he’s often framed as the still, stable center while Riley bounces around him.

(In these scenes, this blocking represents Ben’s resolve and the peace he’s made with his decision to steal the Declaration, versus Riley’s reticence and need to find another way out.)

He does do this thing, where he circles a finger over his temple,

which I adore because he’s being so intense and patiently righteous about it, but without other similar examples, I wouldn’t call this more than neurotypical levels of stimming.

B2. “Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior”

We meet Ben Gates during the two wildest weeks of his life, and he doesn’t seem to be clinging to a set routine. We get so few glimpses of his regular daily life that it’s hard to support.

B3. “Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus”

Do I even have to answer this one?

Boy hears story.

Boy spends next 30 years obsessively pursuing story.

Boy steals Declaration of Independence to prove story is true.

My guess is that it’s Ben’s lifelong fixation on the treasure and American history what gets people looking at whether he’s ND in the first place. Lmk if it was something else for you though!

B4. “Hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input or unusual interest in sensory aspects of the environment”

I don’t know that I would have considered this outside of the scope of this topic, but yeah, I could see a case for Ben being hyposensitive. He stabs his thumb on the Charlotte like it’s a pretty easy and normal thing to do. It’s Riley who really flinches, not Ben.

When he jumps off of the Intrepid, he doesn’t seem sore or cold afterward. Yes, the henchmen bring him dry clothes, but he doesn’t seem physically phased by such a dramatic stunt.

So we can meet the two out of four requirement here as well.

Groups C-E

These groups can be asked as three questions:

C. Were the symptoms present in early development?

We only see young Ben for a few minutes, but when we do he is already interested enough in the treasure to sneak into the attic to learn about it, and we know he gets obsessed with the legend that night and never lets it go.

Without additional information, we can say yes.

D. Do the symptoms cause clinically significant impairment?

While none of what we’re discussing here seems to impair Ben’s treasure hunting ability, I do think it’s be easy to make a case that this globetrotting treasure hunter gig is one of the only ones he’s well suited for. If Ben were forced to work an office job, for instance, I do not see him succeeding in that environment. I don’t know that he’d get the hierarchy, why he can’t just do what he wants, when he wants, that not everyone is driven by a greater purpose larger than themselves, etc.

So sure, check that off.

E. Are these disturbances not better explained by intellectual disability?

No. This seems self explanatory.

Congratulations! Benjamin Franklin Gates is fully diagnosable with autism if you so wish!

But what if you don’t wish?

Caveats and such

Well, first of all, you’re allowed to see fictional characters however you want to. The Ben Gates you have in your head is ever so slightly different from the one I have in mine, and the one another reader has in theirs. If it’s important to you that he’s autistic, or allistic, or whatever, then he is.

And there’s a big asterisk I have to put on this assessment. Well, actually 2.

One, I am not a trained professional, and fictional character Ben Gates was not here to answer these questions himself.

Two, there’s a caveat to all of this analysis, a loophole, and I already brought it up:

We only see Ben Gates during the two weirdest weeks of his life.

So yes, could he struggle with eye contact and reading social cues and that’s why he’s so unhinged during the toast? Absolutely.

But he’s also like, a would-be history professor about to commit a major crime with one week of preparation. He’s not the slick professional we’re used to seeing in heist movies like Ocean’s Eleven, nor is he a highly trained Bond-style hero who’s ready for anything. He’s a regular (ish) person about to do something he can never take back. How is he supposed to be “normal” in that situation? What does that even look like?

The only food we see him eat is a microwaved Stouffer’s lasagna. Is that because he relies on the predictable taste and texture of processed foods, or because he’s been planning a heist all week and doesn’t have time for anything else? You decide!

Is he hyposensitive to pain, or is he just an action-adventure protagonist who’s expected to action-adventure without getting a scratch until the plot demands otherwise? He could be both!

Conclusion

Personally, while I like this reading of the character, I’m not sure I consider it ‘basically canon’ the way I do some other ND headcanons, in large part because we spend so little down time with Ben. I have no idea what his regular life is like.

I was looking through my favorite/personal ND headcanons, and most of them are from TV shows rather than movies. I think that’s precisely because long-term behavior patterns are so much more apparent in people you spend weeks or years with.

However, as a matter of fic and headcanon, I love this! Because there you can spend as much time with Ben as you want to. It opens up so many opportunities to add my very favorite thing in fictional narratives: texture.

Did Ben truly have no idea what Ian was capable of?

Does all this adventuring make his samefoods hard to come by?

Does he hate the feeling of wet clothing, because hoo boy, he is having a Bad Time™ in Book of Secrets.

Is a tiny part of what keeps him pursuing the treasure the knowledge that he can’t function very well in any world except the one he’s created for himself?

So many possibilities!

What did I miss?

What are some of your favorite autistic Ben moments and headcanons?

Next time, Abigail!

[banannabethchase]

Daddy's Getting Hot - also on AO3

~

Adam attempts a new experiment, something he's had in his head for a few years now. Daddy's home. He thinks.

~

I edited this while listening to Caramelldansen. Title from Unholy by Sam Smith feat. Kim Petras.

Concept inspired by this video, which I can't watch without laughing. Sorry, Hanger. You're just too damned cute! Paging @sarahcakes613. Sarah, Daddy kink is on the line for you.

~

Adam gets the idea from Instagram. He’s not on as much anymore, but he still plays around with it from time to time.

OMG Mox is so Daddy in this, he sees commented on a random video of Mox. He continues to scroll, and it’s a pattern. He outright snorts when he sees someone refer to Matt as Daddy, but it gives him an idea.

“That could work,” he says out loud.

Matt pokes his head out from the bathroom. “You good?”

Adam nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Almost done?”

“My hair got stuck in the brush again so I’ll be a second,” Matt huffs. “This is why I tell you not to bring that brush.”

“My hair is curly!” Adam laughs. “I need different hair brushes. If you hate it so much, bring your own.”

“That requires me to think before I pack, and I’m above that,” Matt says, and his smile is so stupid Adam can’t do anything but roll his eyes.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it!”

~

They’re backstage for this Dynamite, mostly. Neither of them has much to do but check in with other wrestlers, coordinate. Adam’s absorbed some leadership activities without his permission, something Kenny once called sexually transmitted EVP, and he spends the evening on the phone, wondering how he can get out of this next time.

“And let catering know we need separate containers for the gluten and dairy free options!” Tony yells at Adam.

Adam rolls his eyes and relays the information as gently as he can, and hangs up.

“I am going to intentionally fuck up an order or something next week so nobody makes me use a phone,” he grumbles as he walks into the EVP room and drops his head into Matt’s lap.

“You aren’t good at fucking up on purpose, though,” Matt says, and Adam lets his eyes close as Matt runs his fingers through Adam’s hair. “Just ask Tony if he can put you on anything else.”

“Yeah,” Adam murmurs, getting comfortable. “Maybe I can be in charge of, like, directing people to locker rooms or something.

The jet lag’s getting to him and he’s almost asleep when the door bangs open.

“Jesus effing Christ, people in this building don’t know when to shut up.”

Adam’s jolted all the way awake by something heavy landing on his legs. “Hey!”

“Hi, Hanger,” Nick says, patting his thighs, where he doesn’t have his bony ass on them, that is. “You okay?”

“I was asleep, you shit,” Adam says. He twists, and Nick faceplants on the floor. “You deserved that.”

“Matt, tell your boyfriend to stop beating me up.”

“Apologize to your best friend for sitting on him,” Matt replies primly, and he pulls Adam back into his lap.

Adam grins up at him. “Do I finally beat Nick in an argument?” he asks. “Do I win?”

“Only because, this time, you were right,” Matt says, and he goes back to scrolling his phone with one hand and stroking Adam’s hair with the other. “Next time check if he’s sleeping, Nick. God. Be courteous.”

Nick glares. “Courteous?” he says. He stands up. “Courteous? You weren’t too courteous when you walked in the locker room a few weeks ago.”

Matt shrugs. “Lock it next time so I don’t have to see you bent over for Christian effing Cage.”

Adam sits up so fast his head spins. “I’m sorry, what?!”

Matt gets a little smile on his face while Nick starts making a noise that reminds Adam of when his dog smelled a coyote outside. “I never said anything because Nick wasn’t being annoying yet and swore me to secrecy, but if he’s going to be a bitch, I will be, too.”

“You are the worst brother,” Nick grumbles, throwing himself into a chair across the room. “You said you wouldn’t say anything.”

“And you said you’d stop being a douchebag,” Matt says. He finally looks up at Nick. “Go complain to your sugar daddy or something.”

“He’s not my – he bought me one pair of sneakers!”

Adam shoves his face into Matt’s stomach, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

Nick throws what Adam can only assume is a sneaker at Adam’s back. “I’m glad I sat on you.”

~

Tony gives them the okay to get back to the hotel early and Adam is giddy with anticipation. He’d hid in the locker room while Nick and Matt had done some work around the venue, so he’d come up with a plan. A new Matt experiment.

“Get your ass in that elevator,” he says, crowding Matt closer to the wall.

“Chill,” Matt laughs, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the metal. “You’re not usually the one being all desperate.”

He slides his hands into Matt’s front pockets, yanking him back against Adam. Matt rolls his hips and finds Adam already hard. “Hard not to be when I have you to look forward to.”

“I guess,” Matt says, pulling away when the elevator doors open. An older couple step out and frown at them. Adam responds by rolling his eyes and shoving Matt into the elevator a little rougher than necessary, but the way Matt practically climbs him when the doors close tell him he made the right move.

“Okay, I’m on board,” Matt says. “What’s the plan? Any experiments?”

Adam nods, leaning down to press a kiss to Matt’s forehead. “A surprise,” he murmurs.

Matt pulls back, eyebrows raised. “A surprise? Like a new vibrator?”

“No – god, we just got you a new one.” He pulls Matt in for a kiss, unable to resist. “It’s not a thing. It’s a – it’s a word?” He frowns. “Sort of.”

Matt tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to read Adam’s mind. “Okay,” he says. “Sure.”

The elevator dings and Adam almost throws Matt out of it. He needs to bury himself so deep inside of Matt the next person to pull him out of there will be crowned the king of England, and he can’t do that in public.

“Room,” he says, hands on Matt’s ass, “now.”

“Your hands are in the pocket with my wallet,” Matt replies. “You open it.”

Adam does is best to grope intently as he can before pulling out the wallet and pushing Matt up against the door. “Could fuck you right here,” he murmurs in Matt’s ear. “Anybody could walk by and see you getting fucked so good you forget your own name.”

Matt exhales shakily. “You could,” he says. “You should.”

“We’d get kicked out,” Adam says, swiping the card. Matt slaps his hand away as he pushes open the door.

Adam yanks the door closed behind them and shoves Matt up against it, kissing him so hard his own head spins. Matt opens his mouth and leans into it, throwing a leg around Adam’s waist and yanking him in. Adam grabs him and turns, throwing him onto the bed.

“Take off your clothes,” he says. “Now.”

Matt does so in a frenzy, his tee shirt hitting Adam in the head, and Adam takes the moment to grin. “What?” Matt asks.

“I just – I love you.” Adam sighs. “You know that, right?” He steps over to the bed and flops on top of Matt, earning a giggle. “Always.”

Matt nods and caresses Adam’s cheek. “Always,” Matt echoes, like a promise. “So, are you still gonna eff me so hard I feel it tomorrow, or are you gonna cry again?”

Adam huffs. “That was twice, and it was your fault.”

“And?” Matt asks. “Crying tonight. Got it.”

Adam flips Matt over, kneading his ass. “Not quite.”

He opens up Matt fast, not quite as roughly as the week before, but still with a speed he doesn’t usually aim for. Matt takes seconds to start demanding Adam’s cock.

“I am a finger in, Matthew, chill,” Adam says. On an impulse, he smacks Matt’s ass, full palm striking. Matt lets out the kind of moan that Adam knows he’ll hear in his wettest dreams. “Good?”

“Yes,” Matt breaths. “Do that any time, okay? Is that the surprise?”

“Nope,” Adam says, tracing the print of his hand on Matt’s ass. Matt exhales, shaky. “Man, your ass is pretty. Sure you’re okay with me getting it all marked up?”

Matt laughs, and it cuts off when Adam adds another finger. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Matt says. He glances back and Adam rolls them so he can see Matt’s face. “Because I’m yours. Right?”

Adam pauses. “All mine,” he says. He crooks his fingers enough to get a yelp from Matt and grins. “Mark you all over as mine, yeah?”

Matt’s eyes roll back in his head. “Oh, my god.”

Adam has to reassure Matt that he’ll be back soon when he steps away to get the lube.

“You want a –”

“No!” Matt calls. “No. Want you to come in me, like always.”

Adam chuckles. “Still gonna ask from time to time.” He pulls out the lube and flicks it open. “Get ready, baby.”

Matt nods and shifts, shoving a pillow under his hips. “Ready for my surprise.” He really does look eager, little smile and twitchy fingers. Adam gets a little more confident with his idea.

Adam goes slow to start, just the head of his cock inside of Matt as he gives him shallow thrusts. Matt whimpers, trying to push his hips down further.

“More?” he pleads. “I wanna feel all of you, Adam.”

“Yeah?” Adam asks. He gives Matt a little more, trying to keep himself focused while consumed by white-hot velvet. “That good?”

Matt shakes his head. “All of you,” he demands. “Come on, I want all of your – all of your cock.” He looks up, eyes all pretty and sweet like he knows Adam can’t resist. “Please?”

Adam slides in home, surrounded. “Yeah, baby. Anything for you.”

Matt sighs as Adam tries some deeper, slower thrusts, sighs building into whimpers into moans.

“Yeah,” Adam growls, trying to get into the head space for his plan, “make some pretty noise for Daddy.”

The atmosphere shifts as Matt freezes, his face falling into mild bemusement. Adam stops moving. He needs a reaction. Any reaction.

Matt bursts into laughter, so hard and so emphatic Adam slips out of him.

“Oh, wait, what?” Adam asks. Matt’s laughter gets more raucous as he curls up into himself, turning into shrieks. “Okay, this is just mean.”

“I’m sorry!” Matt wails, looking more gleeful than Adam’s seen in a while. “Sorry!”

Adam tries to level him with some sort of booboo eyes, or something close, but that would work better if Matt was looking at him. “You could feel a little bad about laughing at me so hard we stopped fucking.”

“I am!” Matt says. “I’m sorry, I love you. I just – all I can think about when you call yourself ‘Daddy’ is that one video of you…” He trails off, and Adam can tell he’s trying desperately to get himself under control, which is somehow worse than Matt just cackling. “Okay, remember back on the indies, when you told Kaleb to keep the belt warm for Daddy?”

Adam nods. “Yeah? And?”

“That’s what I think of,” Matt says, and he looks incredible with that smile on his face, splayed out and gleeful on Adam’s hotel bed. “That, like, toddler version of you with the curly hair and frat boy attitude calling yourself Daddy.” He reaches up and cups Adam’s cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, I do want to make noise for you and everything, but…” He sighs. “I’ve seen the way you looked back then, as first draft Adam Page, and that’s the only other time you’ve ever called yourself Daddy.”

Adam opened his mouth to retort, because he’s sure he’s said something like that at that point. “I’m sure I did other times. I had to.”

“Not that I can remember,” Matt says.

Adam huffs. “This is the meanest you’ve ever been to me, you know.” He grabs Matt’s thighs. “Like, is this payback from the other night?” He slides back into Matt, grins when Matt’s face flutters into that open, desperate look. “You mad you didn’t get to be mean to me then, so you’ll make fun of me now?”

Matt lets out a little whimper. “Not – not making fun,” he whispers. “It just didn’t work – but I still want –”

Adam pulls out, fighting the smile that’s threatening. “You do? Didn’t feel like it.”

“Wait,” Matt says, eyes searching Adam’s face. “Wait, no, I don’t – don’t leave.”

“You were laughing at me while I was fucking you,” he says. “Maybe my feelings are hurt.” He tries to give Matt booboo eyes.

Matt huffs and bangs his hands on the mattress in an adorable little temper tantrum. “I laughed at you when you called yourself Daddy because you were so effing cute back then, and the video sticks in my head any time anybody says the word ‘Daddy.’ It’s stuck there.” And then they hit: full caliber boo boo eyes. It doesn’t matter what either of them say next. Adam already knows his battle is lost.

“You aren’t allowed to be rational about your answer,” Adam sighs. “Get over here.” He yanks Matt a little farther down the bed and rolls Matt over, sliding a hand from the small of his back into his hair. He tangles his fingers and Matt gasps. Adam drags his dick down the still so slick crease of Matt’s ass. “Not so funny anymore, am I?”

Matt whines, arching his back, and it makes Adam’s cock catch on the rim of his hole. “No,” he pants. “No, not funny.”

“You gonna laugh at me again?” Adam asks, sliding in just the tip of his cock.

“I won’t,” Matt gasps. “Please get in me.” He’s begging now. Good. “I won’t laugh again. I won’t laugh, please.”

“Good boy,” Adam growls, and Matt mewls. “Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” he laughs, sliding into Matt all the way. “You need it all about you. You’re the only one that gets a nickname.” He goes slow at first, dragging it out so Matt’s miserable, trying to rise back up on his knees and make it faster, but Adam keeps a firm hand on his back. “I get it,” Adam says, laying across Matt’s back. “Mox is right. All you want to be is a good little hole, and you don’t like it when the people who use you like a toy try to make it about them.”

Matt’s response is almost inhuman with the force of it. That’s it for Adam. He can’t fight it anymore, and yanks Matt’s hips back so he’s hilt deep into him. “Oh, thank god,” Matt whines. “Adam, please, more.”

“More – alright.” Adam reaches back and swats at Matt’s ass, braces one foot on the floor and a knee on the bed for the best leverage, and goes wild. It’s different than the time before, without any anger, but he laughs a little as he fucks gorgeous little sounds out of Matt as he shoves his hips backward. Matt’s driving himself onto Adam’s cock like a man on a mission, and it’s addictive.

“Gonna keep you like this forever,” Adam laughs. “Mark you up all over the place, make sure people know you belong to me.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Yeah, do – do that.” He looks over his shoulders. “You, um. Handprints?”

“I can do that.” Adam pulls his hand back and swats.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Matt scoffs, and it feels unfair that he can be uppity and smug with Adam’s dick inside him. He sighs. “And you did so good at being mean last week.”

“I – are you challenging me?” Adam asks, drawing back his hips to slam into Matt. Matt gasps. “Is that really a good idea right now?”

“Yes,” Matt says, tongue poking out between his teeth.

“Put your tongue in your mouth so you don’t bite it off,” Adam says, fighting a laugh. “And hold on.”

He swings his hand back and lands a smack right on the same spot as before, leaving a pink splotch behind. “Oh, hey. My handprint stayed behind.” He circles his hips. “Okay, yeah.” The pink darkens, leaving the shape of his hand behind. “I like that.” He fucks into Matt slowly, intentionally, running his hand along the remnants of the bruise from last week. Matt sighs, dropping down onto the mattress with his ass still up in the air.

“You could do that again,” Matt suggests. “Or, like, always. I like having a reminder of you on me.”

“Yeah?” Adam asks. He smacks Matt’s ass again in the same place, earning a whimper. “You want people to know you’re mine?”

“Uhuh,” Matt murmurs. He turns his face back and moans into the pillow.

“Don’t do that,” Adam says. “I want to hear you.”

Matt snickers. “Does Daddy want me to make some noise?”

Adam expected it to – well, Matt’s right. It doesn’t really work.

“See!” Matt says. “It doesn’t – you’re hot and all, but the Daddy thing doesn’t work for you.”

“Fine,” Adam sighs, and he rolls his hips. “I fuckin’ hate it when you’re right.” He smacks Matt’s ass again. “Turn over so I can see your pretty face when you come.”

Matt shifts, whimpering when Adam pulls out of him, then lays on his back with his eyes all big and wide again. “You think I’m pretty,” he says, beaming.

“You’re hot and pretty and the best thing that’s every happened to me,” says Adam as he finds his way back home. “You’re also insufferable and incredibly annoying, and it pisses me off that I get so into it.”

Matt laughs and Adam joins in, and it’s not long before Matt’s braced his arms against the headboard and making the tell tale noises that he’s about to come all over the place.

“Go ahead, baby,” Adam murmurs. “I wanna see it. Be all pretty when you come.”

Matt locks eyes on Adam’s, then, with a whispered, “Adam,” comes across his own stomach. He gets so fucking tight around Adam that it’s basically over with a few more rolls of his hips. He grabs Matt’s hand as he comes, clutching him as closely as he can, and begins to wonder how much longer he can pretend that ring isn’t burning a hole in his bedside table at home.

“Love you,” he murmurs, rolling over and yanking Matt into his chest. “I love you.”

Matt laughs, tangling his legs with Adam’s. “I love you, too. Scoot, I’m falling off the bed.”

“Alright,” Adam says. He grabs Matt around the waist and rolls them over so Matt’s on the other side of the bed.

“That was so much more uncomfortable than I think you planned for,” Matt mutters, and, to be fair, his face is shoved into the pillow.

“Sorry,” Adam says. “Got overexcited.” He lets go of Matt and props himself up on his elbow. “You okay?”

“Adam, I cannot go again right now.”

“I didn’t – that’s not what I meant!” he says. He flips Matt over and settles his hand over the print he’d left there.

“Is it still pink?” Matt asks, craning his neck to see. “Move your hand.” He slaps Adam’s hand away. “Ugh. I can’t see.” He stands up, stark naked, and all but parades over to the bathroom. “Oh, wow!” Adam can hear him say from the bathroom. “Good work!”

“Thank you for that evaluation, Mr. Jackson,” Adam snarks back, but then Matt pops his head out.

“What did you just call me?”

“Mr. Jackson?” Adam says. “Oh, god, now you have a new pet name for yourself that you get off to.”

Matt shrugs, walking back into the bathroom. “Pretty sure you’d get off on me calling you Mr. Page.”

Adam has a sudden image of Matt in a board room, suit half off, laid out on a conference table while Adam fucked the life out of him. “Yeah,” Adam says. “Yeah, I think I would.”

~

Mini playlist (crackier than usual sorry except I'm not):

Unholy - Sam Smith feat. Kim Petras

Daddy AF - Slayyyter

Do Me - Kim Petras

Smack That - Akon

BAIT - Kim Petras and Banks

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri X OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter Eleven: I Think I Knew

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Lanaguage, smut, oral, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, brief ass eating, (like REALLY brief) a little angst, fluff, lying, harassment, gaslighting, praise, a little dirty talk

A/N: smuttiest chapter yet! This was so much fun to write, I ended up completely losing myself in it. Shoutout to @bisexual-horror-fan for editing and beta reading and also for helping me get this done! I was really doubting myself on this chapter and you really talked me through it and helped me do it so much. You’ll never know how grateful I am dude!

@lizey-thornberry as your wanted to be tagged.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, before his hand pulled away, now watching as I stood up, my cell clenched between my fingers a little tighter than necessary as I stared at the now blank screen. Anger and confusion shooting through my brain at a million miles an hour, heart pounding in my rib cage and palms more damp than they should be. Who the fuck was doing this? Why were they doing this? How did some stranger have my phone number?

“Dahlia, who was it?” He asked again, struggling to untwist himself from my comforter to sit beside me, running his hand over his dishevelled bed hair. Any other night I’d find how his messy dark hair fell into his eyes sexy, or how cute he looked when he was still half asleep, but not that night. No, that night I felt an overwhelming sense of unease.

“I don’t know.” I mumbled, my eyes fluttering closed as I tossed my cell back onto my bedside table, “They hung up when they heard your voice, though.”

A small pause as he absorbed my words, a small cock of his head as if working out some kink in his neck, a minor clearing of his throat, his voice was clearer as he asked, “Okay? Are you implying something?”

I turned to look at him, teeth sinking into my bottom lip before letting out a sigh, turning around, so I was facing him entirely before speaking, “You know Gale Weathers’ stupid book? Sid, Randy and I were told it might be being made into a movie. If it does, it’s releasing sometime next year.”

“So…” Mickey’s voice trailed off as he looked at me expectantly, one eyebrow slightly arched.

“So, since the possibility got announced, Sidney’s been receiving a lot of weird phone calls, but they’d talk to her using that…” I swallowed a little, shaking my head, as though I was trying to shake the memory of Billy Loomis calling me using that voice, “Modulator. But they speak to her, whoever this is doesn’t actually speak to me. Just kind of breathes until they hang up.”

“Sweetheart, I think you’re overthinking this a little. How do you know it’s someone trying to prank you? It could just be someone calling the wrong number. How many of these calls have you had?”

I hesitated, looking down, so my hair covered my face and mumbling, “Five or six?”

I heard Mickey’s teeth lock together, and my head snapped up at the sound to see him staring at my wall, looking more pissed off than I’d ever seen him. “Jesus, what?”

He looked back at me, expression quickly smoothing out as he sent me a half-hearted smile, his hands moving to rest on the back of my neck as he said as softly as he could manage, “I don’t think it’s the same thing as Sidney’s getting.”

“You don’t?” I asked hopefully, hand flying up to rest over his hand, my fingers curling around his.

“No, I don’t. Maybe we should get you a new number.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I dropped my hand, picking up my cell and deciding to turn it off. Ghostface was gone, I didn’t need to live in fear anymore. Of course, with the rights to the book potentially being made into a movie, people completely detached and uninvolved are going to try and harass the survivors, it was in human nature to be curious. It was still bullshit and unfair that anyone tried it, though.

But as it would turn out, Mickey would be right. It wasn’t the same calls Sidney was receiving, or Randy for that matter.

“You’re stressed.” I felt his hands move to rest on my shoulders, pulling me back against his chest and his lips pressing gently to my pulse, making me sigh and my head fall on his shoulder. I could feel his smile against my skin and I turned my head, my forehead resting against his cheek, “This overthinking isn’t healthy, Dahl.”

“Tell me about it.” I muttered, making him chuckle under his breath, lips gently kissing my neck. I lifted my head, so I was looking at him, watching as his head tilted slightly as he took in my gaze with a questioning hum. “I really like you, Mickey.” I said softly, and he smiled at me, expression softening as he said sincerely, “I really like you too.”

Looking back now, I don’t know if he meant it, at least at that moment. But with how he looked at me, how his brown eyes softened like melting chocolate and his heart stuttered against my back as I said the words, I like to think he was telling the truth.

Before long, I was kissing him again, adjusting myself, so I was straddling him on my bed with my hands knotted in his thick, dark hair and grinding myself down against him, desperately needing him to take away the memory of that stupid phone call in a way only he could.

“Dahl- Dahl, stop.” He breathed against my mouth, his fingers gripping my hips tightly. I pulled back straight away, attempting to remove myself from him and mumbling apologies, but he quickly shook his head, his hand moving to tuck some stray hair behind my ear, “No, no. I was just um… going to ask if you wanted to try something?”

I raised my eyebrows, looking at him skeptically. “What?”

“We don’t have to do it, but I just wanted to do something for you. If you’re ready, no pressure.”

His smile was so charming, so beautiful, I couldn’t help but smile back. I knew already what he was implying, his eyes kept dropping down as he spoke, and I nodded my head, feeling a little nervous. This was a good way to take my mind off of stuff, and I cared about him. Cared about him more than I thought possible. It was weird, considering I hated this cocky asshole four months ago and now here he was in an instant, laid between my legs with his fingers dancing under the elastic of my panties, his brown eyes looking up at me for confirmation to which I quickly granted with a nod and a nervous smile which made him laugh again, though this time it was a little less playful and a lot more serious.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, kissing my inner thigh gently as he looked at me as if he was studying my face.

“I’m sure.” I said confidently, surprised at my own voice. It sounded different, maybe it was the excitement. Maybe it was because I could already feel how wet I was. Maybe it was because I had the man who was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen kissing my inner thigh, desperate to taste me.

He gently, slowly, pulled my panties down my legs, eyes leaving my face to settle on my pussy, his head resting gently against my thigh, his hair tickling my sensitive skin.

“Beautiful.” He said softly, and before I could respond with some kind of sarcastic come back, I felt it.

I felt his broad, flat tongue lick up my slit, making me gasp and move back instinctively, regardless of how nice it felt. He chuckled slightly, eyes darker than ever as he asked if I was okay, pulling back to look at me.

“I'm fine, I’m sorry!” I breathed, urging him to do it again, to which he obliged with a small chuckle, this time hooking his strong arms around my knees, placing them over his shoulders for better access.

His lips grazed up my thigh again, the sensation making me want to drop my head against the pillow, but I didn’t want to miss watching him.

I felt his tongue before I saw him move, he was much gentler this time, using the tip of his tongue to gently drag up my slit and stopping at my clit, softly repeating the action until I was beginning to writhe and sigh.

He smiled up at me, his fingers stroking my thigh gently as I felt his lips wrap around my clit.

“Oh!” I couldn’t help but gasp out, body jolting and my hands moving to thread through his hair as I felt his soft lips suckling at my clit, looking down at him to see his brown eyes fixed on my face.

He hummed around my clit, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through my body and making my back arch off the bed, my fingers tightening in his hair as I whispered out his name under my breath.

He pulled back a little, chuckling as his hand moved from my thigh to press against my stomach, forcing my ass against the bed.

“You gonna try and stay still for me?” He asked, resting his head against my leg as his fingers dragged down my torso. He pressed the pads of his forefinger against my clit, applying a small amount of pressure that made me instantly eager for more. I nodded my head, feeling myself clench around nothing, and he slid his fingers toward my hole, eyebrows raising a touch as he commented, “Look how wet you are for me. You're fucking drenched and I’ve hardly touched you. Feeling a little pent-up?” His tone was playful, teasing, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Do you always talk this much?” I mumbled, wanting nothing more than to push myself against his face, needing to feel more contact. His fingers were nestled just inside of me, feeling the bare heat of my arousal coating the tips of his fingers.

“What, you don’t like it when I talk to you?” His fingers moved a little, making me let out an agitated whine when it wasn’t enough.

“Mickey-“

I was cut off by the sensation of two of his fingers plunging into me, the feeling making me gasp loudly, eyes fluttering closed as my head tipped back. I could practically see his smile behind my closed lids as he curled his fingers upward, his mouth attaching back to my clit and beginning to suck indulgently and making my pussy clench his fingers tightly.

“Fuck, d-don’t stop!” I begged him, trying to remember not to move, not to adjust myself or force him to apply any more pressure. He knew exactly what he was doing, somehow already knowing my body better than I knew it myself.

He pulled his lips back for a second just to mumble, “Think I’m gonna?” before the strong tip of his tongue danced over my aching clit again, making me let out another cry of pleasure.

My heels dug into his back as I whimpered and panted out his name, feeling the tightly wound coil in my stomach about to snap. He was right, I was more pent-up and stressed out than I’d realized, and Mickey’s fingers and tongue were already starting to make it melt away, twisting the agitation into pleasure and stripping the thoughts away and turning them into nothing short of ecstasy.

I knew I wouldn’t last long the first time he did this, but how fast I was about to fall apart was fucking ridiculous.

I felt his lips abandon my clit, but his fingers didn’t stop pumping and curling as he looked up at me, watching my chest heave and my stomach tighten, unable to stop myself from arching off the bed.

“Not yet, Dahli.” I heard his voice, heard his command, but I didn’t want to listen to him. I needed this, needed to feel this. I ignored him, so fucking close, and immediately felt his fingers abandon me.

“Y-you- why the f-fuck did you-“ I stumbled over my words pathetically, forehead creasing as I clenched helplessly around nothing.

“Trust me.” His voice was even, melodic as I lifted my head to glare down at him. I opened my mouth to protest, but when my eyes touched his face, fuck. He looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen him. His lips and chin glistened in the dull light flooding in from outside with my arousal, his eyes were dark and almost manic and his wet fingers were gripping my thigh tightly, “Beg me for it.”

I let out a confused laugh, heart still hammering in my chest as I questioned him, “B-beg you for it? I’m not gonna-“

“Do you want me to make you cum?” He asked, dropping my legs from his shoulders and making me frown at him again.

I nodded my head once.

Mickey’s fingers moved again, dipping inside of me then rubbing over my clit, using my wetness as lubricant and being nowhere near as gentle this time as he repeated his words again, smiling cockily as my mouth fell open with a loud moan.

“Beg. For. It.”

I was stubborn, but I’m only fucking human.

My legs were shaking, he used his other hand to push my thigh down until it hit the mattress as he used his fingers to rub over my pussy, the action making me twitch and groan like the pathetic mess he was turning me into, the one I didn’t know I was capable of being for anyone.

I obliged him without much more prompting.

“Please- please.” I whispered.

“What? Can’t hear you.” He bent his head down, licking up a long stripe from my ass to my clit, my body jolting sharply at the action as I cursed out loudly and begged again, “Please, please let me cum! I can’t- I can’t take it.” I rambled out pleas and begged him incessantly, on and on, a fucking broken record, until he smiled up at me, moving his hand to my other thigh and forcing my legs as far apart as I could manage.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He said softly, and before I could respond, his mouth was attached to my clit and he sucked.

“Oh, fuck.” I practically shouted as his mouth and tongue attacked my clit, sucking forcefully and harshly, the pressure so good it was almost painful. It is that kind of burning sensation that makes it impossible to string together a sentence, that makes my eyes unfocus and numb tingling pins and needles radiate in my limbs. My hands yanked and pulled at his hair before finding his shoulders, my nails digging into his back and cutting into his soft flesh, making him hiss and moan against my throbbing cunt, urging him on to suck harder, his tongue dancing across me.

He pulled back for the briefest of moments to nod up at me before continuing, I took the nod as permission and I came. God, at long last I came, and I came harder than I ever had before on his face, almost sobbing out his name as my body shook and spasmed as I felt the coil completely snap and with it, me as well. Throat felt thick and heavy, eyes felt glassier and wetter than they should, hips moving the smallest amount, wringing out every single bit that I could on his mouth.

Mickey kept going, even after I tried pushing his head away. I felt his tongue move to dip into my cunt, practically drinking my juices as I continued to twitch and writhe under him and had to beg him to stop.

He did stop, when he was done, not when I wanted him to be. Something about it was so hot, the fact that even this act that was meant for my pleasure was still done in so many ways on his explicit terms, making me beg and not stopping until he had his fill. He was lifting his head from between my legs and smiling at me, not bothering to wipe his mouth before he crawled up on top of me, his lips attaching to mine. I moaned as I tasted myself on his tongue and mouth, unable to not notice how hard he was as he pressed himself against my thigh.

“Good girl, Dahli.” He said softly against my mouth, the praise making me preen from under him and press my bare core over his clothed erection. He let out a faltering grunt as I did so before pulling his head away, his hand coming up to press against my shoulder and push me into the bed. “Not tonight, I know you’re not ready.”

“I’m not,” I confirmed, my voice still trembling before I quickly added on, “But I want to… Help.”

His eyebrows furrowed a little before he caught on, eyes widening in realization.

“You really don’t have to, baby.” His forehead rested against mine as he spoke, and I could feel him against my bare pussy through his briefs, throbbing and hot. I knew I wanted to, I wanted to more than anything.

My shaking hands pushed against his shoulders and he moved off me, rolling onto his back, so I could move on top of him, my hands resting on his chest as I knelt over him, my knees either side of his thighs.

“Let me.” I insisted, and he raised his hands, palms up, and grinned up at me.

I wanted to return the favour. He made me feel the best I’d ever felt. I know he’d had more than his fair share of girls do this for him, but I didn’t care. I knew he cared about me, in his way anyway, and I knew how long it had been for him.

I edged down the bed, fingers tugging down his briefs quickly before I lost my confidence. He raised his hips to help me and I quickly discarded them to the side and my teeth bit down into my bottom lip as I sucked in an uneasy breath when I took him in.

It dawned on me that I’d never seen Mickey completely naked until that moment, and if I'm being honest I was mad that it had taken me this long, especially after seeing what he was packing.

Mickey was a solid seven inches, above average and slightly intimidating in terms of thickness. I knew not all dicks looked the same, just as not all pussies looked the same, but I doubted anyone in the world had one as pretty as his, not that I’d ever want to find out regardless.

“Are you okay?” I glanced up at him, he looked a little concerned. He sat up in my bed, leaning toward me and pressing his hand against my cheek gently, reiterating that I didn’t have to if I wasn’t ready.

I shook my head with a small smile, my hand moving up to press over his. “I want to.” I said softly, my other hand moving between us to gently grasp his length, laughing a little as he jumped at the feeling of my cold hands and I whispered, “I’m sorry,” before pressing my lips against his for a second.

He knew I was nervous, but guessed as to why incorrectly. I had no idea what I was fucking doing. He caught on fairly quickly, though, his back resting against my headboard and his hands moving to settle in my hair as I experimentally slid my hand upward from his base.

I heard his breath hitch, his fingers tightening a little, and I smiled, “Like that?”

He laughed a little, eyes fixed on my hand, and he nodded, “Yeah, like that. Don’t be scared to add a little pressure.”

I did so, flexing my fingers and silently relishing in the soft hum that left his mouth.

“Give me your hand.” He took my hand off him, bringing it to his mouth where he kissed my palm before licking it, from the bottom of my palm to the ends of my fingers while looking into my eyes, and carefully settling it back around his cock, nodding his head for me to continue.

Fuck, why was that so hot?

I wanted this now, more than before. I continued to gently pump his cock in my hand, watching his reactions carefully as his chest unsteadily rose and fell, and his hand fell out of my hair as he settled between his legs, still carefully moving my hand as I softly licked over his tip.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath and I couldn’t help but smile, feeling encouraged as I moved off the bed.

“What are you doing?” He asked curiously, eyes opening when he felt my hand leave him, adjusting himself, so he was now sitting on the bed with his feet on the floor, I dropped to my knees in front of him, eyes never leaving his as one of my hands rested on his thigh and the other held his length in my hand.

“I want to do this right. You’ll tell me if I'm doing it wrong, right?”

“Sweetheart, how many ways do you think there are to suck a dick? Do whatever feels right, don’t worry. I’ll talk you through it.” His eyes were dark, dripping with arousal. He felt painfully hard and hot in my hand, throbbing from lack of stimulation, and all I wanted was to make him feel as good as he’d made me feel.

I didn’t respond, instead tentatively taking him into my mouth, my hand sliding down to his base as I took in as much of him as I could. I hummed around his length, eyes open and watching his face as I slowly began to bob my head. I’d seen porn, I wasn’t entirely clueless. But this was completely different, and I was surprised to find how much I enjoyed feeling his pulsing, hot cock filling up my mouth.

“Jesus, fuck!” Mickey gasped out, hand falling into my hair and gripping it tightly. I felt him tense a little as my tongue made contact with his cock, and he said softly, “God, you look so fucking good right now. Grip it a little harder, it’s okay, you don’t have to be so gentle- fuck.”

His fingers pulled at my hair a little as I experimentally took him a little further, gagging softly as his dick touched the back of my throat. His hips unconsciously bucked, making me splutter a little around him, and he began apologizing, “Shit, Dahli, I’m sorry.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at him, here he was, telling me I didn’t have to be so gentle with him, and he was doing the same with me. I wasn’t glass, I wasn’t going to break.

I tried to get myself into a rhythm, my hand moving along with my mouth as he cursed a little, praising me as he told me, “Your mouth's so fucking hot, fuck baby.”

He was holding back, something he clearly wasn’t used to doing. I could tell, and I really didn’t want him to. I knew I was inexperienced, and I also knew that that knowledge is what turned him on even more, his hands were resting on my head, his eyes fixed on mine as I gradually grew more confident.

“It’s good, fuck. Relax your throat a little, breathe through your nose and- Oh, God.” I did as he told me, then being able to take him down my throat and make him tense as I did so. I gagged softly around his cock, my fingernails digging into his thigh as I did so.

He couldn’t seem to help himself, pushing my head down roughly while his head fell back, making me choke and splutter again as he took me by surprise.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself, here I- I’ll- hands up here, see,” his hands left my hair, raising them as if in surrender. I wanted to laugh, but I just rolled my eyes up at him as he continued to talk, “-Just, Christ, please don’t fucking stop, your mouth is so-“

His voice trailed off as I continued to suck and squeeze my fingers around him, finally finding my pace as I took him eagerly down my throat, hollowing my cheeks and sucking slowly, from his base up to his leaking tip.

“You’ve done this before, fuck, you must have.” He commented, hands falling to rest on the mattress, “You don’t gotta rush, baby, take your time-“

It was obvious he was worried, I could tell by his strained tone that he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, afraid of pushing me too far. I also knew I was not giving the best head he’d ever had. But I knew him, I knew that because he cared about me, this was different for him, more intimate.

I pulled him from my mouth, looking up at him and saying, “Mickey, I’m fine, shut up,” before grabbing his hands and placing them back into my messed up hair, taking him back into my mouth hungrily, hearing him laugh down at me breathlessly.

He mumbled something I didn’t quite hear under his breath, something like, “Hungry little whore,” but I ignored him. I could feel him throbbing in my mouth, the taste of his pre-cum on my tongue as I continued to blow him, growing more and more confident by the second before he let out a loud grunt, beginning to slowly grind his hips against my mouth, halting when my nose touched his pubic bone.

I knew he was close.

“Fuck, Dahlia.” He whispered, hands holding onto my hair so hard it was a surprise he didn’t rip it out from the roots as he gasped out my name a few more times, his hips gently grinding against my face. Without warning, I felt the hot ribbons squirting into my mouth, filling it up rapidly with the salty taste. I reminded myself to breathe through my nose as he came, trying to swallow carefully, but some spills from around his cock and out my mouth, dribbling down my chin, my eyes beginning to sting with tears as he finished.

“Fuck, baby.” His hands let go of my hair and I pulled him out of my mouth, looking up at him proudly.

“Look at you, all proud of yourself.” Mickey’s voice was a little breathless as smiled down at me, his thumb wiping my cheeks and chin gently, “Come up here and kiss me.”

“But you just… you know, in my mouth.” I protested, struggling to my feet, so I could go and brush my teeth.

He rolled his eyes, pulling me to him by my hips as he mumbled, “Don’t fucking give a shit,” and pulled my head down to his, pressing his lips to mine roughly, his blunt fingers digging into my flesh. I moaned against his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled me on top of him, my legs wrapping around his waist as his tongue swirled around my mouth hungrily, tasting himself and sighing softly before pulling back to look at me carefully, eyes still bright and almost manic.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his hand brushing some of my hair from my eyes as I nodded, a shameless grin on my face.

“I’m better than okay, Mickey.” I confirmed, pressing my forehead against his, “That was amazing.”

“It was.” He agreed, his eyes fluttering closed before he continued, “I’m glad I’m able to make you feel better.”

I hesitated for a moment, pulling back to look at his face, my hand trailing across his cheekbone. He hummed softly at the contact, eyes remaining closed and his fingers dancing across my back.

I think at that moment, I knew I loved Mickey. I knew just how much I adored him, craved him and just how far I’d be willing to go for him, but I didn’t say it.

Maybe it was a fear of not knowing if he loved me too, a part of me remaining scared and doubtful that any of this was real, so I kept my mouth shut.

Or maybe I was terrified that if I said it, it would be true, and I’d be opening myself up to have my heart completely shattered by the person who’d been the one to put it back together again.

[michaels-reality]

I just wanna make a post now cus it seems that people misunderstand my stance when I say the hl//vrai fandom is racist.

I couldn't give two shits if I never got notes or the tags didn't pick up my art or if I had 50 followers or 5000. I'm not calling the fandom racist because I didn't get the attention I wanted. I'm calling the fandom racist because of how I was treated within that fandom.

As a black artist, I've gotten racist remarks about my designs, I've gotten people woobifying or talking down to the characters cus of my designs, and I have a bunch of white people marveling at me because of my designs. It also became apparent to me as where I stood in the fandom, as someone who has been referred to as an "og" or "one of the big hl//vrai blogs". It just became too much for me too bear being in this majority white and nonblack fandom that would constantly uphold this racist atmosphere.

I don't think it's crazy for me to say that all or most of the popular artists in the fandom right now are white. And the designs they have for the science team are all white save for Gordon, who is usually ambiguously tan or drawn inaccurately to be black or a person of color, or maybe Coomer, who has the same issues of Gordon. And when people make only Gordon or Coomer tanner or a person of color, they usually accentuate their more aggressive traits, which is you guessed it! Racist! And I thought it would get better over time but people still favor those designs and I find my work and a lot of other black artist's work getting ignored and not as much attention as those white artists.

Also I've gotten people being very weird about my black designs before :(. I've gotten people wanting to pet, brush the hair, hug, play with the hair, etc my designs because I draw them as black people :|. People ask me why I draw them the way I do? And maybe these comments and questions are people with the best intentions! Maybe they don't wanna cause harm! But that doesn't change the fact that it was racist! Don't ask to pet people's characters or designs because you like their big kinky hair! Don't ask to pet people's black characters! Don't call their hair "floofy" or "fluffy" like we're sheep! Especially if you're white, and I could tell these were coming from white people.

Also I don't wanna create art for this fandom anymore because it is so white. My intention has never been to make art for you guys. My art is meant to reach black people and other people of color! It's always been that! To represent those people who don't see themselves in art often! If creating for this fandom is gonna get me a bunch of white people thinking I'm great for drawing flat black men or white people who look at my art cus "oh! I just think it's pretty!" then I definitely don't wanna be here anymore. I feel like a monkey in a cage, like you're show monkey. I was a token black artist in this fandom and people hold me up and say I'm so great, but I rarely see this greatness in action. For a big hl//vrai artist, I don't get asks about headcanons, I don't get people asking for my art to use as icons, I don't people asking to use my art in amvs or edits, I don't get people asking for my art to use for stimboards or anything like that. I know what I am to a lot of you! Your fucking show monkey! People don't think of me when they think of hl//vrai! I'm just a token! And maybe some of this is my pride talking and me wanting attention but shit! I'm done with it and I'm never making hl//vrai art ever again. I've said before I'll think about it if two comes out but I'm not sure about that even.

I love hl//vrai and I still do. The characters forever mean a lot to me. I don't regret joining this fandom, all my closest friends I met through this fandom and I love them so much! I don't hate white people or anything like that. I think white people can still follow me. But if you read this post and feel like I'm personally attacking you and your friends then maybe reflect on that. Why do you feel called out when people call out racism?

If you only want hl//vrai art from me then consider unfollowing me. I don't make art for you. Thank you.

[luveslasher]

A START OF AN OBSESSION WITH YOU *PART 2*

The doors entities x reader

YANDERE

[thank you for the four people that liked my part 1,I was so nervous I thought nobody would read it!! Thank you so much I am so grateful!! Once again please tell me if I made any errors I will edit these when I reread this if I made any mistakes! I may not post a lot because I have been sick, but it won't stop me from making the other parts for the stories for all of you and I! :)]

As you stare at the knob, rethinking all your choices.. should have you never entered this hell hole in the first place? you throw those thoughts away and turn the knob, and enter this repeated loop once again.

While you were existing the room, you have not noticed the entity eyeing you up and down the entire time, each time.. getting closer and closer but the door shut closed. You left

The doors kept getting even more difficult, each room taking a chunk of energy of your flashlight.. gotta save up or else this may finish up, you don't know when you might really need this light. You look through all the shelves finding coins, and bandages. But whatsoever, not a single light in sight. Your flashlight has only a bit of it in.. for now save it.

After finishing up looking for more objects in shelves, you hurry up to the next door. You stop..the entire next room is pitch black, you're going to need to use that flashlight... I guess saving it won't be the plan anymore..

With the only left juice in the flashlight, you turn it on pointing it around your surroundings, no closets in sight... After searching you find the door but it's all caged up, you look to your right. There's a door with no number. Maybe there's a lever you have to pull?

You open the door and see a downstairs to a room. After preparing yourself,you slowly go down the stairs.Searching everywhere for a lever or button to open the cage,you can't help but feel something in your presence..it's like your being watched every second.

You bump to something, a lever! Finally you pull it, now it's time to go back up to the surface. After celebrating a bit, you suddenly realize your flashlight has right there... died. You try to find the exist and stairs with no luck, each time bumping to something.. it's until you hear a "Psst!"

You jump up, turning your head everywhere, what the hell was that?! you look up to see if the thing that made the noise was there. It was indeed above you smiling showing its gum and white teeth, you stop in your footsteps, it just continues to stare at you, you happen to realize it has these sort of black tentacles or legs. You don't look away.. afraid it will hurt you even if you blink or run. It still looks at you.. it looks like it's the same size of your head, what is that thing supposed to be?

You open your mouth to speak, "What do.. you want?" After a short moment of silence it screams so loud. It disappears in the dark. Your legs start to tremble, frozen in spot. Not daring to move, if it came back. it's when the doors of upstairs open. A light showing the stairs. you feel happiness your your chest, you dash up the stairs, looking back to the pitch black room down stairs..who opened the door? Did the entity feel pity for you that it showed you the exist?

You quietly say your thanks to the entity and leave the room. Not looking back at all. After you close the door of downstairs, you hear a little giggle inside the door. Maybe the entities don't want to hurt you?

So far all these supposed evil spirits never hurt you nor tried to injure you at any sort of time. Matter of the fact you never saw that entities from the closet again.. it would let you stay in there for any amount of time! you even found out it's name as well. Carved on the wooden closet.. 'JACK' and 'HIDE'

Even that entity who dashed to the other room where the lights flickered. Left you live as well, After not getting in a closest in time.. the entity stopped in it's tracks with it's long smile, waiting for you to enter the closest before making it's way to the other door. Finding out it's called 'Rush' in the papers you found in the rooms.

Right after you open the other door, the lights flicker you get ready to get inside the closest when suddenly the entity you thought was Rush... Dashed to the other door was not grey... But greenish? you exist the closest when you hear it again... That loud noise again.. you get in the closet again, peeking through the cracks it was the same green entity? who was this spirit? You wander off with your thoughts when your closet friend JACK informs you that it's called 'AMBUSH' by carving it's name onto the closest door. Hopefully it won't try to hurt you..

After opening doors you finally get inside a place you don't recognize... It appears to be a office but it's blocked down the other way so your only way is to enter it by the doors.

There is a desk you quickly looking through the shelves, finding more coins and.. a lighter! Bingo

You realize there is another shelve that has a typewriter on it.. you open the shelve only to see a spider in there, you scream, falling down to your bottom. Holding onto the desk you stand up to your feet.

The little spider still in it's position, you grab the lockpick right beside it, the spider starts getting closer to your hand, hugging your fingers. Little buddy doesn't seem so scary anymore!

You look around the glass to see it's shattered still has pointy shards out, you crouch down to leave, you stand right back to open the door.

There is eyes with black sort of liquid coming out.. all these eyes stare at you, the lights flicker but it looks like you don't have to hide. The others aren't coming.

After going through the last 2 rooms of the eyes looking at every action toy make. You head to he other door.

You walk in ready to investigate, it looks way different then the rest. A long hallway with no shelves or closets in the place at all. As you take your time looking through the place, you stare outside through the windows.. it's still raining and strong thunders.. I guess it's still the day you went inside this haunted hotel.

While admiring the outside, you feel the exact weird shiver from last time. You're being watched. Instead of standing and being distracted, you get ready to continue on this loop hole.

Right after you step right near the door. Loud upbeat music start to play, your entire body feels shivers, your heartbeat is going so intense you cba literally hear it. You look behind. When suddenly black liquid starts to appear at the back, slowly black smile starts to come out, a slimy black hand then head... Then the entire body of the entity comes out. You read about him before it's 'SEEK'

It's eyes look you up and down like the rest of the entities have done. This is getting weird... Your trembling form, you're paralyzed.. afraid of angering it by moving.

Without you knowing, the entities already have spoke about you. SEEK starts to get closer to you, at the point it runs to you. Yet you're still paralyzed of terror, it caress your chin to your face. It's singular eye staring right back at you with warmth. It can feel your heartbeat,and definitely knows how frighten you are since it points to the door.

Is it..is it telling you to go?so no running away in terror? I guess the entity likes you.

You wave to your new friend 'SEEK' , you say your goodbyes and go through the rooms to the door with light shining around it.

*END OF PART 2*

I will be making the other part today soon! Also going to say a little spoil for you guys ;) the entities will be kind at first, but after you meet little red gut and skeleton dude and the shop with the items, you talk with them about you planning to leave this place, the entities get aggressive and more yandere! Hope you guys like this chapter, I wanted to make these longer for you guys to enjoy! Don't worry the more yandere content is slowly coming!:)

[wearethepoemspoetry]

we are the poems

i have a love-hate relationship with bukowski.

sometimes i worship his words and especially his line breaks. i get so insecure about my own that i’ll spend years editing one poem. i’ll come back a decade later just to change one tiny word, just one awkward line break.

i can’t write a new poem; there’s nothing left in me that’s inspired anymore.

and who else do i have to blame for that when i don’t answer my phone or even leave my room, let alone live my life, or love, or do anything in this life that’s considered worthwhile?

so it’s like a goddamn epiphany when i go back to a poem i wrote in a time i did all of those things, and i become inspired enough just to press the return button on my computer.

i used to get fucked up like bukowski, but all that got me was fat and more depressed, and maybe he didn’t care if he was a fat drunk, but i do.

and i am envious of how bukowski never cared that he was somewhat of a man whore, as if anybody actually cares if a man sleeps around. but i still care what people think about me even though slut-shaming has gone by the wayside. and even worse, i know i could never live that way. i’ve always given my heart away far easier than i’ve given away my body.

i was always so careless with my heart, and protective of my body, and i should have been the opposite. if i had been, maybe my heart wouldn’t be so bruised that i don’t allow myself to let anybody near me. maybe if i allowed the aching near my heart, or any feeling, for god’s sakes, i’d still have some words to write that just might be worthwhile.

and maybe i hate myself just a little bit for refusing to let anything in when i know it means i can’t let anything out.

i despise how egotistical bukowski is; it’s so obvious in his posthumous works. but he always thought he was a genius, would walk around wasted, yelling at his women how nobody could see his genius but him. even when he calls himself a drunk bum, it’s like he feigns self-pity, and is somehow proud that he’s some drunk bum, because his genius allows him to be. and if bums get paid like him, then i’d be a bum any day of the week.

he points out the trend of poets using ampersands and lowercase letters, and mostly the lowercase “i” as if he’s somehow better than poets who maybe just want to use them.

he points out the trend of poets using ampersands and lowercase letters, and mostly the lowercase “i” as if he’s somehow better than poets who maybe just want to use them. and god knows i’d never use an ampersand. it would go against my tendency to never abbreviate, as if i’m still that blonde english major that never fit in because they all thought i was dumb, so i clung to the MLA format like a religion. but i do use lowercases, especially the lowercase “i” sometimes, not because i saw other poets do it and thought it looked cool. but because sometimes i don’t feel like an I. usually i feel like an i. so weak and insignificant and hopeless and desperate, that i’m not even worth using the proper format of the noun because i’m not a whole person, and i haven’t been for a long time.

(sometimes i wonder if i ever was, but i save that self-inflicted dread for when i get as wasted as bukowski.)

i don’t think bukowski ever knew what it felt like to be an i instead of an I. i don’t think most people ever know, and i’m grateful they don’t, but sometimes i wish somebody would understand how i feel.

and i’m sure there are people out there that do, but i’m not willing to try and find them anymore, just to relate to somebody.

it’s easier to be alone, to confine my heart in a cage, my body in my bed, binge watching tv instead of the constant reading and writing i used to do. not when words can shatter my insides as easily as swords can shred my skin.

not when i obsess about line breaks in my poems for over a decade, just hoping one day, one poem will be good enough, as if one word, one line break will make all the difference.

music destroys me, too. one of my favorite singers wrote a ten-minute song about losing her virginity with this exquisite metaphor about a scarf. i heard it and immediately opened up the poem i wrote about losing mine. six insignificant lines that nobody could care about but me.

nobody has ever read those lines.

bukowski says in one of his poems that he only wrote his poetry for himself, but i don’t believe that. he wouldn’t have tried for decades to get published if he didn’t really care. and i don’t blame him for saying it. i say it too, even though it’s so obvious that i care so much i’ll go as far as to write a multi-page poem about this jerk i love/hate because i know he would never find my poetry worthwhile.

it’s this curse we were given at birth, i think, to compose these words and feel self-pity and hate ourselves if we don’t write flawlessly, and even if we swear we’re geniuses, most of us never believe it. (that’s why we yell it so loudly.)

we’re always lacking, we’re always inadequate, beauty should come from these words, but we don’t see beauty or love, or even the truth we desperately seek.

this curse envelopes us and we see nothing but deficiencies, and pain, and for some of us, uncapitalized nouns

because we are the poems we are writing.

and if we don’t scream about our genius, how nobody sees it but us, if our neighbors don’t hear our pretentious bellowing about how god is in our words, maybe nobody will believe he was ever there, so we have to pretend he is.

god is never in my words, and if he were here, he’d laugh at my feigned pretension, because it’s not fooling anybody. but the truth is, i really just want to fool myself.

but these words are mine, so they can be nothing more than a failure, and maybe that’s why i say that i just do this for me, that i don’t care if anyone ever reads my poems or finds them only mediocre or even just somewhat honest, but doesn’t think they’re all that wonderful.

and slurred screaming as loud as bukowski may have worked for him, but i see right through me, so it doesn’t work for me.

because i’m a woman because i’m blonde becayse i’m young because i’m dumb because i’m past fooling myself

like i fooled myself with the boys i loved and pretended they loved me back.

but i can never fool myself about feeling like an i.

so that’s what i’ll call myself in this poem. because that’s all i am, and also, because fuck bukowski.

[penname-artist]

Forgive the tipsy rambling here and, maybe this is just looking back on something having aged through a lot of it but, do you ever just realize how much you've climbed to change as a person?

I guess it depends on the person. Not everyone has the same experience or makes the same steps. Some people hardly change at all. And some people, people like me, you wouldn't be able to look at versions of me more than two or three years apart without struggling to figure out they're the same guy.

Sure, lots of things always remain. You'll probably still like the same things, prefer the same comforts, or struggle with the same faults. No matter how much you change and grow, you're always just gonna be, y'know. You. It's the type of you that makes the change, though; whether to be the you that gives into emotional weaknesses, or the you that controls their ego from overinflating. Sometimes things teach us, events shape us and memories mold us into new characters. But really, it's just us, paving the way to bettering ourselves. Making something out of yourself. Being someone. And being proud of that.

I can't honestly say I enjoy looking into my own reflection, in a physical sense. I've become so hollow, so baggy-eyed and bony-shouldered with the wear of years of pacing holes into the floor. I don't think there will be a time soon I'll be satisfied with the missing and broken teeth, or the acne scars, or the protruding right side of my rib cage. But you know, appearances can't be everything. Even talents can only push you so far in life, the finite detailing of mine having been dwindled off somewhere in the late 2010s. I can't draw what I used to. I can't do a lot of the things I used to.

In some ways you could say I didn't have a choice. That I had to be kind. I can't work like I used to, can't go like I used to. I've developed a bad knee and stiff joints, mental anguish, social overload, muscle spasms, migraines, whatever else happens on any given day. Things I can't explain and things I can't control. But I can manage them, at least.

And I've watched my mother for years, in a far worse state. Fibromyalgia hardly scratches the surface anymore, with a ruptured appendix and a crushed spine about to undergo major surgery. I've witnessed unfairness and fear in the middle of the night, time and time again like some horrible nightmare no one can wake up from. But I've also seen grace, I've watched a woman go from all to nothing and still put a smile on to be the neighborhood mom, risk pain and days of bed-bound downtime just to take a child to a library event. Just to support their eldest child's new identity. Just to exist to love and care for and take care of her family.

I don't know a person who's been faced with a crueler world. I also don't know a person who's worked harder to be kind in turn.

I'm hardly there yet, I'm only in my twenties. The world is so big and so vast and so complicated. I've already tasted cruel, tasted grief as familiarity is ripped from me, as love and longing is left cold and silent as an empty space for someone who never said a word. I've tasted cruel, and born an inked reminder of what it can't do. It can't take me. It can take my friends from me, and it can take my body piece by piece, and it can take my life some unsuspecting day, but it can't take away me. I'm something. In everything I make, I'm leaving something of myself behind. I was here. I existed. I impacted. I did. The world was cruel and it'll keep being cruel but I'm going to exist anyways and I'm going to do anyways and I'm going to be kind anyways, and I'm going to climb this goddamn mountain one pebble at a time, and shout from every clifftop that I was something. It may not have been very much. But it was. And you can't erase me. I was something. And I am proud of the something that I made.

[edit: it's 11:08 PM, I think this took an hour and a half to write and so I'm sober enough to reread it and yeah can we check off the emotional drunk box now please? Please?]

[p-taryn-dactyl]

15, 28, 43, 57, 62!

hi!!!

15: favorite book you’ve read as a school assignment?

A List of Cages by robin roe was during the summer before my freshman year of high school, a while back, and I remember annotating it, loving the plot, enjoying the assignment which was to take notes and annotate the pages if the book was our personal one and then we…didn’t do anything with it except a handout that said “did you do the reading?” with checkboxes labeled yes and no. I was so disappointed but I remember loving that book. There’s also Brain On Fire by Susannah Cahalan, which is just an amazing true story (the movie is ok but the book is just *chefs kiss*. I’m actually using it in my final project in my psychology course this year!!

28: five songs to describe you?

Damn. This is a hard one….i had to consult the counsel (my group chat) for guidance [edit: some were helpful…others weren’t] [another edit: i did take a few quizzes to find what songs describe me bc i was thinking of songs that i associated with me and idk if thats what this meant lol, can you tell i overthink things?]

no body, no crime by taylor swift

better than revenge by taylor swift

dear reader by taylor swift

human by gabrielle aplin

hi, it’s me by ashnikko (but I’m the best friend)

Ik it was mostly TS but i listen to her a lot so

43: hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket, or bomber jacket?

once upon a time i was recognized by the oversized jean jacket that i wore…not anymore. I love cardigans and leather jackets buttt i have the soul of an elderly librarian so definitively cardigan. (I love librarians, my Grammy was a librarian and she’s the best)

57: the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Coming out to myself. I actually came out to my friends before myself, which sounds weird but hold on. I knew i was queer so i told them, the ones i was comfortable with, about my sexuality. But i wasn’t in full terms with it. I grew up very religious and the way my church and family spoke about homosexuality just made me feel like an outcast. Thankfully, I’m proud of who i am today and while I’m terrified of the day I come out to my family, i know i can make it through the tough times if they come

My belief in god isn’t a struggle per se but i much prefer my relationship with them today than my past relationship with them. In the past i was a nightmare, just a total bitch and even though ik today it was because of how i was raised and what i absorbed and all the internalized homophobia, i still know it’s not an excuse to unlearn all my taught hatred so I’m pretty proud to say that i am a much, much better person today ✨character growth✨

My fear of death. While i haven’t completely overcome this, ive come to better terms with the fact that one day i will die and the only thing i can do is live life to the fullest and just live, not to force myself into a box of what i have to do but just enjoy being alive while i am. My new fear however is the ocean, just being alone in the middle of the sea, no boat just me…my heart beat very fast as I typed that

62: seven characters you relate to?

Percy Jackson. I have neither ADHD or dyslexia but i do wear my sarcasm and humor as my shield. Also, i just feel like he would be such a good friend and compliment to my personality

Tony stark. I do have anxiety and depression but i am not a billionaire or genius. I just get him, ya know? I can easily put myself in his place and see his thought process.

Daniel Jackson. Huge history nerd over here and he’s just the best, i love him

harry potter…my man is way too underrated for the main character. Same thing as tony, i just feel connected to his character

yelena belova. Idk why but i just feel like she’s what i could be if i was put in her situations ya know

alec lightwood, i too am a disaster gay and would be speechless at the sight of magnus bane

Nebula. I know what it’s like to be overlooked and forgotten but thankfully, like nebula, ive a found family that sees me

Thank you so much!!! I’m sorry my answers were so long lol 😅

[nathank77]

11/20/24

2:59 p.m Edited 3:06 p.m

I may be a dumb ass but I dont think i am. I made a bunch of workout plans for certian muscle groups. Today I did arm/chest and leg day. I did all the leg machines once my arm/chest routine was done. I didn't go crazy on my arms or chest. I hope I'm okay. I didn't do many biceps workouts. Mostly shoulder/tricep dumbbell exercises, a few bicep dumbbell exercises, chest with the machines and one dumbbell exercise. Then I did every leg machines they had cause I'm addicted to the burn.....

I'm going to do back/Bicep Day bc the dumbbell biceps exercises might be the problem with my forearms to begin with.... and you need to use your biceps to do back workouts... I think barbell curls and Hammer Curls will aggravate my forearms... they hurt a tiny bit but I think i did enough to get a workout but not enough to set myself back. I did a majority of triceps and shoulders and chest workouts. My biceps lacked a bit... bc I really think curls are a problem. And I don't think a barbell and me are ever going to be together again i could see my form with the 20 pounder last time and one arm is up higher.... and I can't help it... and from what I was reading curls are not your friend especially when it's too heavy.... I did some dumbbell curls with 5 pounds.

I got all these pre planned workouts. I spent almost 2 hours on my arms and chest and about 50 minutes on my legs.

My abs still hurt. I hope tomorrow I can do an ab day... I might do back and biceps depending on how my arms feel... if my abs still hurt and my arms hurt I won't go :(

Then I'll try to go Friday if it doesn't snow and do whatever doesn't hurt. And then do the alternative workout on Saturday. By Sunday, I'd like to do back and biceps one day, abs another and then maybe arms/chest and legs.

And id like to do arms/chest on Monday. I would be happy with doing back and biceps tomorrow, Friday or Saturday and doing abs the other day with legs.... and Monday doing arms/chest and legs..

I worked on my butt... and lower back and legs on the machines and my arms could have been chopped off bc I didn't need them or use them at all. My ass is ugly... but it's going to be toned.

And Monday I'd like to do arms and chest. I want to go 5 days a week.

Something like this:

1) arms/chest

2) abs and legs

3) Back and biceps

4) chest and abs

5) back and arms

I'm actually addicted I cannot help myself. I'm actually addicted to the burn..

I was being yelled at since the moment I woke up today so I ran out of the cage cause I feel like a rat in a cage here. And decided I would go to the gym and do whatever felt right. My arms didn't feel wrong and I took it easy..I did about 5 tricep workouts, 5 shoulders, 5 chest, and 4 biceps. The bulk of my chest was on machines which also worked my fucking shoulders more... but it's whatever. My biceps were left alone.

Sleep was awful last night. I struggled to fall asleep. I had to take Benadryl and add two tiny pieces of xanax. When I say tiny I mean fucking tiny from when I cut gigantic ones. I had wayyyy too much caffeine... I don't think i can do red bull days anymore aka 24 oz of red bull... they honestly make me feel like shit. And then I struggle to sleep on a full 1mg of xanax..

My forearms worry me a little but i don't feel anything like I did last time. I feel like I could do more but I shouldn't.

I have my shot soon..I ate. I'm going to shower when I get home..

I want to figure out a way to work on my obliques.... I don't want hips anymore. I want this fitness journey to be fucking insane. I def want to do abs 2 to 3 times a week but they still feel shredded. Better that yesterday... but I couldn't even think about doing them today. Hopefully tomorrow so Saturday can be back and biceps..

I hate being home. I got home from the gym. Made food and I'm ready to take off to my appt. Come home, shower and then I guess sit here and rot...

I'm still worried about my chlorestoral... I'm thinking of using the bikes at the gym on days i can't do anything maybe it'll be something my legs can handle without spasms. I haven't had leg spasms in like 5 days... but the elliptical and me are not friends. Unfortunately.

[the-blog-of-a-bipolar-autistic]

My mental health is dwindling

4-10-2024

This is more of a vent then a blog but ah well. I am getting worse and worse by the day. Yesterday after washing in the shower I just sat on the ground because my legs started to hurt. I sat there for 37 minutes. I sat there until the hot water began to cool. I don't think I have felt this low in years. I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I have no therapist and no one to turn to about this other then my boyfriend but I don't want to overwhelm him with my problems. On top of everything, my relationship with my stepdad is shit. Every time I bring up problems I have to him it's either "Get a job" or a ramble about how "us kids have it so hard now-a-days." For fuck sake I brought up the fact we are out of sugar and he told me that was why my legs and feet are hurting.. "They are probably inflamed from all the sugar and other unhealthy shit you eat." Truth is, I'm not mad at my mom for getting the job in another city. I am happy for her. I'm just mad she left me alone to advocate for myself to a man who won't listen to me. If we get in a fight and I'm overwhelmed and sobbing I need to walk away. Usually if my mom was in the room she would stop him from telling me to stay and agree that if I don't I will say shit I don't mean and I will have a melt down. However, she isn't here anymore. She is 2 and a half hours away. Now I have to try and do that myself but he won't listen. My stepdad doesn't care how overwhelmed I get I "can't just walk away from conversations." I often feel like a caged animal who wishes to be free. I try to do everything I can to get free of that cage but every time something happens. I applied to a grocery store for their deli section and when it asked if I would take any other roll I marked down every box. I still didn't get the job. Other then my mental health, my physical health has gotten worse as well. I walked around a little and my legs were sore so sore that before going to bed I had to lean against the handrail to get up the stairs. It hurts. Everything hurts. My legs are still sore. I just want to be able to walk like an able bodied person. I want to go on hikes and long walks around the neighborhood. I want to be able to walk to the store and back. I hate.. everything. I guess it's just something I need to get used to but FUCK do I hate it. I am so exited for the rollator though. It will be such a game changer.

On a positive note: My boyfriend bought me dutch bros today and they made a mistake with my order (I asked for it blended) and instead of taking the unblended drink back they told me I could keep it and made me a new one! I felt bad because I hate returning drinks but it worked out! I wish I could keep this positive but I am also just so.. drained. Fuck. Okay I don't know what else to write right now. I might add more to this later in an edit if I find more things to talk about but for now I'm signing off.

[shaemefulanimation]

Death by Donald Revell

As we entered the second week of DT5 I began fleshing out the audio track that would form the basis of my animation. I recruited the help of my flatmates boyfriend, Will, to do the voice over, and I spent countless hours listening to endless piano tracks to find the one that spoke to me the most.

I eventually came to the decision to use Two Birds by Fredrik Lundberg as my backing track, and to only use the middle section of Death as I felt like I could create a really compelling narrative with that material - and also knew I only had a few weeks to achieve this project. Here is what I am using, and here is where you can read the full poem:

"Death," I said, "if your eyes were green I would eat them."

For what are days but the furnace of an eye? If I could strip a sunflower bare to its bare soul, I would rebuild it: Green inside of green, ringed round by green. There'd be nothing but new flowers anymore. Absolute Christmas.

"Death," I said, "I know someone, a woman, Who sank her teeth into the moon."

For what are space and time but the inventions Of sorrowing men? The soul goes faster than light. Eating the moon alive, it leaves space and time behind. The soul is forgiveness because it knows forgiveness. And the knowledge is whirligig. Whirligig taught me to live outwardly. Shoe shop. . . pizza parlor. . . surgical appliances. . . All left behind me with the hooey. My soul is my home. An old star hounded by old starlight.

"Death, I ask you, whose only story Is the end of the story, right from the start, How is it I remember everything That never happened and almost nothing that did? Was I ever born?"

Here is a few of the key saves from my audio editing process:

Here are some of my early scribbles for this narrative:

My writing is absolute chicken scratch, but key ideas that I have been floating include abstract moments on the "death" lines that include a mouth swallowing the moon, a representation of death moving closer on each "death" line, as well as more narrative features like an older figure reflecting back on their life.

In my research and brain storming I came to realise this poem uses imagery and metaphorical expressions that speak on transformation and renewal, and what better way to represent both death and transformation/renewal than through the feature of birds - hence why the bird song got added into the track.

I also felt this was a perfect metaphor to explore since the track I was using was titled "Two Birds".

Expanded ideas on birds:

Bird having a love story

Bird reflecting on a human love story/life cycle

Bird going through a life cycle

"Death" lines could include birds flying out from behind a character

"Death" lines could have character turning into bird/grow wings

Bird watching from a cage, revealed at end

I will include my current mood board in my next post as I breakdown different elements and aesthetics I am currently wanting to explore.

It also feels odd to continue on with this project without discussing something tragic that occurred over the weekend (Nov 3/4). One of my dear friends, Sahara, unfortunately passed away. I contemplated scrapping the idea entirely and starting again - and who knows, I still might - but decided that while this is a poem about death, it is actually a poem that celebrates life.

Craig Teicher writes, "the poem proposes a mighty act of communion, a gathering together of readers and writers, speakers and listeners, living and dead. This is a poem of deep empathy, of comforting and keeping company. Revell wants us to feel less alone and less afraid to die, whatever we believe. Revell’s poem can help us: so that when we think of death, we can remember we are blessed with life."

I feel so incredibly blessed I got the opportunity to meet Sahara and call her a friend, her death is a tragedy that will weigh heavy on the hearts of everyone that knew her. I dedicate the remainder of this project to the light she brought into every room, to the warmth she brought into everyone's lives. She will be so deeply missed.

[kellykadesperate]

hi, i'm the anon from before! oooh, so many thoughts, i can pretty much agree with all you said! good tea good tea. i do not want to make this too long and bombard you with a mile-long message so i will *try* to keep this short...er? by picking out a few things you mentioned that rotate in my brain the most rn!

(edit: okay sorry, i failed at keeping it short lol <3 just ignore this massive text if it's too much, no worries lolol)

hen's doc arc... oof. ok so i am having lots of thoughts about that specifically but i think the issue is more of an overarching problem than hen's doc arc actually. i hope you are ok with me going on a tangent LOL. how you said that the characters feel like they are *stuck* – yes, that is exactly how i see it, too. tbh i realized that especially in the finale episode when they all got their "happy end". anyone noticed how it was incredibly romance-heavy for all characters? none of the characters seem to move towards any type of bigger personal goal that they want to achieve. hen did for a second there, and it was tossed into the trash. none of them express interest in anything that isn't their current job or family tbh, and none of these characters were shown to achieve something tangible except falling/staying in love. buck seems to express interest in being captain whenever it's a topic, so there's that, but it's still more of a vague idea and less something he's actively working towards (cause how can you work on gaining life experience? bobby basically just said he must be older). don't get me wrong, them finding love and staying a close family is cute, but it's incredibly bland when that's the only thing you give to the entire ensemble. cannot for the life of me remember any of them have actual hobbies or life goals that are meaningful to them and that are not linked to firefighting or romance/family. that's also a reason why the s6 ending felt so disney-esque, i think. the characters have nothing to show for themselves after 6 seasons worth of development, so the message of that rushed ending was "but at least they all have a romantic partner now, aren't you happy?" greetings from the land of amatonormativity lol. do none of them want to achieve anything in their lives? do none of them have some dream they want to fulfill, even if it's something small and silly but still meaningful to them?

this is pretty dramatic for the show imo, because the heavy emphasis on the found family trope seems to be more of a cage for the individual characters than a support system at this point. if the characters aren't allowed to outgrow their baby shoes because their work dynamic is not allowed to change, then their future in the show looks quite bleak. forever forced to stay in the same dynamic, forever playing the same role within the family. "doomed by the narrative" sounds a bit too much but honestly, is it really that far off? this is why, i think, they abruptly ended hen's doc arc as well – because her leaving the firefam is against the idea of them staying that perfect team that they are rn and that every single one of them is irreplaceable within that family dynamic. i do love found family, i really do, but it's obvious how it's turning into a stiff corset for the characters that forces them to stay in this One Place their entire lives. i really need the show to stop with that and focus on the individuals more: give them hobbies, give them passions, give them silly/interesting/meaningful life goals! give them something to achieve that is not connected to their families or love interests! allow them to "leave" the firefam to show us that they're family even if they do not work together anymore! i am pointing at Guardians of the Galaxy 3 as reference – a movie that understood that there is a charged relationship between "the needs of the group" versus "the needs of the individuals" within family dynamics, and how you can let others live their own lives without it destroying strong family bonds. i genuinely do not want to see them all be reduced to the relationships they have with each other. give them something to experience and work towards and achieve that is just for themselves. something that they can be proud of.

i agree re your stance on buck's storyline! i think it had a lot of incredible moments, hence why i was SO excited to see what they plan to set up with this, if he'll truly go to italy like the doctor said many do after traumatic experiences or something lmao. the fact that it just kinda... did not lead to anything was a bit disappointing, but i am still hopeful that they'll pick that back up in s7 and expand on the idea that buck somehow found his answer to what "true happiness" looks like to him.

and you are so right, the show is just not that good with giving us tangible consequences that truly affect the narrative long-term. they do something, but only shortly, and often just to create a bit of predictable drama that i KNOW will not matter anyway, before they return back to the status quo as if nothing ever happened. and i'm like, (shrug emoji) why should i care, karen? all of this is inconsequential anyways. one example is eddie leaving the 118 because chris was upset. instead of showing them working through it by communicating and both learning something from it all, they made eddie leave abruptly and then, blink and you miss it, he's back again. neither he nor chris learned anything from this. the show fails at doing that at sooo many points, though, that i just don't expect anything else anymore. (that sounds fairly defeatist but i'm just being honest). granted, ik that this is typical for a show in this genre, but others are able to really be consequent with their narrative choices and show that the characters and their priorities were truly and irrevocably altered due to what happened to them. that leaves me unsatisfied a lot of the time because it's giving me Marvel? like, these characters can literally go through anything, even literal death, but in the end, it's like you multiplied them by one: they are somehow exactly the same as before but a Process Has Occurred. not trying to say that there is zero character development; however, given how much shit they all go through, the consequences are disproportionately small and disregarded too easily.

omgggg strongly agreed with the pacing. chim's proposal is a good example for it, yeah sdfghjk. it often feels like the show sets up very simple ""problems"" that every normal person would easily solve in five minutes but the show just streeeeetches them to no end until i am, quite frankly, fed up with it to a point i skip entire chunks of the episodes. and that is, how you explained very well, tied to the cases as well. i quite literally do not understand that weird system they have set up in 911. they take sooo much screen time for side characters that will never matter again and who do not interest me at all. these are characters that are there to be vehicles and narrative foils for the main characters imo, but they get too much screen time for the job they have narrative-wise and even then do not really fulfill the job they were created for. if they worked on one (1) case that stretched over more episodes, then maybe i'd say that investing a bit more time to build these characters is useful. but that's not how the show does it, so all i can think is "you wasted 10 precious minutes here that you should have given one of the main characters during one of their pivotal moments instead". meanwhile, 911 somehow fails to give canon love interests or new reoccurring characters this type of treatment? why did we not get a 10 minute set-up solely focusing on natalia, marisol, taylor, ravi? i would genuinely want to see these characters exist outside of their relationship with the firefam. same with more established ones. where is the episode that shows us a bit more of christopher's life, for example? it's been 5 seasons and i have yet to see him live his life outside of his relationship with eddie and buck.

ough, there is more to talk about but damn this has been a long ass message, oopsie. i wanna end this by saying that i definitely wish for buck to take more responsibility, too. i lowkey think that he's actually set up to eventually be a captain, looking back at the past 6 seasons? the way buck was introduced in s1 alone was golden, but we see his stint as a fire marshal paid off work-wise, we saw that the firefam became a family thanks to his influence and that he is the one who has the strongest wish for the firefam to be a family (opposing hen and chim who said that they lost touch with other 118 members beforehand), we saw him being the one to train ravi, he actually expresses interest in the position, he loves his clipboards and is being a pendant at work, he is learning how to cook for the firefam like bobby always does (maybe means nothing but the bobby parallel is still there), he was shown to stay confident and professional and in control in the s6 finale even while helping during the birth of his own biological child, he seems to truly find his calling in being a firefighter... might just be me, and maybe the show will never get that far with bobby retiring and buck truly being ready for it on screen, but i will keep this dream alive cause it helps me to look past all the pointless shit in 911 lolol.

if YOU got this far... i applaud you and give you an award. have a nice day and sorry again for the length, NO pressure to reply dsjfdfsl <3

Hey!!! ALL of this! Wow, under the cut we go:

First point: Literally YES. I feel like everyone piqued in terms of their characterisations about 3 seasons ago and since then we have been left with the same characters dealing/feeling with the same things and not really going anywhere. And yeah sure that's real life. But it doesn't make good TV. Even with Maddie, I love her in the call centre but they could have had her become further involved in the support group that helped her, have May come in and take on the call centre role but ... No. The show tends to tease with changes but never fully commits to them. Eddie leaving the 118 could have been explosive and new and different but ... no! Hen could have been a doctor but ... no! It feels like the writers are scared of rocking the boat and changing up dynamics but I think that's exactly what the show would benefit from. Also ... yes about the romantic relationships. We get it ... Eddie is lonely. Buck is incapable of not having a gf for more than half a season. The only romances in the show that feel earned are the ones which have been central to the show for years but you're right it felt like: EVERYONE GETS A ROMANTIC PARTNER AREN'T THEY SO HAPPY!! It's also funny knowing the strong likelihood that the two characters they keep matching with people (Buck and Eddie) will probably serve as comedic oh no I've walked into another relationship I'm not ready for ! Ha ha HA!

the found family trope seems to be more of a cage for the individual characters than a support system at this point > YES! Like I love how much of a family they are, it's amazing but it's also a bit like ... choosing to do something for yourself is sometimes presented as going against the team or automatically shutting you out and that's odd lol. I honestly think the only character who does seem to be independent from the group in a good way is Bobby. He has his AA stuff going, friends and support away from the group and that's so interesting to see. Same with Eddie's family, although literally every other scene was them all trying to set him up with someone and furthering the: one of the lead men is single?! fix this immediately idea they've got going on.

Eddie leaving: Yes exactly this! I actually enjoyed the change but I felt like I shouldn't have? That seemed to be the vibe. It was like another poor Eddie he's doing this for Chris rather than hey let's talk about this son and work through your very valid feelings. It was another example of ohhhh we can change the dynamic but it's just not the same :( and it's bad :( Heck even when the evil paramedic replaced Chimney and Hen was like it's temporary! you're Monday! You're not part of the team I was like ... and this is the issue with this family unit. You're at work. It's work.

they take sooo much screen time for side characters that will never matter again and who do not interest me at all: RIGHT! I thought I was just being mean but omg I do not care! The cheesy montages are the worst ssksksksksk I just ... yeah. Don't care. I really like when calls make the team reflect on something going on in their life because that's cool or when the calls have like a funny theme tied into the title of the epiosde but dear God when it's just not connected whatsoever I give up. I skip bits. I literally think: well if I skip past this, nothing will change the lives of any of the characters in the show that I am interested in. And YES, there's side characters who deserve some form of recognition/screen time and it just ... does not happen unless it is related to the firefam which again just reinforces the idea that if it is not linked to those characters - don't worry it doesn't even matter. It makes it almost silly to love any side character more than the firefam characters - bar Maddie but I think that's a lot to do with a fairly high profile known actress playing her.

Buck's progress: Honestly everything you said! I don't see them going that far with Buck, as in making him more responsible mainly because I feel like the writers still can't resist writing Buck as the child of the firefam, the impulsive hey I just cheated on my gf, hey I've walked into a relationship I don't want, hey I don't have a sofa! trope that they like because they need someone to be silly. Hen and Chimney and Bobby are all Older, they have their life together, they're settled and Eddie sort of floats between Buck and the other three. I'm hoping they grow Buck up a little! They've given him very serious stuff with him now having a biological kid, being in what looks like a serious relationship, cheating death again but out of all the characters, Buck still seems to be the one where writers love undoing maturity and progress within him so we'll see.

Don't apologise for the length! I'm not in the fandom and watch 911ls so see lots of reactions there, so it's nice to see what the consensus is in the 911 fandom