#I literally have. nothing. i don't like any of my ideas i don't think I can defend them it's all so vague and it's just confusing to me

[cipheramnesia]

I want to be eaten by worms and grubs instead of fungus. If I'm consumed by fungus it will probably be mold, and might not have the palate to appreciate my corpse.

Mycology is an incredibly diverse and complex field. Sadly I am not well versed in it, and not qualified to answer questions about mushroom genetics. Unfortunately I also do not have strong beliefs about the innate transitive power of animal consumption. I don't think animals or humans have any innate transformations, beyond the normal processes of digestion, caused by eating other living things.

The idea is beautiful though. What if we really did carry with us everything in the world we consumed? In a broad metaphorical sense we do of course, because we eat things to get the chemicals that physically build our body and literally transmit our thoughts. That doesn't happen because a molecule of sodium doesn't carry memories, unless you develop a purely speculative and scientifically unsupportable notion that molecules in animals somehow become quantumly entangled, but that still breaks down because that's not really what quantum entanglement does anyway. So, it can't happen, but imagining it is pretty for the most part. I'm philosophically prejudiced against the idea of cannibalism generally conferring special transfer of power or memories, because that comes from like some really specific stuff that I don't know enough about to dig into. And aside from all that, I think cannibalism as upper class elitism is less interesting than cannibalism as the hunger of disenfranchised groups.

However, I know a lot of people that would give human flesh a taste if offered, so I would let people eat however much of me they can, safely and / or legally. If I can do nice things for my friends, I enjoy doing it, even if I'm dead at the time.

My comfort in death is actually identical to my fear. I'll cease to exist. No more me, forever. No afterlife, no memories traveling through space. I mean, people will have some of me as memories, but the person I am contained unto myself is gone. I wish I could see more than whatever my lifetime will be. I would take immortality in an instant, just to see what happens.

But when I'm gone, I'm gone. And that also means everything in my head that I wish wasn't there goes with me, which is a relief as well. No more depression, no anxiety, no worries, no fears, no struggle. It will be quiet. That's comforting. I'd like as much of the noise as I can ever have, don't get it twisted, but the idea of that quiet makes me happy, like one day I'll be done.

It would be cool if my body ends up somewhere that grows lichen, because I want people to make jokes about it when I'm dead. People standing over my grave marker or whatever going "I guess she took A LIKIN' to this spot" is the kind of thing I would enjoy happening after I'm dead. I wish I could die a comedic death. Nothing would be better than to go out with people laughing uproariously at my ridiculous passing.

Anyway, does anyone reading this know about mushroom decomposition efficiency, or general fungus decomposition efficiency? What's up with that?

The idea that fungus experiences true sentient thought, but in a way that the rest of us cannot understand, is a kind of comfort to the inevitability of death and rot, to know that what consumes our corpse may in someway carry a memory onward with it.

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part 3

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie’s version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: It's May Day, so naturally you'd have a hedonistic time. Except there's nothing natural about any of it.

cw: smut, consensual noncon is negotiated, primal play, literally i cannot stress how consensual it is, public sex (no one gets caught), knotting, biting, marking, possessiveness, reader is bitten by a werewolf, marriage proposal of sorts, dark themes, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, minor character death, blood, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) do I like this? no, but I've been working on it for half a year and if I don't publish it now I don't think I ever will, so pls enjoy it and if you don't shhhhh don't tell me ok love you bye

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The bouquet of flowers on your doorstep is beautiful, and not lacking in symbolism. Purple lilacs, for the first emotions of love. Bluebells, for consistency and everlasting love. Red roses, for true love.

In the center is one singular, bright yellow marigold. You figure you know who left them.

You’re stunned by them when you first open the door. Your hairline, already covered by your flowers from last night, prickles with sweat. You had hoped for something, some kind of affection or gesture this year, as you do every year, but you hadn’t imagined it would actually… happen. You’d hoped a bit like a child hopes for rain on a clear day. It’s possible, but it would take a lot, in the grand scheme of things. 

You turn it over in your hands, your heartbeat thudding in your chest. You’re not sure what to think. You don’t know how Eddie would have known that this particular shack, in all of your Master’s sprawling estate, was yours. You don’t know what he means by this gesture. Is it an apology for turning you away last night? For embarrassing you? Is it a promise of some kind, that he intends to do something tonight? Is it a real declaration of love, or is it something else entirely? 

You sniff, getting a waft of fragrant lilac when you do, and turn to place it inside. There’s nothing to be done with it now, aside from finding a vase for it. You don’t know where Eddie lays his head at night. You don’t know where he is now, or where he’ll be later. You have to trust that he’ll find you. 

I’ll always come back to you. That’s what he said, before you walked away last night. You have to believe him, because otherwise you have nothing else.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” snaps a stern voice when you jauntily march out the door of your shack. Your Mistress stands with a sour look on her face, eyeing your day dress, free of an apron.

“To the town square, ma’am,” you tell her honestly, your head bowed. “For the… festival.” 

“Just because it’s May Day does not mean you are exempt from your daily chores,” your Mistress reminds you, shoving a pitchfork in your hand and ordering you to go bale the hay. 

You do as you’re told; you always do. You also know that you’ll probably be baling the hay until nightfall, when the festivities are sure to be picking up. 

It gives you time to think. You don’t know what you’d do if you ran into Eddie at the bonfire tonight. Or, maybe you do… you have some ideas about what you’d like to do, anyways. But you can’t speak for what he wants. 

He told you not to go near the woods, which he also said is where he lives. If he wanted to take you somewhere… wouldn’t it be to his own home? If so, has he already given you his answer, that he doesn’t want you in the way that you want him? It’s hard to believe, based on everything he’s done up to this point. 

Well after noon, and several hay bales later, you’re sure the maypole in the center of town has been decorated by now. You’re sure that the town square has been covered with flowers, and you’re sure that Victoria and Hyacinth and the rest of the maidens in the town have determined which eligible bachelor they want to celebrate with tonight. 

A flame of jealousy sparks in your gut. You hope that none of them have set their sights on Eddie. The mere thought of it is enough to make you see red. 

As the sun sets on the horizon, shining golden light in through the open doors of the barn, you’re sure that people have noticed your absence from the festivities. It’s common knowledge around town that your Master is crueler than most. Less lenient, more forceful. You’ve heard whispers behind your back, and you pay them no heed, usually. That the Master intends to take you for a wife after your Mistress dies, whenever that may be. That he keeps you close for his own twisted purposes. And, you suppose, there’s merit to those rumors.

You’re not unaware of the way the Master sets his eyes on you sometimes. He isn’t good at hiding it, you should say. Not that he really tries; on more than one occasion, you’ve incurred the Mistress’s wrath simply because the Master stared at your chest for a little too long. Yes, you could say that the Master is attracted to you, in some way. And, once, you might have counted yourself lucky.

If he wasn’t attracted to you, he could be crueler. And you could do worse than to catch the eye of a powerful, wealthy landowner. If he married you, you would be financially secure, and you would never have to seek a place to live. You would never worry about being labeled a whore or being thrown out on the street. At one point, you’d accepted that this was the best case scenario for you.

But something has changed your perspective, recently. Something that has dark eyes and a mischievous smile and rings on his fingers. Fingers that, you know, are very skilled.

And what if… What if you were to marry Eddie? As you had imagined in the field last night, your mind wanders to the idea of being Eddie’s wife. Tending to his house, you imagine, a stone cottage in the woods. To lie in bed with him on a rainy night, warm against his burning chest. Being able to gaze into those sparkling eyes as often as you like, being able to wake up to him. 

For the first time since you were a young girl, you really consider the possibility of being… happy. Your happiness. The idea of a happy future is something that has been such a foreign concept for so long, it almost makes you uncomfortable to dream about it. 

When you were little, you’d dream about being a beautiful princess in a tower, saved by a knight in shining armor, who also happened to be a prince. These dreams went away once your family sold you into indentured servitude; princesses don’t work. Princesses aren’t covered in shit and filth on festival days, baling hay in a cow pasture. Princesses would be dancing the maypole and crowned the may queen–

“And I crowned her my sweet queen of May.”

–Princesses would be showered with flowers and gifts–

Bluebells for consistency and everlasting love.

–Princesses are whisked away in the night from their troubles and marry princes. 

I am not a princess.

You throw your pitchfork down beside the last bale of hay. The sun has set, finally, and the moon is already high in the sky. The bonfires in the town square will be burning down. If Eddie was there, he’s sure to have found someone else by now. 

Your cheeks, dusted with dirt, feel crusty and filthy when you cry. You are no princess, despite the crown of flowers on your head. Eddie isn’t going to save you. And really, what would it say for your honor if he did? Can you not defend yourself? Are you so helpless that you need a strange man from the woods to save you from your life?

Marching out of the barn, you feel hungry, and tired, and you figure that you would probably be best suited to go to bed. But there will be food and drink at the festival, even if it’s late. There could still be time to meet someone, anyway.

“And where do you think you’re going?” It’s a deep and gruff voice that asks this time, and you’re about sick and tired of hearing that same question. But your irritation is easily replaced by dread, when you turn to find your Master standing by the entrance to the barn you just stormed out of.

“The bonfire,” you reply, with less heat than intended. “It’s May Day, and I’ve done my chores.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” your Master says. 

He’s not a tall man, but what he lacks in stature he makes up for in intimidation. He has cold blue eyes and a sneer that could freeze a King in his place. You know what it’s like when he’s on the other side of a cane, and you don’t relish the idea of a beating just because you wanted to go to a festival. When the Master steps up to you, he smells like liquor, so strong it stings your sinuses.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” He growls at you, a nasty sounding thing in the back of his throat. You flinch. “That girl from the Werther’s house– Victoria, is it? She told me all about you and some… some boy in the woods. The one they call the Beast in town. Is that what you’re doing now? Dallying with any boy who comes around? Even ones from the woods?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you step back just as he steps forward, looming over you in his drunken state. “No, I… I don’t dally–” 

“Not from what she says,” he snaps back, and you briefly consider wringing Victoria by her stupid neck. And then you think, Hyacinth would have never betrayed me. “Running around in your night clothes, fooling around with some woodland freak. I ought to whip you where you stand.” 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as he backs you into a corner. The fence for the pig pen meets the edge of the barn where you end up, your back hitting the barn door and earning a loud creak from the hinges. 

Your Master reaches for you with a snarl. Instinctively you curl into a ball, your arms coming up to protect your face and neck. Your instincts don’t take into consideration that he doesn’t have a cane in his hand, and he’s too drunk to throw a good punch. You cry out when his hand clamps tightly around your wrist, and he yanks you toward the barn. 

“What are you doing?” is your undignified shriek when he throws you into the barn, and you fall into the pile of hay bales you just stacked.

“You’ll sleep with the cows tonight,” the Master growls, and spits a glob of phlegm at your feet. “It’s what you are.” 

“No, please–” you rush forward just as the barn doors slam shut in front of your face, locking you in darkness with the stench of manure and dirt. The cows are down at the other end of the barn; you hear them jostling unhappily in their restraints as you bang on the door with the flat of your hand. 

You finally let yourself cry. You’re filthy. Covered in sweat and grime, mud all over your skirt from working all day, the crown of flowers on your head wilting. You don’t know what you expected. You’re not Cinderella; you don’t have a fairy godmother, and you don’t have anyone coming to save you and let you go to the ball. This isn’t a fairytale. The stories you were told when you were a child were just that.

Even as you continue to bang on the door, you’re already starting to accept it. You won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. They’ll let you out of the barn in the morning, sure, but you’re not going to leave this farm, or your Master, or this life of servitude until you’re dead, or otherwise ripped from your mortal life. 

Then there’s a scuffling. On the other side of the door, you hear your Master shout once, shortly, before it’s muffled and frantic. Footfalls in the dirt. A growling, snarling. Yelping. And then something bangs on the barn door, making it jostle so hard you scream and jump back. 

Your Master, just on the other side of the door, like he’s been thrown against it, screams loudly. Something snarls, and then there’s a wet squelch, like the sound of something alive being torn open. A chicken being gutted. You stand away from the door, your eyes bulging in the darkness, your hands clamped over your mouth to quiet your frantic breathing. 

Something just killed your Master. The fact sinks like a stone in your stomach. He’s no longer shouting. There’s no movement, nothing to indicate that there’s anything alive on the other side of the door anymore. Only dead silence. 

And then another scuffle. A heavy thud, like something being thrown aside. And then something, or someone, is unlocking the door.

In the darkness, you panic. You back away quickly, your hands searching, feeling for anything that you can grab to defend yourself with. You find nothing, but collapse into the stack of hay bales just as the doors swing open, and you come face to face with your Master’s killer. 

“Eddie?” 

It’s him, all right. He stands with his arms outstretched to either side, holding the barn doors open with the light of the full moon shining in behind him. You don’t know how it’s happening, but his eyes reflect the moonlight with a bright red hue to compliment the red blood that’s all over him. 

It drips down his face, his neck, his chest. It’s on his hands. When he smiles at you, it’s in his teeth.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel like your heart could leap out of your chest with how hard it pounds in its cage. He tilts his head, seeing your tear streaked face, the way you cower against the bales of hay in your muddy dress. “Rough day?”

“You– you–” and your brain has stopped working. You know what you’re looking at; Eddie killed your Master. Eddie is covered in his blood. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, is a killer, a murderer, looming over you with a smile that could scare ghosts back into their graves. 

“Yeah, me.” He takes a step forward. You scream and jump back, putting a bale of hay between you and the man covered in blood at the door. Eddie puts his hands up in defense. “I’m not going to hurt you, princess–”

“Stop calling me that.” You grab your pitchfork off the ground, and hold it up at him. “You killed my Master. I don’t even know how you did it– but do you know what that means?” You thrust the pitchfork at him. He jumps back. “Do you?”

Eddie blinks. “It means… you’re free?” 

“It means I get passed off to his next of kin,” you snarl at him. “Like a fucking cow. That’s all I am to them. I’m cattle. And the next person who gets me may decide to slaughter me. Do you understand?” You jab the pitchfork at him again, and he backs away into the moonlight. “Why would you do that to me?” 

“Because he hurt you!�� Eddie retorts, flailing his outstretched hands, exasperated. “Because he locked you in a barn! I could– I could smell the rage on him. He wasn’t going to leave you here, he was going to do something worse. Just give it another drink, he would have been back out here. And I wasn’t going to let it happen. I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch it anymore.” He drops his arms with a sigh, and his hands smack loudly against his thighs. “You’ve helped me twice. Let me at least return the favor.” 

“I helped you once,” you snap.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, sweet pea. Twice. You just didn’t know it.” 

He raises his right hand, his bloody fist tight. He shakes his arm until his sleeve falls, and exposes the light pink scrap of fabric tied around it– the one you swore was yours. The one you swore you tied around the leg of the wolf you nursed last month. 

“You–” the pitchfork in your hand lowers. You think you’re halfway to crazy. Or, maybe you’re already there. “You’re the wolf.” 

Eddie nods. “I am.”

“You’re a… a wolf-man?” You’re shaking your head, but even so, the entire thing makes sense. It’s why you’ve been so suspicious, why something seemed so off about him. Why his smile is always so sharp. Why you always feel a little bit like a frightened animal around him, in spite of it all.

“I am,” Eddie repeats, and he turns to look over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe in fairytales.”

“Doesn’t matter what you believe in, sweetheart.” He spits something out of his mouth, grimacing as he licks his teeth. “The moon will peak at midnight, and then I change. I need to be far away when that happens.” He looks at you, his eyes pleading. “Come with me.” 

As incredulous as you are, as slowly as you’re coming to terms with what’s been in front of you the whole time, you still drop your pitchfork to the ground. “Where?” 

“To the woods,” Eddie shrugs, his smile disarmingly sweet beneath all the blood. “Maybe I can be your new Master, hm?” 

“Fuck you, Munson.”

“That’s the name of the game.”

“You’re a goddamn demon. I shouldn’t have trusted you– I shouldn’t have talked to you.” 

Eddie crosses his arms. “Listen. I think God’s got a sick sense of humor; otherwise, I wouldn’t be what I am, and you’d be a lady in a castle far away from any of this. So why don’t we make the best of a bad situation, hm?”

You narrow your eyes at him. You can feel yourself doing something stupid even before you say it. “I’m… listening.”

“Great!” He claps his hands and launches into a spiel that leaves you wondering if he’d spent the entire time since last night concocting it. “I’m gonna turn into a rabid beast in, oh, I dunno, maybe two hours. Give or take. But if you want to stay in my home, safe, where wolf-me can’t work a latch, I’ll be back in the morning. And then we can get married and fuck and have lots of babies and be that old couple who lives in the woods. Or something. Really, I haven’t thought that far. Maybe just stay the night? Or forever. I’m not picky.”

You’re frowning when he turns to you with a half-crazed grin. “That’s the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

Eddie gestures to himself. “Not exactly a poet.”

“So, what are you, then?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “No riddles this time. Tell me, honestly. What are you?”

Eddie sighs. He tilts his head to the ceiling, kicks the ground with the heel of his boot, and then he says, “I’m a monster. I’m a man. I’m a woodworker and I’m a charlatan. I cheat, I lie. I turn into a wolf and I kill men because they’d do the same to me. I can’t help it, comes with the territory. I have a family of other wolves who look after me and I look after them, and you’ll meet them if you want. But…” He peers at you for a moment, and then averts his gaze, “But really, I’m yours. I’m in love with you. I have been since you helped me that time Thatch shot me, and I’ll be yours even if you run to town and turn me in, and I’ll be yours if they hunt me down and throw me on a pyre. That’s all I am, really.”

You can barely find it in you to breathe. You’re still shaky on your feet and you don’t think you’re quite in your right mind, but you find yourself thinking about the last night, about his hands and his lips on you, about how it was so easy for you to get lost in him. How you spent all night and all day thinking about him, wanting him, wishing for precisely this. 

Just not with the caveat of fur and four legs. 

“You’re looking at me funny,” he muses, his eyes flaring. His smile is wider than it should be. His teeth are more pointed than they should be. 

“I’m not looking at you any sort of way.”

He laughs. It runs clear down your spine and shudders through your limbs. You have to swallow past the dryness in your throat. 

“Always so proud– you know you don’t have to stand on ceremony anymore, right?” He tilts his head at you. “There’s no one around to judge you here, princess. Least of all me.”

 “I’m not standing on ceremony,” you press, but you feel like an indignant child the more you argue with him. “If I was, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’d be trying to get out of here.”

“You want to leave?” Eddie asks, his voice clear and frank. He points over his shoulder. “Don’t let me stand in your way.”

He holds his hands out at his sides, palms up. His fingernails are long and sharp– like he’s slowly transforming into a monster, right in front of you. He stands aside, and there’s a clear path between you and the door. 

You could leave. You could run. You could find a place to run and hide, disappear by morning. 

But you don’t. You don’t want to leave. Not him. Not yet. 

His eyes are different now as they peer at you. They seem iridescent, glinting in the darkness. He sizes you up and down, and you feel more and more like prey. You… should be scared.

“Am I to take that as a no?” Eddie asks after a lengthy pause. 

You don’t exactly have anything to say in your defense. If he was wrong, you would already have tried to bolt. 

“Will you chase me?” You watch his eyebrows shoot up when you ask the question. You wet your lower lip with your tongue, an inch away from gnawing on it. “If I run, will you come after me?”

“Do you want me to chase you?” 

Your breath sticks in your throat. It would be so easy to just say yes. Yes, I want to be chased by you. I want to be pursued and I want you to make me yours in every way possible. But the words won’t come. They can’t come, as if it would soil you just to say them. It would be admitting defeat.

“I don’t want to be given a choice.” 

Eddie shakes his head, his frown of confusion deepening. “You always have a choice with me.”

“Eddie,” you say slowly, inclining your head. “I don’t. Want. A choice.” You stare at him heavily, willing him to gather your meaning without having to say it. I want you to force me.

You watch as the fire of recognition ignites in his eyes, and he opens his mouth with a noise of understanding. Ah. Yes. This is your choice. He smirks at you, then looks down at his foot as he digs his heel idly into the dirt. 

“I’ll count to three,” Eddie mutters without looking up at you. Still, you can see the ghost of a playful smile on his face. “One-”

You take off like a shot. You don’t have time to hear him continue counting. You’ll probably make it to the pasture before he catches up with you, unless he’s stronger than a normal man. If the bloodied carcass of your Master is anything to go by, though, you imagine that he is. 

You don’t make it to the pasture. You don’t even get close. You come to the doorstep of your pathetic little shed, your feet slamming the dirt, kicking up dust all the way, the air in your lungs burning with the labor of your breath, when your back is hit by something solid and unforgiving. Your legs are ripped out from beneath you, and you topple to the ground in front of your door with a thud.

“How fitting,” Eddie’s voice says in your ear, deep and husky, while his hand cups your chin, yanking your head up from the dirt. “Right where we met, isn’t it?”

He crowds you, half-laying on top of you, his weight pressing into your back and his hips meeting yours from behind. You gasp at the feeling of sharp claws pricking your cheeks where he holds your jaw in his hand, while the other creeps beneath your skirt and along your thigh.

“I never got to finish what I started last night,” Eddie purrs, his voice resonating in his chest. It’s enough to make you shiver, while goosebumps erupt on your skin. “I never like to leave a lady wanting.”

He scrapes his nails along your inner thigh, coaxing your legs apart. You jerk a little in his grip and whine when his claws dig in. Your face burns, your skin feeling like it’s on fire. It would be so easy for someone to find you here, flat on your stomach with a monster at your back. 

A whimper escapes your lips when his finger circles your clit, just like he did the night before. You shouldn’t want him, especially not like this, but it’s almost as if everything about Eddie begs you to go against your own nature. It began when you invited a wild animal into your home. It doesn’t seem like it will ever end. Nor will your want for him. 

“Eddie,” you sigh out shakily, and he shushes you while his finger plays through your wetness. He touches you like he knows exactly how to set you on edge. He’s cruel with his gentility, even while you want him to tear you apart. 

You arch against him, driving your ass back against his hips. You feel his cock press against you through the layers of fabric still separating you, and it makes you want to whine in frustration like a spoiled brat. It’s not enough to have him here, pinning you, touching you. You need him everywhere. You need him to consume you entirely. 

Gasping, you open your mouth to say something else– urge him or taunt him, you’re not sure which– but his hand clamps down over your mouth before you can manage it. 

“I told you to be quiet,” he growls, grinding his hips down into yours harder. “I’ve already been shot once, I don’t need it to happen again because you can’t keep it down.”

Eddie flips your skirts up over your hips, and your bare skin meets the cool air. There’s a moment of heavy anticipation, of Eddie’s harsh breathing against your ear, of the scrape of his trousers against your thighs. And then there’s the press of his cock against your entrance, and you tense. 

“Do you believe in me now?” Eddie whispers in your ear. His voice has taken on a ragged tone, like he can hardly contain the animal lingering beneath his surface. His fingers have just started to tremble against your cheeks– just enough to let you know that he, damn him, is holding himself back. 

Your eyelashes flutter. You have a mind to grind against him, to spur him on. “I have to, don’t I?”

He chuckles, and the sound raises goosebumps on your skin. Your heart pounds in your chest, and Eddie takes a long, slow inhale. “Your heart’s beating so fast, princess. Something on your mind?”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. 

“As you wish.”

He grabs your hips and pushes in deep. You cry out, digging your fingers into the dirt to steady yourself, scrabbling for a sense of stability. Eddie holds you close by the throat, pulling out and pushing back in with the same brutal force. 

The sounds coming from your mouth can’t be real, can’t be you. You aren’t proud of yourself, but you can’t stop while he’s being relentless, fucking into you hard and fast. 

Eddie groans low in your ear, his hand around your throat slipping down. His claws wrap around your neckline and he tears through the fabric, ripping the layers of clothing to expose your shoulder to him. You feel the whisper of his sharp teeth along your skin, tickling at your pulse point, and it’s all you can do not to cum right then. 

Your eyes roll, your back arching against him. “Eddie, I–”

“Don’t be afraid,” Eddie tells you. His words vibrate on your skin. “I won’t bite.”

You reach back, and your hand finds his hair, thick and curly between your fingers. “I want you to,” you pant, while your orgasm mounts, pleasure gathering between your legs with every move that he makes. You moan, your breath catching in your throat. “Please, Eddie–”

His nose pressed to your shoulder, Eddie shakes his head. You can’t see the way that his pupils dilate, his limbs shaking with the effort of holding back. 

Instead, his hand slips between your legs again, and when he circles your clit with his gentle touch and his sharp claw, you cum with a silent scream of relief. 

He keeps going, hard and fast as you ride out your orgasm. And finally, Eddie lets out an animalistic growl loud enough to shake the earth, and he spills inside you. 

Your legs threaten to buckle out from under you, but Eddie catches you at the last second just before you both slump to the damp ground. Gasping for breath and still coming down from your high, you barely have the energy to object when your clouded mind registers the swell of a knot keeping him inside you. 

Eddie wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, until you fit against him like the missing piece of a puzzle. The full moon overhead douses the pastures with silver light. Far off in the tall grass, crickets sing. 

“You didn’t bite,” you croak, your voice sounding distant and hazy. He shifts, and it makes you squeak when it moves the knot inside you. 

“Didn’t want to do it to you if you didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. His breath is hot on the back of your neck, and you find yourself wishing that you could turn and look at him in the moonlight. 

“I meant it,” you tell him earnestly, running your hand along his arm. “I want… I want it. Make me yours, Eddie.”

He makes a weak noise in his throat, his arms tightening around you even further. “Don’t say that unless you want me forever.”

You laugh. It surprises you, but you can’t help it. “I don’t think I could let you go even if I wanted to, baby.”

He stills for a moment, like he’s trying to process what you’re telling him. “So… so you’ll come with me?”

You sigh, with a gentle smile curling at your lips. You consider the dreams you’ve had, of running away with him, of living with him, of having him whisk you away like a knight in shining armor. Even if he isn’t a knight, it is what you’ve been wishing for, isn’t it?

“Yes,” you tell him softly. “I’ll come with you. Just make me yours.”

When he pulls your hair away from your neck, Eddie’s touch is so tender that it could make you cry. His lips touch your skin, and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of the sting of his teeth. 

“I’ll always be yours,” he tells you again, this time so quiet that it sounds like a prayer for you alone to hear. “Always.”

And when Eddie sinks his teeth in, the world goes black.

You wake with your head on a pillow of soft cotton and your back on a mattress filled with hay.

Wherever you are, there isn’t much light in the room. There’s an open window somewhere over your head; you hear birds outside. The forest sings in the morning. 

The cabin you’re in is much like your own, except it affords more room to move around. The floor has a decadent rug thrown across it, something that you wouldn’t expect a cabin like this to have in its inventory. It isn’t much bigger than your own shack. You old shack, now, you suppose. 

The more you look around, the more things seem… eclectic, to say the least. The bed is simple wood, but the blankets and linens are fine, like something an aristocrat would use. The ring dish on the window sill is an abalone seashell, shining iridescent purple and blue in the morning light to reflect the rubies and sapphires on the rings inside of it. The humble dining table is worn and covered in knicks and scratches, but the silverware is finer than any you’ve ever seen. 

When you finally pull yourself out of the bed and take a look around, you see Eddie’s burgundy blouse tossed across a rocking chair in the corner by the hearth. So, you conclude, this is Eddie’s domain. His home. The cabin in the woods you’d been dreaming of. 

And with a bit more snooping, you conclude something else. Eddie Munson is a goddamned thief. 

He has pocket watches engraved with names of nobility from all around the country. The platter on the table is monogrammed H.R. Cheshire. Eddie’s wardrobe has a large amount of men’s and women’s clothing piled in it, and all of it is fine silk, taffeta and lace– not something a simple woodworker living in the woods would be able to afford. 

You stumble to the door almost like you’re drunk, and when the door bangs open on its hinges, it’s Eddie who startles backwards in the bushes this time. He yelps, and you see just enough of him to catch him losing his balance and toppling ass-over-head over a log past the treeline. 

“For god’s sake, Eddie,” you chastise him. 

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he retorts, his head popping up over the top of the bush. He’s cleaned himself up, at least, so his face isn’t covered in blood anymore. He still looks so beautiful, though, and you still feel your heart skip a beat to look at him.

“You– you’ve stolen half of everything in here.” You gesture vaguely over your shoulder at the cabin. Your shoulder aches and stings when you move it, leading you to believe that everything that happened in the night was not a dream. It was real. 

Everything you’ve thought didn’t exist is real. 

Eddie is just a flicker of a shadow through the trees as he rounds one and steps into full view. “Had to make a living, somehow.” 

“And yet you walk around in the woods naked?”

He holds his hands out at his sides. “Um. Didn’t have time to get changed after I brought you here. It's kinda… it’s hard to hold it off when it happens.”

“When you turn into a wolf, you mean?”

“Yes.” 

You nod slowly, trying to only look at his face. It’s inordinately difficult. “Am I going to turn into a wolf?”

“Eventually.” Eddie tilts his head and looks at you warily. “Did you… not want it after all?”

“No, I–” you pause. It’s hard to put into words what you’re feeling, but you know it’s not regret. Your voice wobbles when you finally say, “I think it’ll just take some time to get used to it. Things have been the same for so long, and now…”

“Hey,” Eddie says, sounding almost the same as you had when he showed up the first time, crying at your door. He holds out his hand, his palm facing upward. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Okay? Let me help.”

You look at him through misty eyes, and you almost laugh at how blatantly your roles have reversed, now. You, standing at his door, crying. Him, trying to be of service to you. 

You give him a meager smile, placing your hand in his. “Can I stay?”

“Stay forever,” Eddie tells you, looking up at you with kind eyes. “But I can’t promise I’ll be polite for all of it.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m in love with you,” you admit, and watch as he absorbs your words slowly, almost as if he never imagined he’d hear you say it. 

And when he kisses you this time, you don’t even mind the sharpness of his teeth.

[nonranghaes]

heads up: this is longer than what i usually post here. oops.

this... is not how the story is supposed to go. your head is pounding when you wake up, body slumped slightly forward save for the way you've been bound to the chair you were thrown into. you blink a few times, brows drawing together as you lift your head. when did you get here...? one minute you were escaping up into this tower, the next...

fuck. where's your satchel? you gasp, immediately trying to pull one of your arms free. what the hell is this--hair? "shit. shit, shit, shit--"

"struggling..." a voice calls out, faltering just a bit, and you freeze. "struggling is pointless."

... fuck, what did you get into this time? the kingdom's already after your head and, with your luck, they're probably on their way to haul you off into a cell for the rest of your life. you can hear the sound of someone climbing down, and can make out the frame of that same person standing in the shadows.

"i'm not afraid of you. so... who are you?" he speaks again, slowly making his way forward. "and how did you find me?"

... huh? "sorry?" you furrow your brows. "i don't--"

"i said--" he steps into the light, and you're met with the pretty face of a young man... and the owner of the hair you're currently, literally, in. "who are you," he grips an iron pan in one hand like a weapon, and he looks like he could kill if he had to (then again, you think most people are like that when they see you nowadays), "and how did you find me?"

for a moment, you think you've seen his face before. a passing moment, nothing serious, but the feeling fades all too quickly. "look, buddy--"

"jeonghan." he spits his name at you, but there's a playfulness in his eyes as he makes his way over to you, lightly poking you with the pan. "you're the one tied up right now. you should respect me, hm?"

"look, jeonghan," you say, "i don't know who you are. i don't even want to be here. i just want to leave you alone, alright?" you tug again at the restrains. since when was hair this strong...? "you let me go, give me my bag, and i'll get out of your hair."

he crosses his arms, sizing you up. "i don't think so."

shutting your eyes, you try to gather some sort of patience. you don't have time for this. that fucking horse is probably sniffing you out right now. "i mean it! thought this place was abandoned, and, uh," you put on the most charming smile you can as you look at him, "didn't expect a handsome fella like you to be here--my bad, truly--but i've got places to be that aren't here."

that playfulness disappears in his eyes as he studies you. "... you really don't want my hair, then?"

"with all due respect, why the fuck would i want your hair?"

jeonghan eyes you suspiciously, and makes his way over to a different wall behind you. "no reason. how about we make a deal?"

you can hear the sound of him climbing behind you, and then the harsh tug of his impossibly long hair sends your chair spinning until you've hit the floor with a grunt. with a little struggling, you manage to peer up to where he's pulling back a curtain, revealing a mural of the lantern festival the kingdom does every year for the lost prince.

he nodes toward it. "you know what these are?"

"who doesn't?" you push as hard as you can just to get your weight off of your face and neck, and manage to get the chair sideways. "floating lantern thing. king and queen do it every year. think it's tomorrow." you pause for a moment. "... was that the deal? i answer your question and you let me go?"

his brows lift, and he's genuinely delighted with your initial response. he rushes down to you, already pushing your chair up so that he can be face to face with you. "the deal is," he presses the end of the pan against your chest, "you take me to go see those things and bring me back home... and then i'll give you your satchel back."

"... uh. no." you eye him suspiciously. does this guy... not have any idea who you are? waltzing back into the kingdom now would be a death sentence for you, especially with your name on one third of the wanted posters out there. "just go by yourself."

jeonghan's smile falls, and he crosses his arms. "so you don't want your bag? you'll never find it without me." he strolls away from you, looking out the nearby window. "it might not even be here next time you wake up..."

shit. he's too serious to not mean it. you've risked everything to steal that crown, including trusting two idiots that are probably also planning your death right about now. "that's it?" you turn your face as best as you can see him. "lights show and then home. that's all you want?"

he smiles at you. "is there something i should add?"

fine. if pretty man wants a road trip... then you can give him a road trip. "then it's a deal."

another tug of his hair sends your chair spinning around. to your surprise, you don't hit the floor: jeonghan's hand catches the back of it as he grins at you. "it's a pleasure doing business with you, then."

[1425fivefive]

this may be a silly question but whats your process for writing smut? i can write fanfic, but when it comes to just positioning and pace of writing smut, i literally feel like i have no idea what i am doing. you clearly EXCEL at it so im wondering you’d ever share your process? thank you

this isn't a silly question and i'm delighted you asked me! also so lovely to hear you think i excel at it, i love writing it and always am overjoyed to hear people enjoy reading it 💕

i don't know how much help i can be, but for me, smut writing is usually (1) hot image or line of dialogue pops into my head and (2) sitting down and writing it. while i'm writing, everything plays out like a movie in my head. like i visualize literally everything, which makes smut writing much easier. i often feel with smut writing i'm just transcribing stuff that's playing out in my brain. i also am just... terminally horny.

BUT i have tips to make smut writing better/easier:

Kill the cop inside your head

So many smut writers feel shame about writing smut. There's nothing shameful about it! It's fun, it's normal, it's a healthy way to explore your own sexuality and ideas and concepts and dynamics. I think of it like a sandbox. There are loads of things I write in smut that I would never want to do in real life, but it's fun getting to play around with them in a safe space.

If there's a voice in your brain saying, "This is weird, this is something I should be embarrassed about," that's not some objective truth. That's a lot of culture being weird about sex and desire and thinking it's something that should be shamed and controlled. Not to be all "writing smut is a radical act of resistance," but like... it sort of is.

2. Tap into one characters' point of view

A lot of smut reads like porn. Like you're sort of watching the author mash Barbies together, but the Barbies don't really have thoughts or feelings. I always find it weird when the POV character's body or appearance gets excessively described during smut. Like why is the POV character thinking about their tight little nipples or whatever. Unless the POV character is actively thinking about how the other character is perceiving them, it's confusing to write about the POV character's appearance.

Also - think about what the POV character finds hot about the sex! Like you're not just writing about sex between two people, you're writing about sex between these characters specifically. Think about what about their personality, appearance, whatever that each character finds hot. That'll make your smut unique rather than feeling like it could be happening between any two characters.

3. Read lots of smut and figure out what you like about it

Just find smut you like. Read it with a critical eye and figure out what you like about it. Look at the writing structure, the dialogue, how the author describes orgasms, sensations, feelings. Try to incorporate some of that into your own writing.

4. Be weird

I've read a lot of smut, and so much of it feels indistinguishable from each other. The top thrusts once, twice, three times and then comes. The bottom begs to get fucked and says "I can take it" when the top tries to give them a third finger. Characters always need exactly three fingers before they can be fucked.

Be weird! It's ok to write smut differently than how other people write it. That's part of what makes fic so interesting! I love reading weird smut that's written by someone who was just clearly really into it. Like I want unique, fun smut! If you're into it/you find it hot, readers will too. Don't think you have to write smut in the way all the most popular fics write smut.

I don't know how helpful this is, especially because I have loads of criticisms of my own smut writing, but hopefully this is interesting, at least!

[captainsophiestark]

Not On The Guest List

Platonic!Percy Jackson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Summary: An uninvited guest shows up to Percy and Annabeth's wedding. Luckily, Percy's mortal cousin is on the case.

Word Count: 1,456

Category: Fluff

A/N: One fic a week every Friday of 2024!! We freaking did it!!! Guys, I literally have no idea how I managed to pull this off. But I did! Woohoo!!! Also, this fic and this fic also feature Percy and his cousin having adventures, although you don't need to read either of them to enjoy this one.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey! How's it going in here?" I called, knocking on the door as I slowly pushed it open. My cousin and favorite person in the universe, Percy Jackson, called back in response.

"It's going good."

I pushed the door the rest of the way open to find him standing in the center of the room in his tux, looking perfectly polished. I grinned, then made a show of wiping tears out of the corners of my eyes. Percy rolled his eyes, but he was grinning all the same.

"My baby cousin's all grown up," I cried, crossing the room to wrap him in a big hug. He hugged me back, tight, and when we finally pulled apart we were both beaming. "Annabeth's gonna faint."

Percy just laughed and shook his head.

"If anybody's going to faint at this wedding, it'll be me. Or maybe Grover."

"I don't think anybody'd blame either of you."

Percy and I shared a smile, but before we could do anything else, the satyr in question came bursting into the room, looking more than a little panicked. He stopped short when he noticed me and Percy, glancing between the two of us like he really didn't know what to do.

"Grover?" asked Percy, taking a few steps forward. "What's wrong?"

"Uh..." He glanced to me again, then back to Percy. "Nothing! Just... a small problem."

"What is it?" said Percy. I stepped forward, too, trying to give Grover a reassuring smile.

"I'm happy to help, whatever it is the bride and groom need. We'll figure it out."

Grover didn't look any less nervous as he wrung his hands and looked between us. He'd probably been hoping to find one of the magical members of Percy's side of the wedding party, but I'd have to make do.

"It's just... I just saw He- the goddess of marriage outside."

"Hera's here?" demanded Percy, nearly shouting the words without a care for whether she'd notice the use of her name. I scowled, even as Grover seemed to get more and more nervous.

"I guess, since this is a half-blood wedding, she decided..."

Percy practically growled, and I saw a look of pure rage on his face directed at the Queen of Olympus. Probably, if he had to, he'd go out there and start a fight himself to keep her away from his and Annabeth's wedding. Luckily, he had the best cousin in the world to help him out, instead.

"I've got this," I declared, stepping forward and putting a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Leave this to me."

"Hold on..." said Percy, stopping me short as I started to head for the door. "Are you sure? I mean... she can cause all kinds of problems..."

"I know. I've heard all about the shit she's stirred for you and for Annabeth. But I'm mortal, and almost definitely not on her radar. Don't worry about it, Perce. I've got this."

I shot him a wink, then turned and booked it out of the room before either he or Grover could second guess me.

Thankfully, despite being mortal, it didn't take me long to locate Hera once I made it outside the wedding venue. She was practically glowing, and she was the only person in range who had a scowl on her face. I cleared my throat, straightened my shoulders, and shifted into character. Then, I rushed forward and grabbed the nearest person to Hera by the arm. I didn't know her, but I didn't need to for this to work.

"Did you hear?" I asked in a very loud stage whisper. The woman looked at me in absolute confusion, but I continued, just hoping she wouldn't say anything to ruin my play. "I just heard them talking, and they're calling off the wedding."

The woman in front of me gasped, and although I didn't dare look, I could feel Hera's attention shifting to me.

"I know! But it's done. It's like a curse or something, I swear. Everything's been going wrong, and they've been fighting for, like, the past hour. We're working on putting an announcement together for the guests, but like... this is not happening. We all thought they were bulletproof. Apparently not..."

The woman I'd started speaking to looked horrified, but she stopped mattering to me as Hera walked past us, a smirk on her face. Before she reached the corner of the venue, she disappeared into thin air. I smiled.

"Are you... are you serious?" the woman before me asked, her hand flying to her heart. I straightened up and grinned, pausing for one last check that Hera was nowhere in sight before answering.

"Nope! Sorry, weird prank. I thought it'd be a hit, but... clearly not. Enjoy the ceremony!"

The woman scowled, shocked and furious, but I turned and headed inside before she could make a scene. As far as I was concerned, that was a complete mission success. It wouldn't be a forever fix, since Hera would figure out the wedding did actually go on at some point, but hopefully I'd done things well enought that none of us would get in trouble for it. I headed back towards the groom's room to let Percy know the good news, but somebody stopped me just before I rounded the corner to the right hallway.

I looked up to see someone I recognized from a few pictures Percy and Sally had around their houses. Poseidon himself, attending his son's wedding in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. I narrowed my eyes.

"That was well done," he said, giving me a small smile and nod. I quickly schooled my expression to absolute neutrality.

"I don't know what you're talking about. On an unrelated note, any chance your magic powers would allow you to change into a suit for this wedding? Or at least pants with the Hawaiin shirt?"

Poseidon just stared at me for a long moment, then finally, he started laughing.

"I can see the family resemblance to Sally," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder and giving me a good-natured smile. "And don't worry. I'm happy to cover for you if anyone starts asking questions."

I sighed. It wasn't an answer to my pants question, but it was a promise to lie to Hera for me, so... I guess I'd take it.

"Thanks. And thanks for coming. I know it'll mean a lot to Percy."

Poseidon gave another smile and nod, then headed off to join the rest of the wedding guests. I watched him go for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to go find Percy like I'd been trying to do. Never a dull moment since I'd reconnected with this side of the family, but I'd also never regretted it for a second.

Percy was over the moon when I'd told him, and not long after, he and Annabeth finally walked down the isle and said their vows. The ceremony was absolutely beautiful, and by some miracle, we didn't get a reappearance from Hera. After so many pictures everyone in the wedding party was ready to drop, we moved on to an absolutely outstanding reception. With literal magical Olympians in attendance, the party got immediately into full swing, and continued long into the early hours of the next morning.

After whirling around the dancefloor for more songs in a row than I could count, I finally made my way to plop down at a table for just a few moments of breathing and taking the weight off my feet. At least half the guests had already called it a night, but a core of us were still going.

As I took a deep breath, Percy emerged from the dancefloor's crowd and made his way over to me, too. I grinned as I saw him coming, raising the glass of water I'd found in toast.

"Congratulations," I said as he sat down next to me, a massive, dopey smile on his face. "Again."

"Thanks. And thanks for the help today with... You Know Who. Don't know what we would've done without you."

I grinned. "Sure thing, Perce. I missed a lot of Olympian days when you were in the middle of the shit, and even if I hadn't, I know I probably wouldn't have been able to help much. So I'm glad I'm able to help now."

Percy smiled and leaned over to give my shoulder a squeeze, then slumped back in his chair. We sat for a few moments in comfortable silence, watching fondly as our friends and loved ones continued to destroy the dance floor.

In another moment or two, I knew we'd be dragged back into the middle of it, both with smiles on our faces. But it was nice to be able to take a quick breather with my favorite cousin amidst the festivities to just sit back and enjoy the moment.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Riordanverse Taglist: @valkyriepirate

[iizuumi]

Side effects of wearing your Kaiju suit too often ,,,, Part 2

[rapidhighway]

venting like an idiot

the main reason i dont wanna go back to uni is that i feel like i've completely embarrassed myself last year. idk, i feel horrified at the thought of returning and looking these people in the eye. i didn't do anything, i was lazy and barely finished my projects and the only way to redeem myself somehow would be to come back with some new energy and work hard. i didn't even really get a job this summer because i really wanted to rest, cause i thought i would drop out. and i just feel worse, i feel even more tired

[agirlinthegalaxy]

It's been rolling around in my brain the last few days for some reason, but I still hate the family backstory reveals for Sophie and Eliot. I've seen some of the meta for it, but quite frankly, it still makes no sense. If it had been something actually thought of and intentional in the original, I think it could have been so fascinating. I mean, Sophie's willing abandonment of Astrid to contrast with Nate's loss of Sam or Eliot's adoption in contrast with Hardison's and Parker's? Could have been excellent! But they came out of nowhere in Redemption and don't work with these characters.

Sophie was still actively using the fucking alias that she met Astrid under! She met with someone from her past on the show! Like. Quite frankly, that one is unequivocally bullshit that they made up and threw in and pretended could fit with the established canon. (And I'm sorry, but the idea of Sophie abandoning Astrid and never telling Nate about her just... So much of Nate's trauma was rooted in the loss of Sam, and I think that introducing this element after he's gone and unable to respond to it taints Sophie and Nate's relationship in a way bc I'm not exactly sure how Nate would've responded to learning about this but I think that it's something he'd have needed to know. I don't know how to fully express my thoughts on that but yeah.)

As for Eliot, I don't like the adoption aspect literally at all. The way that he would interact with his family and the memory of his family would be different, and I think that it's flat out ridiculous to think that he'd have never mentioned it to the team in the original show, especially when dealing with the kid cases. (I also dislike the biracial adoption as its own element because if Eliot was actually raised by Black parents in the... idk what 80s/90s? That just. doesn't feel congruent with how they write Eliot interacting with PoC, not necessarily in a bad way, but babe, he's written like a white southern man raised in a specific kind of culture that does not jell with that. It also makes Eliot look... really bad that he was apparently raised with the knowledge of how fucked up the military was and his parents' history and made the choices that he did.) Like the show may not have explicitly stated it but the implication of that relationship was vastly fucking different throughout the original show.

Just. These were not backstories that were congruent with their depiction and characters in the original show, and they're also just moves that I don't particularly like or find interesting directions for those characters. There's also something to be said about how it was apparently unacceptable for a woman to not have kids or someone not reconciling with their biological family when that was something that the original show handled a lot better. Out of all the directions to take Sophie and Eliot's stories, that's just not really one that I think was a good idea.

[leave-me-alone-please]

How can I survive this winter?

[seaofreverie]

Every once in a billion years I suddenly get very lucky and pick up one band merch delivery on one day, and then get another band merch delivery from another band on the very next day

[anarcho-masochist]

Okay, I thought this was universal but maybe my last three therapists were right that it is not:

Is it normal for boredom to be truly unbearable?

As in, worse than anything else, would rather get eviscerated while fully conscious, will do anything to escape it which might actually include suicide if no satisfactory options are available?

[honeysuckledreams]

Also since I am being too personal and there is a slim chance one or two members from that old college friend group might see this, in bombshell news Ren and I are no longer friends, and Ren and Fed (now Fae) are divorced. Ren and I ended late December 2022, so it's been 1.5 years and I am finally, finally starting to feel better.

In my version, I couldn't emotionally support Ren through their divorce anymore, and I needed a break from talking about it literally 4x a week. They found out I talked to Fae about the divorce after I set that boundary with them (because that was the third time Fae ever asked for insight about the divorce, and it was still almost too much) and Ren ghosted me! My best friend of seven years ghosted me because I set a boundary and wasn't capable of emotionally supporting them anymore. We literally talked every single day for our whole friendship before that point.

After 2 months of occasionally reaching out to them and getting radio silence, I ended our friendship. The ending was mutual in the last conversation we had.

[leothil]

Sad that we apparently have reached a point where people need to be told outright to manage their expectations for an episode of a tv show lest they throw tantrums afterwards.

[rapidhighway]

god i HATE this stupid class im in, i already took it first year and i hated it so much, it was torture for me, i couldn't do anything for it and i got in trouble and now I have to take it AGAIN cause it's obligatory and it's basically a repeat of the same thing and I jsut can't do thisss, i can't come up with any good ideas for it, I hate doing the assignments, I'm always so out of my depth when doing these, and now Im in trouble because of this class again TwT

[harbingrs]

I was writing another post in the moral OCD spiral series but I genuinely can't type any more to finish it after like... hours of wasted time and pain trying to defend myself from the next wave of charges from the OCD strawman in my head so I am sorry if there are things that are unaddressed from my previous post(s) that are Bad. I am aware of them and I just can't type enough to get the information out there and I have really urgent work I'm meant to be doing after already working 42 hours in under three days.

I promise the kind of vaguely toxic defensiveness I have going on when I get into topics is not because I am a nasty individual, I am responding to said mental OCD strawman who tries to back me into a corner and force me to account for every single possible implications or pitfalls of anything I ever say. I am not just cavalier and rude and eager to defend every facet of capitalism and pre-emptively build a castle of excuses, I am just mentally unwell in a way that means I never know peace.

And this is why I don't Post Things in general, because I can't make one small funny post about my job without needing to cover for every bad faith reading and then cover for bad faith readings of THAT and it turns into an hours-long saga where I'm justifying every aspect of my life and then justifying my tone and wording in my justification posts etc etc

If I make a post my whole day spirals into feeling Unsafe about it and ditto with even leaving comments or replies. I do one innocuous thing and then it makes me feel so vulnerable I swear off posting/communicating/etc for weeks or months because it's not worth it and there's too much thst can go wrong and it just makes my life harder. If I can do/be/say nothing i csn be safe and I can breathe.

[die-tenebris]

Confronted by the fact that though the way allosexuals navigate the world infuriates and affects me personally, I should not, in fact, extend my frustrations to the wider population of them just because I have been slighted ;p

But also I should get the special treat of being able to curse them bc I think they're annoying + how they conceptualize human interaction wastes my time and demands way more of me than I'm comfortable with. Then, because they're the majority, I'm the weirdo who needs to bend to their ridiculous uncomfortable ways that ruin my life. Like, no, confound you forever and leave me tf alone.