#I’m so frustrated with myself and how a part of me larger than I want to admit wants him back

[godiswoman]

my issue is that I always fall into the trap of thinking progress is linear and I get so disappointed in myself when that’s not the case

[arixella]

Unspoken Words

╰┈➤ pairing: Shanks x female! reader

a/n: send request if you have any <3

summary: After a long and unexpected reunion with Shanks, the two of you share a quiet, intimate moment on the deck of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship, where Shanks finally confesses that, despite all the years and distance, he’s never stopped loving you.

wc: 900

contains: fluff, tiny angst

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as the sea lapped gently against the hull of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship. The sounds of the crew bustled in the background, but up on the deck, away from the ruckus, the air felt still, like the world had paused just for you two.

You hadn't expected to be here—on this ship, with him.

It had been years. Years of wondering, waiting, and hoping that one day you’d see him again. Shanks. The man who had left without a word, disappearing into the vast world, only to reappear like a distant memory brought to life. You had kept the promise you'd made to yourself: to move on. Life had taken you down its own winding roads, yet deep down, a part of you had always carried him with you.

Now, you stood beside him once more. Your heart ached with emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. His fiery red hair caught the light of the fading sun, and that trademark grin played across his lips, but there was something in his eyes—something softer—that made you wonder just how much time had really passed.

"You’re quieter than I remember," Shanks chuckled, turning his gaze toward you.

You blinked, breaking from your thoughts. "I guess I’m still processing this whole... reunion."

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, but there was a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath. "I didn't expect you to be speechless. Was I that bad of a captain to make you nervous?"

The teasing tone didn’t reach his eyes, though. His grin faltered for a brief second, and you noticed the subtle way his fingers tightened around the railing. He’d always worn that easygoing facade, but the longer you looked at him, the more it became clear—there was something on his mind. Something he hadn't told you all these years.

You took a small step closer, letting the warm evening breeze sweep through your hair. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Shanks laughed softly, a sound you had missed so much. "I know," he admitted. "But... it’s been so long, I wasn’t sure where to start."

You gave him a small, wry smile, your gaze steady on him. "Start with the most important part," you said quietly. "Why did you leave without a word? We didn’t even get a proper goodbye."

His expression shifted, and for a moment, he was silent. He turned his gaze to the horizon, the fiery orange sun reflecting in his eyes. “I wanted to come back. God, I wanted to. But... I didn’t think it was right. I thought you’d be better off without me, that I’d just get in the way of your future."

You were silent, processing his words. “So you left because you thought it was for the best?” you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and sadness.

Shanks nodded, his shoulders tense. "I’ve always been a man who lives in the moment. But I’ve never been good at thinking ahead. Back then, I couldn’t offer you anything solid. I didn’t want to drag you along with my reckless lifestyle... And I hated the idea of you waiting for me, wasting your life on someone who couldn’t promise you anything."

The weight of his words hung between you, but as you watched him—this man who had always been larger than life, full of energy and joy—you saw something that you hadn’t expected: regret.

"I spent all these years thinking about you," he continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "Wondering if you hated me, or if you had moved on with someone else. I tried to convince myself that it was better this way. But it’s been... hard. Every damn day, harder than the last."

Your heart clenched as you took a step forward, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "Shanks, you don't have to apologize. You did what you thought was best... but I wish you’d known I would've waited for you."

He turned to face you then, his gaze locking onto yours. The playful spark was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I didn’t know," he murmured, his voice low. "But I do now."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the sea and the faint creak of the ship’s wooden planks. Shanks shifted, closing the distance between you, and before you knew it, his hand gently cupped your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through your chest.

“You’ve always been a part of me, Y/N,” Shanks whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Even when I was a thousand miles away, I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you.”

The words hung in the air, as if they were both a confession and a release. A truth he’d kept hidden for far too long. You stared at him, your heart racing, and a bittersweet smile curled on your lips.

"I don’t know what to say," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied, his grin returning but this time it held a tenderness that hadn’t been there before. "I just wanted you to know... I never stopped loving you."

Your heart swelled, and without another thought, you leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours, like a long-awaited reunion, and for a moment, the world melted away. The past, the years of separation, the pain—it all faded into the background as you kissed him, letting the emotions that had been hidden for so long wash over you both.

When you pulled back, breathless and with your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “I missed you, Shanks.”

He grinned, his eyes still soft but filled with that familiar spark. "I’m not going anywhere this time."

And for the first time in years, you believed him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, but the warmth between you both remained—quiet, unspoken, and enough to carry you both through whatever the future held.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[ambr0siascupoftea]

.✦ LET ME CARE .✦

Isaac x Pickle

(Inspired by part 8 in his series)

“Why are you still here? Is it the lifestyle? Is it the safety of knowing you’re well off?” His tone was sharp and condescending, like he couldn’t believe I was here because I wanted to be.

In annoyance, I dropped my papers on his desk and slammed both hands down. The movement caused items on the table to rattle, yet Isaac stayed still. He trained his eyes on the scattered pile I’d created on his mahogany table and then back at me.

Isaac was a mystery to me. He never reacted to anything. Yet, I knew something must change that, and it was his turn to be uncomfortable.

I paused, shifting my gaze to his bemused eyes.

“No, it’s never been about that for me. It's always been for you, Isaac.”

His brows knit together as I continued, “When have I asked for anything more than what I’ve been given? You’re an investigator for heaven's sake—why can’t you see that everything I do is because of how much I care about you?”

Everything tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. I’d been careful, using words that might scare him and cause him to draw back, but now my irritation made my feelings finally come to light.

He wasn’t just my boss anymore. He couldn’t deny the tension between us since the garden kiss. He wanted to ignore it, but I didn’t.

Knowing this, there was less conversation, less eye contact, and less of everything personal. We had started back at square one because of an “emotional reaction to grief,” in his words.

I was tired of pretending we didn’t have a connection and that I would silently go back to being a professional employee for him. I was shocked he thought it was possible because, after a few months of working for Isaac, we’d never been professional since the beginning. There was always a thread that tied us together somehow, and we didn’t let go of it. Instead, we tugged it closer until there was nothing but a tangle of confused feelings left between us.

My thoughts could’ve gone on forever until his sharp voice brought me back to reality.

“You’re being selfish. Don’t say things you don’t mean, especially to me.” Isaac fiddled with the pen in his fingers as he spoke.

My mind reeled at his reply.

“You think, after everything, I’d lie about my feelings? That I’m being selfish for wanting to care?” I replied sternly, trying not to be hurt by his words.

Isaac rubbed his temple, shaking his head.

“No, I just think you’re being irrational about this. I know we’ve been closer than I anticipated, and that’s my fault for not keeping this strictly professional.”

Every sentence out of his mouth was another wrench in my heart. How could he brush things off so easily? It was as if emotions were something to keep tucked away like another book in his library.

Sighing, I stepped back from his desk and forced a smile.

“If you wanted professionalism, then you shouldn’t have brought a stray into your house.”

Isaac grimaced at the term he used before.

“That isn’t—” His chair scraped the floor as he rose, gaze set on me. “Your past doesn’t affect the work you do here.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean how I’ve grown to feel about you ruins that. At least I had the guts to say the truth.” I fired back, the self-preservation I had coming into this slowly fading. The frustration was evident between the two of us, and I suddenly felt regret.

Who was I to demand anything of him? To think he’d let down his walls for me, his housekeeper, was idiotic.

Recollecting myself, I stood up straighter. “I apologize for my outburst. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. Please excuse me.”

Before I could reach the doorknob, a larger hand softly covered it, and Isaac’s frame appeared beside me. I stared down at his hand over my own.

Even after pushing me away, I never had the thought of leaving. Not once. However, I wasn’t delusional enough to keep fighting for someone unprepared.

“Please, Isaac—”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he interrupted, closing his eyes as if it pained him to tell me upfront.

“I’m glad you’re selfish about me. I haven’t had anyone care for a long time.”

I lifted my head. “And it seems like I’ll have to get used to it.” He admitted, the corners of his lips slightly turning up.

I suppressed the sudden smile forming on my lips, nodding in acknowledgment. Isaac’s eyes lingered on my face before letting go of the doorknob, his footsteps retreating.

At that moment, I realized this was him trying. It may not be a grand gesture by any means, but for him, it was a step forward.

“Weren’t you going to bed?”

“Yes, of course, I was—” I said, swiftly collecting the papers I had thrown onto his desk moments ago.

Isaac’s professionalism had seeped back in, reading another case file from his laptop. Still a complete workaholic, I thought, turning to leave.

He wished me goodnight, and I closed the door to his office.

Making my way up the stairs to my room, I turned my head and softly muttered a resolution, a silent confession to the man behind the mahogany door below.

“I promise, Isaac, you’ll never have to forget how it feels to be loved again.”

┈ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦┈

[polo-drone-070]

A Golden Christmas Carol- Part 5

A collaborative story among Golden Army management for @goldenherc9! Hope you like it bro! We really appreciate everything you do and wanted to show you in the way we know how.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

_______________________

Scott’s eyes fluttered open briefly, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his room. Dagda’s laughter lingered faintly in his mind, a reminder of the strength and transformation he had embraced. His gaze flicked to the rubber trousers draped on the chair, gleaming under the silver light.

As he shifted under the covers, a pulsing sensation stirred within him—not painful, but persistent. It radiated from the invisible collar he could now feel etched into his being, as if tethered to something greater. Sleep called him again, and this time he surrendered, falling into its grasp.

The arena was vast and endless, its edges fading into darkness. The air buzzed with energy, thick and heavy with expectation. Scott stood at the center, the pulse in his collar growing stronger. He pressed a hand to his neck, his frustration simmering.

The first was Bödvar, a feral storm of raw power and intensity. His muscles bulged as if carved from stone, and his wild eyes burned with a primal fire. The golden collar around his neck seemed more like a shackle he had fought against than a symbol of unity.

Beside him stood Spartacus, calm and composed. His presence was steady, his movements precise. The same collar adorned his neck, but on him, it radiated pride and purpose. He looked at Scott with a serene confidence that made the air around him feel lighter.

Scott squared his shoulders, his voice sharp. “What is this? Why am I here again? I thought I’d already proven myself!”

Bödvar’s grin was sharp, almost mocking. “Proven? You’ve barely scratched the surface, boy. You think transformation is enough? You think strength, connection, and change make you whole?”

Spartacus’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “You resist what you must become. You fight against your place within the hive. That resistance divides you from us—and from yourself.”

Scott clenched his fists, the pulse in his collar quickening. “I’m trying! I’ve given up so much. What more do you want from me?”

Bödvar stepped forward, his fiery gaze locking onto Scott’s. “Stop holding back! You cling to your doubts, your pride, your individuality. You lash out when you feel cornered, just like you’re doing now.”

The words struck a nerve, and Scott’s frustration erupted. “I’m not lashing out!” he snapped, his voice rising. The pulse in his collar surged, and suddenly, Scott’s vision blurred. His body felt heavier, his movements larger, more deliberate.

It was as if Bödvar’s presence had seeped into him, amplifying his anger. His muscles tightened, his breath came in sharp bursts, and his fists shook with unrestrained energy. The wild fire of Bödvar’s rage coursed through him, demanding release.

Scott turned on Spartacus, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m weak? That I can’t lead? That I have to give up who I am to belong?”

Spartacus stood firm, his calm gaze unwavering. “This isn’t about weakness, Scott. It’s about trust. Trust in yourself. Trust in your brothers. And trust in the hive.”

Scott’s body trembled, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The frustration, the anger—it all felt unstoppable, like a dam about to burst. He charged forward, his fists clenched, the rage blinding him.

But before he could reach Spartacus, a sharp pain flared in his collar. It pulsed violently, sending a wave of clarity through his mind. Scott stumbled, the fiery rage subsiding as quickly as it had come. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his voice shaking. “I… I don’t know how to let go.”

Bödvar’s voice softened, his fiery gaze now tempered. “That’s because you think surrender means defeat. But it doesn’t. It means freedom.”

Spartacus stepped closer, extending a hand to help Scott up. “Surrender to the hive, Scott. To your brothers. To your purpose. You don’t lose yourself in unity—you find yourself.”

Spartacus held out a mask, sleek and gleaming like polished obsidian. Its surface pulsed in time with the rhythm of Scott’s collar. “This is your truth,” Spartacus said. “The mask does not hide who you are. It reveals it. It shows you the unity you’ve feared, the strength you’ve always had.”

Scott hesitated, staring at the mask. Then he thought of Herc’s strength, Hamza’s connection, Dagda’s transformation. Each piece had led him here, to this moment.

He reached for the mask. As his fingers touched its surface, a wave of warmth surged through him. He lifted it to his face, and as it sealed into place, the pulse of his collar synchronized with the hive’s rhythm.

Spartacus smiled faintly. “Welcome, Drone Cap 009. Leader. Brother. Drone.”

Bödvar stepped forward, his expression now calm. “The storm is no longer your enemy. It is your strength, your purpose. Use it wisely.”

Scott stood taller, the weight of the mask light yet grounding. He was no longer alone. He was no longer divided.

He was Drone Cap 009. United. Complete. Ready.

-- Maximus

____________ Fukin luvin u Cap @goldenherc9 💛💛💛 Ur bruhz will alwez be der for u, bruh. Hope u enjoy da story. Next and last part to appear on @polo-drone-110's page.

[tavyliasin]

Writer Interview Tag

I was tagged by @redroomroaving and once I'd finished feeling about a hundred emotions from reading I managed to follow it up.

I definitely got a little personal as well, and I know I’m prone to rambling so I’ll pop the questions and answers below the cut. A mild CW for discussion of physical pain and some very very light mentions of mental health. Tagging @morb-untamed @sweetmage @dmbakura @hydropyro @ineadhyn @nicocoer @wixed to do this if you would like to, but there is absolutely no pressure to talk about yourselves or in any personal detail. And anyone else reading this who I missed tagging (I forget names and tags so often, forgive me) please feel free to use me as your tag-in and let me know so I can read your answers too.

When did you start writing?

I have no idea, truly. Stories and reading were a big part of my life since before I could read, and as soon as I could read independently I devoured books and imagined stories in quiet moments. There are a few things I’ve worked on under another name, another identity, but no massive published works. A couple of unfinished SFW fanfics, and some larger original projects that remain on hiatus. As for writing smut and spice and taking fanfic more seriously? That all started in September 2023, and has just grown from there. I was hesitant at first, and you’ll see that in my early author notes, but from there I feel I’ve truly grown in my style and skill, as well as my creativity and ability to delve into character details and kink alike.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Since writing more, I’ve become a terrible reader. I can’t really focus on it for long because my brain goes into ADHD rebellion and says “no, no, we don’t want to read story we want to create story” which is endlessly frustrating when I have stacks of unread books and a ton of fics earmarked by very talented authors. I will say there is a particular thing many may notice in my works – when writing, I very rarely refer to genitalia in direct terms. It’s just a personal preference when writing, you won’t find the word “cock” in any of my works, but contrary to how it might sound I have absolutely no issue with reading it in the works of others. I am an odd creature, I freely admit that. So…yes, there are themes, pairings, styles, and vocabulary features that I enjoy reading but do not write myself.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don’t hear comparisons really, and I don’t aim to emulate anyone either, though I will admit I try to keep just a few little moments of humour or sly winks to the audience in similar ways to Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams. Just those quick lines or cutaways that for a moment join reader and author in a little shared joke.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I can only really write comfortably in one place, at my PC. I have 3 screens set up around my seat, which is actually the end seat of a reclining sofa, so I have a heated pad behind my back to reduce pain. I have a mini fridge with drinks on the table beside me with the side screen that has Discord on it at all times, my larger screen (the TV) sometimes has character images for reference or notes or just Spotify up so I can swap songs and playlists quickly. The last screen is in front of me on a table that goes over my footrest, and my keyboard is on a lap desk over my legs. 

I’ll almost always have my headphones on, and a small fan when it gets too warm. Sometimes I do end up a little chaotic with snacks in reach and meds also on the table so I don’t have to have anyone fetch them for me.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

It can’t be controlled. The muse is as fickle as it is demanding, when it’s there it wants everything all at once, and when it’s gone?... It leaves a devastating emptiness that honestly I struggle with at times. Even right now, tonight I planned to write, but when I finally got the free time and got set up…nothing feels appealing to try. So I’m doing this instead, and not forcing it. 

There are things I try at times, and things I recommend, too. First? Before you start writing, tend to your basic needs. Do you need a drink? Food? Relevant medication? A nap? A talk with a friend? A bit of fresh air or physical movement? If one of these needs hasn’t been met, it’ll likely soon become an obstacle to your writing. I like to have a drink and snack ready and with me when I start so it’s there as and when I might need it, and I do rely on caffeine like a stereotypically unmedicated ADHD author…

Second, set the mood. It can help for some people to have this routine, to get their playlist going, to be in the right place, to have the things that set a whole zone and bubble. For a while, I had a specific hat I would wear when writing for another project. I could tell myself “I am putting the hat on now, so I will focus and do this thing” and in some way it trained me to write more. I know others who have done things like always listening to a specific genre of music to write, so now when they hear that genre they get the urge to write. Third is take a shower. Nothing gives me more ideas than a good shower, and I even bought a waterproof notepad and pencil set so I can make those notes whilst in there and not fret about forgetting an idea. Other than that, I recommend going back to the thing that inspired you to write. Play the game or watch scenes with the characters you want to write about, find their voices and mindsets. You can also close your eyes and imagine the scene like a play – put the characters on your stage at the start of the scene and watch what they do in the scenario. Let them show you how they react. Some people also do well to write out a plan or bulletpoints, but I find personally this can bite me in the ass because the process of writing can often stray from my original plan. Which isn’t a bad thing, but it can feel frustrating that I didn’t use ideas that I was initially passionate about.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Ah here it is. Whilst I could go quite simply with the kinks that I keep utilising that don’t surprise me in the slightest – I know well that I enjoy writing a spicy shifting of power balance between strong-minded characters, as well as a lot of BDSM kink – there are deeper parts to this. Identity. That’s a theme that keeps rearing its head beneath a lot of works, and you’ll find it most noticeable in how I write both Haarlep and He Who Was, but it tends to worm its way into other things too. It…did not surprise me, though, because it’s something I have struggled with over this past year within myself.

I created this name, this identity, as a way to be comfortable in sharing kink fiction and spicy works without it being easily identifiable under my actual name. I still don’t like to be too personal, or share my face or real name under this one, because I would rather keep a few close friends and family out of sight of my fandom thirsting. I’m certain a lot of us are the same – it isn’t really about shame but knowing that I, and they, would likely not be comfortable discussing this level of subject matter. I’ve relaxed a little over time, and have no doubt that a few may have worked out who I am and simply kept it quiet which I appreciate endlessly, just as I appreciate that those who do know both of my identities have never shared that information or made it public. I’m happy to meet people in person, just not to have my self online shared with my other self, as I’m sure you can understand. Anyway, I digress…

Something that the keen-eyed accomplice might have noticed in me is a shift in my speech. I used a few more mannerisms and speech patterns, particularly terms of endearment, under this name when I began. It was a way to separate the self, as well as to engage with a different audience in a different way. I explained it to the few who knew both early on as “same person, different font”, because I don’t change who I am just a few parts of how I speak or interact…but I’ve dropped a lot of the endearments now. Partly because there were more than a few who expressed they were uncomfortable with this in conversation – which I fully respect and understand – so it was easier to just drop them entirely rather than double checking or switching vocabulary between people and servers. But it has also fallen away a little as I have become more comfortable with both sides of myself, allowing them to integrate again more, and I owe a good amount of that to being able to meet fandom friends in person and find that they didn’t turn away from knowing all of me and instead have become even better friends. 

So…yes, the theme of names and identity keeps popping up. The power of names, the importance of identity, how one can hold on to one’s sense of self when it feels as if it is wavering, or when a role must be played. It’s little wonder I was so strongly drawn to so many favourites. Another recurring theme, of course, is pain. Physical. Whilst this is often in the form of kink and pain play, I’ve written a few pieces where it has been a point that is not about the sexual and positive side. I am in pain. 24/7. Without end. It will not get better. It has been this way for over 10 years. The level of the pain is “I cannot walk more than 10 metres before it is too much”, and “I have to drastically reduce and monitor my physical activity to prevent pain getting worse”, so I feel very intimately familiar with pain. You’ll find it in my writing as visceral and detailed descriptions of the sensations, because I’ve felt every one of them and might just be feeling them in that moment as I write. 

I’m going to keep trying to write short comfort pieces, too. Because as I once wrote as a dialogue line for Halsin, when Tav asked how he always seemed to know the right thing to say:  

“Sometimes we say the things we need to hear the most.” 

What is your reason for writing?

Every reason ever. There’s…not a lot I can do in this body. So many hopes and dreams and even careers I’ve had to leave behind, through the struggles of mental and physical health. Whilst the former is far better, the latter is the issue… But writing is something I can do with little physical effort. If I’m in pain, I can take my medication and absorb into fiction. 

I started writing smut as a challenge, but also as a way to tell a story I was becoming rather attached to. My main longfic was one born from playing the game, and wondering about telling the story between the lines, giving reason to the choice the player character was making under my instruction. Since then, it has grown to be so much more.

I’d love to sit here and tell you “I only write for myself, I don’t need external validation” but that…would be a half-truth at best. I write because I love sharing these stories, I love that they can reach out and touch hearts and minds in ways I might never know, but I adore when someone does send back their echo across the vast void between us to say “I enjoyed this” or “this story made me feel something”. That’s…it’s everything to know I have some value. Which sounds a lot like I’m pinning my self-worth on feedback or kudos, and whilst I can’t deny that’s a hard habit to break, I do know it isn’t everything. I just want it to still be something. To know I can do more than just…exist. 

Truly if you were to ask me what I feel the purpose is to my entire life, it would be “to leave each corner of the world I touch a little brighter and better than it was before I got there”, and whilst I know that’s impossible to do all the time I still want to try. And writing? Sharing stories? That’s leaving a positive mark, giving someone enjoyment in their day – yes, even sexually, with the kinky and sexy writing. That is still a positive to someone’s day, an indulgence, something that lifts them and certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

If I can do more than that with emotional writing, with comfort pieces, with cathartic moments and with stories that have more meaning behind the words…all the better.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

The best are the ones that pull out favourite lines or moments, but honestly every single comment means the world to me. An incoherent keysmash, a simple “I loved this”, even those are such a boost particularly on a hard day. 

Readers, please know how much it helps. Even a click on the kudos as an anonymous guest, it’s…it lets us know we aren’t just shouting into the void. It tells us those Hits are not people just opening up the fic then closing it because they hated it. It means the whole world to know we’ve done something that you enjoyed, in whatever way that was.

I’ll also say that some of the ones that have meant the most and have stuck with me are comments on the more personal pieces, like with The Love of Loviatar – the Abdirak x Reader fic where I play a little with worlds colliding to allow a reader character who experiences chronic pain (remarkably similar to my own, don’t think about that too hard) to have that moment with Abdirak who validates and appreciates them exactly how they are. Gentle care mixed with BDSM, trading the bad pain for the good pain, the pain that is welcome and has purpose, a little fantasy of enjoying what the body can do rather than being trapped by what it cannot… Every time I get a comment there, I damn near cry. Or just openly cry. They mean so much. I know how much Abdirak can mean to us, and I am so glad I can reach you all. 

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I…well… To be thought of at all is an honour. I’m shocked any time I encounter someone who has read my works, despite logically knowing I have a good number of readers from the numbers alone. I just…don’t look at those numbers often, it’s not good for me. 

I’d like readers to know I care about them. Every last one. To know I would love to tell all the stories they want to read, and that I fully welcome their messages, comments, and even friendship when we share social spaces. There’s something special about the connections we can make in unexpected places, and I’m just delighted to be here sharing stories with you all. 

I don’t need high respect, endless adoration, or some kind of pedestal. I’m a human, unfortunately – squishy and fallible and flawed and suffering and there is still beauty and worth to me even when I don’t see it myself. Just saying that last part louder for everyone else who has loud negative thoughts of themselves. It’s ok for you to see my flaws, and it’s ok for us all to have love for one another despite those flaws. Love in the platonic sense, of course – there are levels of connections we make with people from a distant echo of a brief exchange of words to the direct warmth of a friendship. It’s as important to not underestimate the value as it is important to not overestimate our closeness to people we don’t truly know.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I am beginning to believe it is the wild ideas I have for crackship pairings and turning them into something serious and meaningful. I love taking an unlikely coupling then finding what makes them actually genuinely work. 

I’m also getting quite confident in sensual writing as well as kink, in the particular style that I have for it. I know well that it isn’t to everyone’s tastes, but those who do enjoy my style and method will always have something in the buffet of fic to fill their plate.

I really hope to transfer this to my original work when I get it finished, as I feel like just maybe I might have a niche of style that isn’t as often seen in published works. Then again, I’m not exactly devouring raunchy original fiction so perhaps I’m entirely mistaken and would get ripped to shreds by critics of the genre. Who knows? But I will try to get published when it’s done. I hope a few of you might even read it someday.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Ahh definitely both. I have written characters and pairings I’m not personally into that much, though sometimes (Yurgir) I have found myself enjoying the character after writing with them. It’s a fun little quirk, I start writing something thinking “am I into this?” and realise later “oops new kink acquired” or “ahh ok I see why people like [character] so much now.” 

I do really love writing requests or rare pairings/characters that readers haven’t seen before or are excited to see more of. I hope to keep doing a mix of that and the characters/pairings that I love most myself. If there’s something you’d like to see, I’m more than happy to take suggestions – there are a few kinks, characters, and tropes that I have a hard “nope” line on (not kink shaming, just personal comfort levels – I love that you can enjoy those things elsewhere I am just not the chef to cook that dish for you) but otherwise I love wild ideas and writing something that someone explicitly wants to read~

How do you feel about your own writing?

I really struggle with this one, but I think many of us do. I go from feeling confident that people enjoy what I’ve written and that I have this skill to bring worlds and characters to life with mere words on a page, yet other times? I will freely admit some works of mine take longer because I just hit this point where I just cannot tell if it’s any good. I know intellectually that I have the same style, tropes, stories, kinks that people like and enjoy, but as I’m sat there staring at it I’m questioning everything because I’m just not feeling it. That seems pretty natural, I think, that we are the worst critics of our own works because we’ve read them so many times or thought far too hard about every word and line… But I tend to solve this with an external view. Beta Readers have saved works from near extinction by checking it over, telling me what does need fixing, and reminding me that actually the rest of it is just fine I’m simply overthinking it all because my mind is struggling with something else like fatigue or pain or just a low kind of day.

So… Overall, writing has been a new life for me. Particularly in this last year, trying something new – expanding into NSFW fanfic has found me countless new connections, friends, experiences I wouldn’t have had otherwise and a real feeling of accomplishment and validation that just wasn’t happening in WIPs that were taking too long and getting no feedback at all. 

Writing isn’t just something I do, it’s inextricably a part of who I am, and in its own way it continues to shape exactly what “who I am” can mean.

And I am grateful to every single one of you who has shared this journey with me so far. I cannot wait to see how far we can go together~

[curiousnightly]

knight's shade - pt. three

a mandalorian x reader fanfiction

summary: after killing your abusive boss and seemingly putting you in a tough spot, the armored bounty hunter allows you to seek refuge on his ship. not knowing how things will likely turn out now that your circumstances have changed, you pray that the outcome works out in your favor. however, you're a criminal practically trapped on the ship of a fierce hunter. 3.2k words

tags: slow burn; strangers to lovers; eventual smut (shameless i know)

warnings: swearing, hints of abuse, baby grogu (awe), slightly affectionate dad!mando.

reader characteristics: no use of 'y/n'; use of nickname for reader; she/her afab!reader

a/n: here's part three! i was debating on posting this later but it's already done and revised so what the hell

masterlist

<<<pt.two | pt. four>>>

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Long minutes pass by as I stare at the light streaks that pass the ship's windows in the Razor Crest. The ship’s pilot has abandoned his post to put the dead body in Carbonite while also attending to other matters. I continue to stare off thinking about what had just happened maybe 45 minutes ago. My boss is dead, I’m finally free of his control, but I have nowhere to go. I sigh thinking about the situation I’m currently in. It doesn’t help that I’m also contemplating the fact that I’m on a ship owned by a terrifying bounty hunter, who I have many questions to ask but he appears to not be the talkative type. A few more minutes go by with me sitting with my thoughts before I find myself standing up and making my way down the ladder into the hull of the ship. I land hard on my feet to make sure my flying companion is aware of my presence, though I’m sure he already sensed it well before I touched the ground. I turn to find his back towards me as he is storing away the case containing Beskar in it.

“What are you planning on doing with that Beskar?” I ask, rather curious about what a Mandalorian does with Beskar.

His back remains towards me, but he answers my question.

“I plan to give it to a coalition in need of it, but for now I will just keep it tucked away.”

“What is it normally used for?”

“Armor.”

“Is that what your Armor is made of?”

“Yes, any more questions?”

“Several actually.” It’s not until I say that that he finally decides to turn and face me. He stays quiet as his helmet remains fixed on me. I take it he wants me to ask one of my many questions. I pause to reflect on what it is I want to ask as I’m sure he usually doesn’t entertain conversation with how short his answers are.

“Why did you want to help me escape? I mean, why were you so adamant about me getting out of there?”

I allow him some time to answer,  but the long hesitation on his end makes me anxious. I almost speak up when a deep sigh comes from the bounty hunter.

“I knew you weren’t there on your own accord,” he states bluntly. I can help but knit my brows with both confusion and frustration. 

“How did yo-“

“Each bounty I obtain I do research on to plan the best way to hunt them. When looking into Crix Typho, I found information about you and your debt owed to Crix. It was clear you were in servitude rather than service.”

In servitude. Yeah, I guess that’s one way of putting it. I sigh heavily and bring my hands to my face.

“Are you alright?” The voice for once expresses something other than the forward tone that usually comes out. It expresses concern. 

I remove my hands and look back at the Mandalorian, startled to find him directly in front of me now. I just now noticed how much he towers over me. There isn’t much of a difference in height but the prowess he possesses makes him appear much larger than me. I gulp at the sudden proximity and turn my face away.

“Yeah I-I’m fine, just processing right now,” I turn my attention back to the black visor, “I guess I should thank you, for getting me out of that shitty situation, and for practically killing my abuser-“ I trail off a bit, trying not to sound as pained as I am.

“I was happy to fulfill a promise,” something about the way he says it makes my heart flutter with joy a bit. Maybe it’s the fact that he remembered the request I had made in that room, but regardless of the reasoning, it was enough to push me out of an emotional rut. Turning around to hide my slightly flustered face, I casually gestured at the ship's main hull to change the topic of conversation.

“This is a nice place you got here, though I’m assuming it’s not built for 2 people?”

“Well actually-“ the Mandalorian is immediately cutoff by a sound of what I swore was a child. Startled by the foreign sound, I quickly shifted my attention back towards him to find a small green creature clutching to his right foot. Black, large saucers peer up at me as I stare openly at the alien child. I calm at the immediate sight of a small face.

“Who’s this little fellow here,” I squat down near where the child is clutching to the Mandalorian’s calf to get closer to his eye level, though he’s so small that I still practically tower over him in this position.

“This here is my, uhh,” the Mandalorian sounds as if he’s at a loss on how to refer to this small child who clearly has a lot of trust in him. I glance over to the child and offer a large smile.

“Is he your dad? I bet he’s your dad huh,” I say to the little green child to which he responds with happy giggles to my question. I’ll take that as a yes.

“I’m to watch over him until I’ve returned him to his kind or until he is of age,” states the Mandalorian.

“I see, well I’ll assume for now that you’re his adoptive dad and call it a day,” I glance up at the Mandalorian and gesture if I can hold the baby. The Mandalorian clearly shows hesitation, but finds it in himself to nod, giving the okay that I can pick him up. The baby coos happily as I lift him off the ground and hold him to my chest. Once his face comes closer to mine, I feel oddly drawn to the child. I look at the child and almost start to feel a sort of sensation as the child returns my look. Then, all of a sudden, strands of my hair begin to lift away from my face towards the child, though he’s not holding my hair but his little hand is raised as if he was holding them. The silver clad warrior takes a step towards me but stops when I look up at him and the baby giggles happily at the same time. Confusion is clearly written on my face as to how this child is lifting my hair with…magic?

“It’s something called the force I suppose,” the Mandalorian casually shares as if knowing I needed an answer right away, “the people I’ve been tasked to find are called Jedi, people who know of and use this force.”

I nod in understanding and look back down at the baby, he’s happily playing with my hair at the moment while I hold him, starting to doze off.

“I’ve never gotten him to relax that quickly before,” the Mandalorian admits openly. I look back at him for a moment as I contemplate what to say next.

“I don’t really have anywhere to go, at least for now,” I trail off for a short second but then collect myself to continue, “but for the time being, I can look over him while I’m on your ship and while we figure out where I should go next.” I silently wait for a response as the Mandalorian stares at me while the child yawns and starts to fall asleep. I close my eyes realizing that’s probably way too much to ask considering we’ve only just met and there’s probably little trust between us since I did work for Crix and-

“Yes, I’d appreciate the help.”

I open my eyes to find him even closer in front of me than before, softly stroking the fuzzy head of the small child asleep in my arms. His visor lifts its attention from the child to look towards me, and I feel like we locked eyes again, though I have no idea what his eyes look like or where they are in relation to the visor. I flush a bit at the closeness between us and the overall adoration he’s showing towards the child. I smile softly at the silver helmet and mouth a silent ‘of course’ to him. He finally breaks what I was hoping was eye contact by stepping away and returning to the cockpit. I blush heavily as soon as he’s absent.

What was that just now, did the bounty hunter just show affection?

…..

A few hours go by on the Razor crest. The Mandalorian has been kind enough to show me around and tell me the major inner workings of the ship. To his surprise though, I already have a diverse knowledge on ships pre and post Empire since I was raised by a small scrapyard mechanic. I offered some advice on repair, though we both agreed that parts for a ship like this are rather hard to come by. He also directed me towards a floating egg carrier which I now know is the baby’s bed. After about 30 mins of holding the sleeping child, I was grateful to learn about the bed and put the child in to continue his rest in there. Currently we are reaching the end of the ship's tour in the main hull.

“Directly at the end of the ship across the back end hatch is both a sleeping cot and a fresher. You’re welcome to use both while aboard my ship. Of course to the left of both those spaces is the ladder leading up to the cockpit,” the Mandalorian informs me as I politely allow him to show me around. Though I pause a bit to reflect on what he just shared with me.

“You’re alright with me using your sleeping space?” I ask, rather embarrassed at the thought of practically sleeping in his bed. I’m unaware if he understands what it is that I’m implying since everything is completely guarded by Beskar. A short sigh comes from the helmet next to me.

“Yes, I don’t sleep in there often anyways, usually I’m in the pilot seat,” he shares, slightly easing my embarrassment.

“Doesn’t that get uncomfortable?”

“No. I don't sleep often anyways.”

“You need rest though,” that comes out a bit more concerning than I had intended. Regret settles onto my features as I try to find the words to apologize.

“Yes, I need rest, but I'm too busy with work,” he beats me in response. I look up at him to find him returning a look himself. I start to think about how hard his line of work must be, especially since I witnessed his most recent job myself.

“There’s nothing I can do about the time, I rest when I can,” he continues.

“Then maybe I can help,” I blurted out without thinking and not realizing how heavy the implication is.

“How would you be of any help?” He asks, though not in a condescending manner but rather out of genuine curiosity. This is a stark contrast compared to how Crix used to talk to me.

“Well I mean-I’m assuming you’re aware of the type of work I did for Crix right? Well I could help search for your bounties, and undetected at that,” I focus on him to see any sign of rejection, but he remains fixed on me and doesn’t respond. I push further, “I’m also good with information, especially when it comes to things underground and about places.”

“Are you suggesting doing my line of work with me?” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks over, almost amused at my proposition. Something about the way he says 'with me' and not 'for me' sparks a bit of hope that he might actually be considering it.

“I mean not necessarily,” I laugh a bit uncomfortably as I realize how ridiculous that may sound to a full fledged bounty hunter, “I can help in other areas, like responsibilities around the ship or watching the child or even-“

“I’ll consider your proposal,” he cuts me off, leaving me completely dumbfounded.

“I thought-don’t you-I thought you were against bargaining?”

“Yes, with quarry,” he doesn’t elaborate, but his short response indicates that I’m a clear exception to that rule.

“So I’m not secretly being sent somewhere for the crimes I’ve committed under Crix’s gang?”

“As I’ve stated before, I only wanted to collect Crix Typho, and now I somehow have you on my ship,” he exclaims, though I’m unsure how he feels about that fact. It must be a lot for him to all of a sudden have a complete stranger aboard his ship he solely occupies, aside from the small green individual. I step towards him as curiosity starts to prick at the base of my head.

“And why was it that you were so willing to allow me to travel out of Coruscant with you? You could have simply left me where I was and ran off with your quarry,” I finish the statement matter-of-factly, considering it is rather interesting how these turn of events unraveled the way they did. He keeps his original position with his helmet completely fixed on where I currently stand. I wait a long time to hear his response, which eventually does come through a heavily modulated filter.

“You said you had nowhere to go and would most likely face trouble had you remained on Coruscant,” he pauses as if to find the best words to phrase his next statement, “I guess-my morals got the best of me and decided to help you out.” He finishes in a much more hushed manner, as if slightly embarrassed by his admitted honesty. I can’t help but smile softly at his words. The helmet in front of me shifts slightly in direction and he quickly changes the subject. 

“For now, I’ll aid you in finding a new planet to lay low on while I collect the rest of my bounties. I have a few more Fobs to track before returning to Nevarro to collect payment. However-“ he stops his speech to reach for something on his belt. He unhooks what looks like a rectangular metal tracker with an antenna sticking from the top of it. A small red light slowly fades in and out on the device. I glance between the device and him for a brief moment, clearly illustrating a ‘what is this’ look to him.

“If the reports about you are true, I’ll consider your proposal of aiding me on some of my jobs to allow leeway in my schedule. I need time to search for a home for the foundling while simultaneously working jobs. I will pay you handsomely for the quarry you collect alongside me. When we reach Nevarro, I’ll tell my guild connection about your skills, and if proven rightfully, to consider adding you to the bounty hunter’s guild. This will provide you with an occupation, as well as an opportunity to gain immunity for your crimes under Crix.” He hands over the tracking fob and I reach my dominant hand out to grab it. I stare down at the small device before locking my eyes back onto the thin black visor.

“I-thank you,” the sentiment leaves me almost teary eyed, but I try my best to hold them back, “no one has ever cared about my well-being before. I appreciate you offering this to me.”

“It’s the least I can do to accommodate the current circumstances.”

“Yes I suppose-I was curious to know,” I’m trying in my best interest to find the right phrasing my next question without sounding dumb, “in terms of bounty hunting, do I always have to-“ I trail off again.

“Have to what?” He asks rather quickly.

“Do I have to-do I have to kill every bounty I’m assigned?” I ask quite timidly, lowering my head a bit ashamed at how I sound.

“You’ve killed before,” He states rather bluntly. I’m starting to be a bit concerned at how much he knows about me at the moment.

“Yes I have, but that was out of defense,” I state defensively, making the person on the other end of the conversation tense a bit, though it’s barely noticeable.

“No, not all quarries are requested to be returned dead for their bounty. Most often you will receive a higher reward if they are returned alive. Though in some cases,” he glances over to the Carbonite slab hanging near the gas chamber, “killing is unavoidable.”

“I see,” I reflect on all the information he’s just offered me.

“Is that alright?”

“Yes it’s just that-I’ve never had to retrieve a person before, it’s always just been artifacts and items Crix wanted for his dealings”

“Well then I can train you to obtain living beings.”

“Train me?”

“Yes, we can go over the common types of quarry, how to defend yourself, how to use a variety of weapons, so on and so forth,” he stops talking to start moving around me, making me turn around and follow the direction he is currently heading. He inputs something on the electronic control pad on his arm, which triggers two doors to open upwards, revealing a hidden armory containing an excessive amount of weapons inside it. My jaw drops at the number of weapons I immediately start counting as soon as my eyes fall upon them.

“Recognize any?” He asks, looking at me while gesturing to the plethora of life ending tools.

“Yes, several of them,” I state, with my eyes falling on a similar blade Crix tried killing me with not too long ago.

“Good. We will practice using the ones you know, as well as spar with each other until we reach my next destination. It’s several sectors over so it will take a few days to reach,” he suggests, though I immediately flinch at the idea.

“You want to spar with me?”

“Is that a problem?” His tone seems a bit more rigid with that response, as if urging me to follow through on that idea. I can’t blame him though, it would benefit me greatly since I might end up on my own for the first time in my life. Realizing that there is only one obvious choice, I comply.

“No it’s not, we can spar. Should we start now?”

“No, we can discuss that after you get some rest. I’m assuming you’re exhausted after what happened earlier,” he says as he starts closing the armory and moving towards the cot to open it. He then faces towards me while pointing towards the sleeping area.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had an extremely fun and eventful night,” I reply sarcastically. He ignores me completely to go retrieve what I assume is a makeshift blanket.

“Please utilize the space, I’ll be in the cockpit while you rest. Feel free to join me up there when you wake up,” he tosses the blanket in my arms and makes his way up the ladder. Did he just direct me to go to sleep? I sigh heavily and make my way towards the lame excuse for a bed and try my best to relax. Hopefully this new change of pace is nowhere near as bad as my previous arrangement.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

pt. four>>>

[betweenthings2]

Love to see some gatty stories from the fluff prompts - 12,18,42 & 45!

Thank you for the ask!! I'm so sorry you waited like five months for this--I don't have a good or new excuse, but the prompt list is here if anyone else wants to see it =)

In other news, I'm alive and back, sort of. I'm done working, but I start law school tomorrow (!!!!!!!). I am going to work to care out time to write, but I have no idea what the work load is going to be like, so bare with me for a little bit longer. Have these prompts as a peace offering of sorts. I do recognize that they're supposed to be fluffy, however, we all know what happens when I try to write fluff. I sincerely hope y’all enjoy these, though. I’m a little out of practice.

Anyway, fluff prompts 12. “I wish you could see the way I see you,” 18. “My parents love you,” 42. “You remembered my birthday?” and 45. “Come on, love, let’s get you home.”

“I wish you could see the way I see you."

It always catches Matty off guard when George gets into his own head and starts doubting things. In Matty's mind, George is amazing, brilliant, perfect, and it is fundamentally wrong for him to feel like he's not. Still, Matty is sympathetic and does his best. He comes behind and listens to George's abandoned projects and offers input and compliments, picks up the slack around the house, offers to take care of things that George usually does. George hardly ever accepts Matty's offers, in part because there's a reason that George does the tasks he does around the house rather than Matty, but also because he insists on trying to keep a routine even when he gets into his own head.

Things settle into a routine of abbreviation. The floors are swept, but not mopped. The flower beds and garden get watered, but not weeded. Dinner is made but it's simple, easy. George's laptop stays shut on his desk. Matty tries to pick up the slack, but George just tells him not to, or tries to take over, so Matty does his best to let it be. It's not unfamiliar but it is uncomfortable.

It gets unfamiliar when things become even more abbreviated. The sweeping is half-hearted. Matty takes over watering the flower beds and garden when George struggles to do it regularly. Cooking turns into take out, leftovers packed into the fridge. George's phone joins his laptop, untouched and abandoned. Matty picks up the slack, because that's about all he can do. He brings George tea, excuses them from social occasions, does the laundry the way George likes it done. He tries.

And then George stops even trying to do things, and Matty feels like the floor has dropped out from under him. George isn't supposed to be this sad. George isn't supposed to feel like everything is hopelessly overwhelming and impossible to face. Matty feels like that sometimes, but George isn't supposed to feel like that. George is larger than life, extraordinary. He shouldn't feel so small.

Still, Matty does is best to help George feel better. He's done this before. They've been through this before and Matty does his best. The problem is that George is uneager to accept Matty's care. Matty tries not to let that frustrate him--he knows he does the same. It's just hard a to see the person he loves unhappy and trying to reject his care.

"I wish you could see the way I see you," Matty murmurs one afternoon when he brings George. "I wish you could see you thorough my eyes."

"I know how you see me, Matty," George responds. It seems a little like he should say more, but he doesn't.

Matty sighs and shakes his head. "I think you know how you think I see you, but it's not accurate. What is it that you're always telling me? That I have a warped perspective of myself?"

"You do sometimes," George agrees. "But that's not what happening here."

"Yeah, it is," Matty says.

"Can you just leave me alone?"

"George," Matty murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed, "that's not going to help."

"I don't care."

"I promise you, company will help. Getting out of bed will help."

"Please, just leave me alone, Matty. I want to be alone."

Matty sighs, but stands up and says, "Alright. But I'm here if you need anything."

George doesn't say anything more, so Matty goes, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him.

----

“My parents love you."

"Ready to go?"

Matty pauses, glancing up from his phone where he's seated on the couch. "Are you sure you want me to come?"

"'course I want you to come. Why wouldn't I?"

Matty offers a half shrug, but he doesn't say anything, just looks back down at his phone.

George sighs and abandons his suitcase by the door, next to Matty's, going to sit next to him. "C'mon, love," he urges. "Why wouldn't I want you to come?"

Matty shrugs again, but he locks his phone and sets it aside, mumbling, "'s stupid."

"It's not stupid if it upsets you," George tries.

"'s just," Matty pauses, "Do you want me there? Does your family? Do your parents? It's your family reunion. I'm not, well, I'm not your family."

"Yes, you are. How long have we known each other? How long have we been together?"

"A long time," Matty mumbles. "But do you want me there? With your family? I'm kind of a liability."

George reaches out and reaches out to cradle Matty's jaw, running a thumb over his cheekbone and says, "'course I want you there. Matty, I always want you around. "

"But what about your family?" Matty presses. "I mean, it always felt like your parents thought I was a bad influence and didn't really want me around you and I haven't seen your parents since before and-"

"Matty, my parents love you. My mum kept asking if you were coming," George tries. "Look, you don't have to come if you don't want to, but I want you to and my family wants you to."

"Are you sure?" Matty asks. "Maybe they’re just saying that. Maybe they hate me but they don't want to say that to you."

"They love you. My mum told me to bring you. They want to see you. Maybe more than they want to see me."

"'s the long con," Matty mumbles, gaze on his knees.

George frowns and sighs. "What's up? What's on your mind?"

Matty shrugs. "I, erm, I," he pauses, then repeats, "I haven't seen your parents since before and people generally kinda hated me then. I mean, I did heroin in your parents' powder room last time we visited them. They should hate me."

George's expression falters. Matty is fairly certain his candor in discussing some of the of the less palatable aspects of his addiction makes George a little bit uncomfortable. He hasn’t said anything, of course, but Matty can tell.

"That makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?" Matty asks. "When I say stuff like that?" He's pretty sure this is going to start an argument, but he has all this pent up, unsettled energy. Part of him, the self sabotaging, untrusting part, wants to see what will happen if he pushes.

"Why should they hate you?" George asks, ignoring Matty's question.

"Are you avoiding my question?" Matty counters.

"It breaks my heart every time you say something like that," George answers, "because it reminds me how close we were, how close I was, to losing you." He pauses, then, "Now it's your turn to answer."

Matty sighs and looks down to admit, "'cause I brought that into their house, I did that in their house. 'cause I was high in their house. They invited me into their home and I repaid them by being a fucking junkie."

"I'm pretty sure they don't know about that," George tries. "And if they do, they don't care."

"Then they're stupid," Matty mumbles. He's beginning to feel petulant and like he needs to make a point, like he needs to somehow upset George.

George just raises his brow and says, "Really?"

Matty nods.

"Alright," George says.

"Can you just be upset when I say things that should make you upset?"

"Will fighting make you feel better?"

Matty nods again, doing his very best to not let himself smile. He knows exactly where George is going with this because Matty does this sometimes--tries to pick a fight because he's insecure.

"Just to clarify," George starts, "you'll feel better if we fight?"

"'k, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid," Matty complains.

George chuckles and says, "Well, it is a little silly."

"Are you absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent sure your family wants me there?"

George nods. "They love you Matty. I'm sure. And," he pauses to tuck a curl behind Matty's ear, "I love you."

Matty leans into George's touch and mumbles, "Love you, too. Thanks. Sorry. Thanks."

"I love you," George repeats. "You're family. Always have been.

----

“You remembered my birthday?”

Matty has quit trying to make a big deal of his birthday as he's gotten older. His parents are busy and argue if they're in the same room for too long and Louis is a toddler and takes up most of the attention. He doesn't exactly resent any of that. He gets that it's life and this is how things go. He just, well, he wishes that sometimes things could be about him, too.

This birthday is no different. When Matty goes downstairs to head to school, the house is quiet and seemingly empty. He can's say he really expected anything else, but it still stings. He takes the pack of cigarettes in his mum's purse on his way out the door, a less than even halfhearted effort to prove a point. He's not sure what the point is. Maybe he's just hurt.

Matty lights a cigarette as soon as he's out of sight of his house. He doesn't blame his parents. He doesn't, he tells himself. He has a good life. His needs and wants are met. People love him and care about him. He's not upset. He's not.

When Matty turns from his side street to the street out of his neighborhood, George is there, waiting for him, like always.

"Happy birthday!" George says as soon as he sees Matty.

Matty pauses. "What?"

"It's your birthday," he says. "Happy birthday!"

Matty is quiet for a moment, then very quietly asks, "You remembered my birthday?"

"'course I did," George answers. "How could I not?"

"I, uh, well, I, I guess I didn't think you would." Matty pauses, then, "No one else did. Not yet, at least."

"Matty," George sighs. "You deserve better than that."

"'s not their fault," Matty tries. "My parents are working and Louis needs more attention than I do, and 's fine. I'm not upset."

"They should remember your birthday," George insists, hurt on Matty's behalf. "It's your birthday."

"So you've said," Matty mumbles, looking at the ground. He glances up and, a little louder, adds, "'s fine. 's not a big deal. I'm fine, really."

"No, you're not," George counters. "You look like a kicked puppy."

Matty just shrugs, gaze firmly back on the ground.

"Come on," George decides, taking Matty's arm and pulling him along.

"George," Matty protests. "Stop it. I don't wanna go anywhere. I wasn't even gonna go to school."

"Good, 'cause we're not going to school," George responds, still pulling Matty along with him.

Matty stops in the middle of the sidewalk, wrenching his arm out of George's grasp. If he wanted to, George could make Matty move--he's bigger than Matty and has been for a long time--but Matty's pretty sure he's not going to. "Where ae we going?" Matty asks. "At least have the decency to let me be miserable on my own."

"We're going back to mine," George answers. "My parents are out of town and we're gonna get stoned and order way too much takeaway and I'm going to give you your present, are you are going to remember that you are important to people."

Matty is quiet for a moment, then he asks, "You got me a present?"

George nods. "I'm pretty sure that's what people do. Get people they care about birthday presents."

Matty is quiet for another moment, trying to find the words, but they don't come and instead he just flings himself against George hugging him tight and saying, "I really kind of love you."

"I really kind of love you, too, Matty," George responds. "And I promise I'll never forget your birthday."

"You really promise?" Matty asks.

"Yeah, I really promise," George echoes.

----

“Come on, love, let’s get you home.”

Matty is elated as he walks off stage. It was a great show, one of the best they've ever done, Matty is sure, and George is right next to him, keeping an even pace as they walk. Ross and Hann are right there, too, at Matty's other side, all of them together and good. Everything is good. As soon as they're out of sight of the crowd, George wraps a tight, possessive arm around Matty's waist to hold him close, the bare skin of his arm slightly sticky against Matty's bare, sweaty back. Performing always make George a little bit possessive, especially when it's a show at home, in London. There are all those people who are there for The 1975, all those people who are there for Matty, all those people who trip over themselves for the smallest chance that Matty will notice them, all those people who want nothing more than for Matty to notice them.

Matty leans into George's side a bit as they walk, a reminder that he's George's and no one else's, and murmurs, "George, I wanna go out."

"You wanna go out?" George echoes. "Before the show you were tellin' me all you wanted to do after was sleep."

"I changed my mind," Matty answers, half indignant.

George chuckles, quiet and just for Matty, and says, "You're full of adrenaline, is more like it."

"'m serious," Matty insists. "I wanna go out with you."

"Alright," George agrees. "I'll ask if anyone else wants to come."

Matty gives a small shake of his head. "I wanna go with you, not everyone. Just us."

George presses a kiss into Matty's sweat-damp curls and repeats, "Alright."

They're quick to get out of the dressing room and into a cab from a quiet street behind the venue. Matty's still a restless ball of energy, chattering on and on about the show and how they could make it even better and how it was amazing and so on. George just offers a fond smile, interjecting when Matty pauses or asks a question, more than content to let Matty talk.

The cab lets them out at a bar they tend to frequent, especially after performances or at the end of tours, a little bit out of the way, but always busy and always good. They pay the cabbie and George pulls Matty close again as they walk inside and find seats in a booth. Matty stays animated and talkative through drinks one and two, but they're about halfway through drink number when he starts to crash. He yawns and shifts in his seat, doing his very best to appear wide awake, lest he be forced to admit George was right. George is usually right, Matty just hates to admit it.

George can tell Matty is crashing, of course, but he doesn't say anything lest he wound Matty's pride. Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait long for Matty himself to say something.

"George," Matty says, picking up his glass to finish his drink, "'m tired. George, I'm tired."

George offers another fond smile. "I can tell."

Matty pouts, a very specific pout he does when he gets tired.

"You're over there yawning," George tries. "Seems a little like you might fall asleep in the booth."

Matty's expression doesn't change, but he says, "You're supposed to be nice to me."

George just smiles again, saying, "I'll pay our tab, just give me a minute, ok?" and when Matty nods, he gets up and heads to the bar.

When George comes back, Matty is half asleep in the booth, dark curls flopped over half his face. He looks exhausted and George is struck by a sudden wave of love and emotion as he helps Matty to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist, saying, "Come on love, let's get you home."

Matty nods and lets himself be guided out of the bar by George's arm around him, mumbling, "Thanks G. Love you a lot."

"I love you, too," George murmurs, letting the door fall shut before he presses a kiss to Matty's temple. "I love you, too."

[theworldoffostering]

So much snow. And cold. And sadness.

It’s NB’s birthday this week. He will be FIVE! Can we please take a moment to reflect on his birth? His mom called me at 5am and told me she was in the ER at a hospital nearly an hour away from me, asking me to come meet her. I did. Upon arrival, the OBGYN came into the room and said she was going to have the baby now and gave me a gown so I could head back into the OR and watch the c-section. Never in my life did I imagine that would be how I was spending my morning/day. NB was born and I sat with him until the ambulance came to transfer him to a larger hospital with a NICU. NB was about six weeks early, and born addicted, but was mostly a feeder and grower. His NICU experience was fairly bland except it happened 71 miles away from us during the polar vortex. We commuted daily and spent many nights there despite DH and I both working full-time.

NB was born the day before Ms. 6’s adoption. I sent her an email today asking if she was ready to talk. I don’t think she is, but wanted to put the ball into her court and let her know that we were. She’s requesting contact with NB, but no one else, and we have refused. It’s so weird to me. In her biological home, Ms. 6 was very much the favorite, and Ms. 6 now has made NB her favorite, and frankly that is a major benefit of her no longer being here—we no longer have to choose to manage that dynamic. But I’m also still sad over all of the loss. (For sure I am also relieved.) It’s confusing and complicated.

DH’s family situation continues to be challenging. His sister’s situation is worse than we had initially known, and his mom’s cancer is potentially back. She’ll find out for sure this week. How do you handle death of a parent when the parent hates you and is actively trying to destroy your marriage? I feel bad for DH, and also clueless as to how to make anything easier/better in this situation.

I also saw DD last week. She came over to pick up some Christmas gifts that my mom had sent for her. About 90% of what she said during her visit were straight up lies. I’m sad, frustrated, disappointed. Is this part of the disease, or is this just who she is?

I don’t know you guys, I am sort of just asking myself, “What is the point?” Like what was the point of doing all of the work to get Ms. 6? We are completely isolated in our own community due to it, and she has rained down so much pain and trauma on our family/other kids. What was the point? She got out of a residential setting, was safe here, experienced life, went on vacations, and acquired the skills to graduate high school (she’s done—she just finished in December). Was that the point? Is that enough to justify all of the harm done to the people left standing?

DD left an orphanage in Eastern Europe, and I think it probably (not trying to be dramatic) saved her life. As a person with cerebral palsy, I’m not sure how many years she would have made it in the orphanage, and aging out would probably mean being on the streets. It was such a miracle that she got out of Eastern Europe when she did (truly), that I always felt like she was destined for great things. And by great, I mean typical adulting like having a job, being in a stable relationship, etc. That’s not what’s happening, and I’m crushed by the loss of that dream, and feeling like I am losing hope for her future to be more than what it currently is. It could probably be worse, but not having an authentic relationship with her is particularly painful to me as she’s my first child and for many years, it was just she and I. We were a family and I felt so connected to her. Having the relationship we have now feels to me like an accute loss. So again, what’s the point is the question that keeps rearing up for me.

It’s weird to be a foster parent for so long, be entirely dedicated to it with your whole self, and then be left wondering, “Does it even matter?”

[subskz]

Tall girl anon back. Omg I’m not sure about the picture, it probably is but in my memory I feel like it was more visible, but then again memories can be wrong. And although being into the “masculinity” of body hair in certain places is one way of interpreting it, I don’t think it’s the masculinity part. I think it’s just the whole sort of naturalness(???) of it. Humans are animals and things like pubic and pit hair are signs of hormones and sexual maturity and the presence of it just seems very sexy in a “raw” sort of way that idk how to describe. Anyway….

So I need to get this thing off my chest somewhere and my friends probs don’t wanna hear it so imma do it here since we’re all horny on here anyway.

These memories keep coming back to me… I went to a concert at one point, not gonna say when or who, all that’s important to know is that it was a kpop boy group. And I had a sex dream immediately after. This legit never happened before. I’ve had sex dreams, but not after concerts. But anyway… I’d never noticed in videos, but onstage (I had great seats) one of the members was visibly smaller than everyone else, by a lot. I looked it up and the next shortest member was three inches taller than him (he’s 5’6”) and something about seeing this skinny, short, very attractive guy (especially in comparison to the rest of his members) snapped something in me. In the videos, you don’t really notice it but in real life…. Wow…Like, I need to have him. He is so small and for whatever reason that makes me want him even more. And I feel so weird for that very specific feeling but the memories keep coming back and I can’t get rid of it. I need to hug him, I need to pin him down, I bet I could pick up his tiny little body— he’s so skinny that I refuse to believe that he weighs more than me. And this feral urge consumes me. I want to hold his face in my hands and tell him he’s so pretty but I also want to see his face twisted in pleasure and gasping with his eyes rolling back. I want to hold his little hands in my larger ones in the most wholesome way possible and I also want to see how far my long fingers could wrap around his neck. I want to kiss him and love him and hold him and ruin him. Or even just have the most vanilla sex possible just as long as I could hear him moan with his pretty, high-pitched voice. I’m not gonna try getting myself off because tbh I don’t think that’ll be enough to fix this and as much as this feeling is frustrating, I’m not entirely sure I want it to go away. Anyways……

Sorry for the big rant. But if I don’t let this out it may consume me more than it already has.

hihi it’s good to see u again! if there really is a highqual pic of lix’s happy trail out there i hope we find it someday 🔎 i completely agree w you abt finding body hair “sexy in a raw way” that describes it perfectly! there’s nothing more attractive than humans in their most natural state, no makeup, unshaved, their natural scent etc ♡_♡ slight tangent here but when lino’s skin isnt covered w that awful pale smoothing filter and u can see his real complexion with all his little bumps n acne scars…..literally makes me drool

the way this concert awakened smth in you that u already thought had been awakened LOL it seems like it was quite the lifechanging experience 😽 he sounds so adorable 5’6” men are kinda the perfect size…plus him having an itty bitty frame on top of that so you could probably pick him up like he’s weightless and manhandle him if you wanted to…that’s the goal isn’t it <3 being able to eclipse a boy’s hands w your own and scoop him up in ur arms and hold him up against the wall, making him feel small, safe and helpless all at the same time

i hope ur brain stops tormenting you w these thoughts soon but i cant even blame u for being so hooked on it he sounds like a dream for ppl w size kinks ❤️‍🔥

[clunelover]

I have therapy today, and last session we talked about how some of my "trying to control other’s behavior as a way to manage my own anxiety" stuff was creeping back up, all the worse for being trapped on couch and unable to walk…I’m here watching everyone do Wrong things and so my impulse is to yell out corrections/directions/suggestions, but obv I need to let more of that go since I cannot help so why should I get to tell Jeremy exactly how he should be doing everything.

I actually did a really good job of this! Making a list here of what I want to give myself credit for:

- when we hosted a small bday party for my dad, Jeremy got the cake he likes (it’s from the freezer aisle at grocery store so that’s easy) and when it was time to serve, he brought the cake over to the living room and put it on the little ledge of living room wall (our living room is partly open, fenced in by this little half wall that has a wooden ledge on it…comes with real pros and cons, like I actually like how it makes the room part open but part shielded, however the ledge becomes a place where crap gets piled). Anyway, he set the cake on the ledge and sliced a piece for my dad. Then my stepmom got up to get herself a slice but Jeremy had brought over just one plate, for my dad, and had taken the cake cutting knife away somewhere, so I could see my stepmom puzzling over wtf she was supposed to do, at which point Jeremy was like ‘"idk why I brought the cake over here, I guess just to show it and to get [dad] a piece right away? But I’m not thinking, let me bring it back to the kitchen and serve some more pieces"…from the instant he brought it over to the living room and set it on the ledge, my brain was just like "what the fuck are you doing? What the fuck are you doing? Why are you putting it there? That’s so dumb and also what if someone knocks it off that ledge, the cake will fall right on the carpet, what are you doing?" but I KEPT IT IN and let him do the cake however he wanted, even tho it made no effing sense, and eventually he realized that and moved it! I’m amazing!

- there have been a few other such hosting things where I let the state of the living room stay in what is definitely not MY standards of tidy, but also not actually prohibitive to hosting

- we are having house guests this weekend (set up before I knew I’d have surgery and then forgotten about with not enough time to now ask these guys to stay somewhere else…it’s fine, one will get my sofa bed and one will get the guest room/my office and I’ll just stay mostly upstairs which is how I like to do weekends now anyway) and my impulse is to send Jeremy a LIST of things he must do to get things ready for them. Not because I don’t think he’s capable! But because I’m anxious about it and frustrated I can’t do anything myself so sending a list will allow me to discharge my anxiety. BUT I DONT NEED TO DO THAT and it in fact sets a terrible "I am household manager and he is completely incompetent" precedent. So I won’t!

- I also try to control E’s behavior sometimes…my stepdad took them to a Wicked sing along, along with some young women who are post docs or former fellows in his department, and then they all came back here afterwards for coffee and dessert (it was day after Xmas so we had a lot of dessert left). E had gotten a lego set of Glinda and Elphaba for Xmas, one of those where the people are larger and made up of bricks rather than just being little singular pieces? Anyway, while the grownups sat and chatted, E kept making little modifications to the lego ladies - first swapping just their hair, then their faces, then everything except their faces, etc etc. And wanted to show each little change off to all these guests and get attention for them (E is in a phase where they are really drawn to beautiful women and wants to impress them and get attention from them, like beyond just the general thing where all kids want attention). My impulse was to shush them because of course that must be annoying to everyone, it’s annoying to me! But I continue to need to work on not stifling them so I just didn’t say a word and let that play out. And these gals were like "oh cool!" Or "ooh now they look kinda creepy!" etc etc each time E showed them something. And I remembered - "oh yeah! These people might actually be charmed by E, or else social conventions dictate that people humor children, or if they get too annoyed just smile and nod, and it’s up to them how much they care to engage with it but they actually seem genuinely charmed!! Huh!" So yeah I’m super proud of that one and vow to keep letting them be themselves in front of people. I might sound horrible, but BFF who is a therapist says a lot of people feel this way about their kids but it’s kind of taboo to talk about, and she subscribes to a theory that these kind of reactions are in part me trying to protect MY child self - like, I couldn’t always read social cues and probably annoyed people, so I don’t want that to happen to E…but kids ARE often just annoying and want lots of attention, and that kind of just has to play out!

- as I mentioned earlier, teaching E to knit, that’s sort of a different thing but fits in with the overall mode of trying to have more patience.

[wanderlustmagician]

7 & 10 for the ask game :D

I’m gonna answer these backwards, for reasons :3

10. What are your writing goals for the upcoming year?

Since we’re still in January, I’m gonna answer this for this year. My goals are to be able to write and complete at minimum 50 fan works this year and up my word count goals with each thing posted. It’s been an almost five years since I last sat down with the intention to write and it’s been both exhilarating and frustrating to get back into it. I’ve got some really amazing friends who are so supportive and I want to make their support of me worth it by finally making moves to write my own books… but I’m very out of a practice and my creativity was very lacking for a while. Now that it’s coming back, I’m going to really push myself to get back to where I was and fall back in love with it again.

I’d love to pick back up on writing for my original content ideas and get back to working on that as well, but small achievable goals to start.

7. Share a line/paragraph/snippet that you were especially proud of.

Oooh hmm. I’ve got more than one… so for the sake of not over sharing I’ll share one and if anyone is interested in the others, they can ask? Honestly I don’t mind sharing them all LOL

In this one I wanted to explore Time’s POV of realizing that Twilight is his descendant. Twilight doesn’t immediately recognize Time as the Hero’s Shade and they sort of beef with each other a bit in the beginning. This snippet is part of a larger work, but it’s post Time finding out about the Hero’s Shade and his relation to Twilight.

He feels… bad about his initial decision to tease the boy so much now. More so because he’s… he’s his in a way that no one but Malon has ever come close to being. It hurts… to know that one day he will be so… so cruel to him and say things that fuel his doubts and curb his self confidence still to this day. He’s already failed, been a… a failure of a hero, failure to Hyrule, and now a failure to his descendants. It stings, throbs like a bruise.

The boy in question, his- his descendant, Link, Goat Boy, Descendant- descendant makes a breathy whine in his sleep. His brow furrowed slightly, nose a little wrinkled, and limbs curling into himself. He scoots closer, not that he was sleeping all that far away, and runs a gentle, careful, oh so careful knuckle across the boy’s cheekbone, along the dark mark that sits there before gently pushing his fingers into the soft hair at his temple. His body relaxes, limbs uncurling slightly and the furrow of his brow smooths. Petting the boy like this, letting himself feel the affection that’s been quietly stirring up behind his sternum, it feels like a balm to his soul. He couldn’t do this while the boy is awake, no not yet. It would feel too much like coddling, like a lack of trust. He couldn’t have that.

He wonders, briefly, how much of a balm it would be to have the boy curled up against him. Warm and heavy with sleep and trust, would it soothe the ache or would it make his sins feel heavier? To have the measure of this boy’s life, so very deeply affected by his failures, in his hands… his trust in him on his conscience alongside it.

It’s worth it he decides.

(And then the next morning, when he wakes up groggy and slightly disoriented - he’ll act like normal, teasing and questioning, and take the boy’s frustration with him alongside that slowly growing trust - he greets him with a chirpy ‘morning goat boy! Sleep well?’ and laugh as the boy buries himself back into the pillow with a groan. He’ll hold himself back from running his fingers through his hair again or running a soothing hand between his shoulders, instead he’ll ruffle his hair and make it more of a mess than it was and laugh at the boy’s attempt to look scathing. They aren’t close enough for that much affection, not yet, no matter how much he wants to.)

[rivetgoth]

I really dont think people have any empathy for detransitioners as a reaction to how they’re used by anti-trans crowds. To the point even “allies” downplay (trans people) or parentalize (transphobes) their medical, social, and personal struggles. There’s just no good platform for us to talk with each other without us biting at each others heels. What you said is totally right I’m just tired and ranting lol. Thank you for your post

it really, really sucks (and I have seen with my own eyes) that the politicization of “detransitioning” as an action and “detransitioner” as an identity has led to the snowball effect of trans spaces, at least online (thankfully haven’t seen quite the same response around trans people I know irl, but I don’t want to imply that the behavior of large online trans spaces are inconsequential), sort of beginning to hold this suspicion or even disdain towards actual detransitioners. I feel like at least weekly I see someone on one of the big trans subreddits mention being scared of talking to detransitioners or otherwise triggered by hearing about detransitioners or reading their stories or anything. Or I just see “detransitioner” be used broadly and conflated with the transphobic grifters heading the detrans movement. I really don’t like that.

I think part of where my sadness about this comes from, other than the obvious stuff that I kinda wish didn’t have to be said, like the fact that I am friends with detransitioned people who are lovely, that we know objectively from studies done on this topic that the majority of detransitioners do so for external reasons such as social rejection, lack of access, safety concerns, etc, the fact that many people who detransition do not identify as cis, or the fact that many detransitioners are gonna have many overlapping material experiences as us when it comes to the interpersonal and on occasion even systemic mistreatment of gender and sex nonconforming individuals… is just the fact that I personally have learned a TON from detransitioners myself, and I’ve found their insights into gender and sex to be extremely helpful in conceptualizing my own identity and how it pertains to my body and my transition. It was a detransitioner who first turned me on to the reconceptualization of medical transition as a form of body modification and the question of trans rights being one within a larger conversation of bodily autonomy. I think their experience as someone who exercised their autonomy to change their body and ultimately came to the decision it wasn’t right for them gave them a lot of personal wisdom about these intricacies.

I am sympathetic to some extent that many of the trans people who express frustration towards detransitioners are doing so because they’re tired of the identity being used as ammo to further regressive anti-autonomy laws, but I’m kind of admittedly equally sympathetic to non-transphobic detransitioners who harbor frustration towards aspects of the modern trans community (such as the pervasive rhetoric I really strongly dislike but see quite often that claims “anyone who questions if they’re trans is probably trans,” which IMO does the opposite of uplift questioning people’s right to, well, QUESTION, even if they realize they’re ultimately not actually trans, and does erase the very healthy experience of questioning if transition is right for you and being wrong, as well as the reality of detransitioners existing at all) or at the larger system (such as how little informed consent doctors often actually know about HRT before prescribing it—many such cases), even if both of these frustrations are mis-aimed. This is a literally life or death topic within broader global politics for some and I get tension is high. I want to explicitly make clear I’m talking pretty complex intracommunity relations so I can avoid characterizing the trans community as like overtly hostile or irrational. That’s obviously not true.

But idk? I guess just speaking within/as a member of the trans community I wish there was more space for detransitioners to speak and I wish that detransitioners weren’t seen as a source of like… fear. Tbh I understand that it’s partly a reaction to the politicization of the identity and the way it’s weaponized against trans people, but I do kind of get the sense, and this is a more grave accusation but I think I’m right to say it, that some trans people are just… scared of seeing detransitioned people because they don’t want that to be them, and they’re scared to face their own internal fear of regret or being wrong, and in turn are harboring some level of fear and disgust at the idea of being a gender/sex nonconforming person. I think some members of the trans community have internalized this fear of regret to the point that they see detransitioned and other sex nonconforming individuals as almost caricatures of themselves or “worst case scenarios.” It reminds me of how extremely cruel certain trans people can be to non-passing trans people or gender nonconforming trans people or intersex people. I think there is a fear of transition “failing” that, while understandable as a personal/internal fear when you’re battling dysphoria and taking such a huge step and doing something so potentially socially and politically loaded, kinda sucks when it’s projected out onto others. Very reminiscent of the annoying ass trans people who claim that “second hand dysphoria” (seeing a trans person who doesn’t pass or does something you wouldn’t, usually something pertaining to stereotypes associated with their AGAB ex. a trans man who wears pink, and becoming dysphoric over it) is a thing.

I guess I just feel like sex and gender nonconformity as well as the exercising of one’s bodily autonomy—even to an end that ultimately one regrets—are all good things, and I feel like we can all learn from each other and all should be aligning with each other and building community with each other, including facing and having open minded and empathetic discourse around the idea of regretting one’s choices when we do act on them… Having support systems in place for those who need it is crucial to allowing people autonomy to begin with, similarly to how I believe drugs should be decriminalized but with that should come an overhaul in how we treat those struggling with addiction (including an overhaul of the legal system), sex work should be decriminalized but with that should come tangible material and system-wide support not just for sex workers but within the entire labor industry. With autonomy comes the risk of regret. I’m very pro-regret, I’m pro-the right to do things you’ll regret, and I am very anti-criminalization for the sake of trying to save people from regret or protect people from themselves. It’s the same reason I feel a lot of solidarity with cis people who undergo extreme body modification, whether or not it’s to an end that they’re satisfied with, as long as they aren’t propagating anti-autonomy rhetoric, and it’s interconnected with the same reason I’m pro-drug and pro-choice and pro-sex work.

[morgandria]

My spirituality feels messy, sometimes. I don’t think that can be helped, since like the rest of me it developed organically over time. As much as Virgo-me would love to keep it all in nice neat boxes in my head, it didn’t start that way and sure as hell isn’t interested in ending that way. It can be frustrating. I have to both acknowledge its' eclectic tangle, and attempt not to cross the streams. I do my homework. I respect boundaries. I try to get into the heart of things, rather than just skimming the surface. I never want anyone to think I’m some kind of spiritual tourist. But understanding and perspective are always evolving. Shit happens. Needs change. You accumulate as you go.

The earliest things were Native. It’s like the deep earth under my feet. I was raised with stories and teachings from my grandfather, but at the same time I was not raised inside larger Métis culture. I feel uncomfortable with attempting to practice much more that a good (occasional) smudge, and a bit of plant medicine. Unfortunately, being Métis is also political. People are fast to label others 'pretendian', or a cultural appropriator days - social media is addicted to those 'gotcha' moments. I don’t feel like putting myself out there just to attract abuse from smug self-righteous assholes who assume you’re just lying for some kind of personal gain. So while there’s still potential for connecting some roots there, it will likely remain the path untrodden.

It's not a big leap between plant medicine and witchcraft. Which was always a career option, in my mind. I always knew I’d be a witch when I grew up, from a young age. I think it’s why I loved Halloween so much. It was a chance to let the inside and outside match. Early-early stuff, aside from the native stuff, I spent learning from spirits and getting to grips with energy work. It was simple, but it was wonderful to feel like infinity was at your fingertips.

I’ve had a long relationship with Wicca. I suppose the early days were more properly a kind of Neopagan practice with a Wiccan flavour, but the basic framework was there. I felt a calling to a coven for many years, and specifically for initiation into priesthood. I eventually reached a point where the things I wanted to learn were outside my reach until I found one. I was lucky, and 20 years with a coven practice has been fulfilling in many ways. I don’t doubt that the Lord and Lady truly did call me home. But I often wonder how much longer I might walk this path. I call myself witch more than Wiccan, as of late, and feel like I've lost momentum. The disconnect isn’t huge, but it’s there.

That point where I stalled out before being invited to my coven I took the time to explore Irish polytheism. I had long been a devotee of The Morrigan, and over time developed relationships with other deities in the pantheon. Deepening those ties was very satisfying, but at the time there were lots of gatekeepers. The battle over authenticity was something I wanted no part of. I also had a hard time with that style of ritual expression - trying to be ‘correct' often came at the expense of joy and pleasure. It was dry as fuck. Some of it has stuck with me (the pantheon, and some cosmology) but ultimately I decided I wasn’t interested in becoming an armchair academic whose practice was purely an intellectual exercise. There’s no point if you don’t find joy in what you’re doing. The Tuatha Dé will always be with me - just not in any way that’s so rigid.

Interwoven between all these things is a lot of Otherkin stuff. I am not going to get into it, but it’s certainly a part of who I am still. It’s just a bit convoluted, and just too personal to matter to anyone but me.

And these days there’s Lucifer, and Lilith, and Baphomet. I think it all started with simply feeling like Baphomet is a deity for the non-binary. Anything Satanic comes with a bunch of Christian baggage, which I have zero interest in engaging with, but at the same time I like rosaries and snakes and apples and the image of big satanic cathedrals. Heh. I’m not one to turn my nose up at a ready supply of ritual resonance, I guess. Like anything else, it’s not straightforward. Non-theistic Satanists are pretty quick to dismiss you as a credulous nitwit if you’re any flavour of theist. Some theistic folks are very over-the-top ooky-spooky doom cookies. And don’t get me started on the fascists hiding all the dark little corners they can find to fester in. So it's another community I won’t engage with too deeply. I’m too pagan, maybe, and I feel enough Horned God energy connected with Lucifer to acknowledge them as such. There’s a wild, feral, earthy energy to it all, and I’m here for it. This practice is still pretty new, so I’m still getting ahold of it. The whole of it feels like a call to live and enjoy life in the moment as it comes - and that you can live your best life out of sheer spite, in the face of those who would destroy you. I’m pretty good at denying myself pleasure so it’s challenging, but I’m up for it.

It’s all always in flux. I feel like primary focus these days goes to the Satanic stuff. It’ll be that way for a while, I think. When I downsized the shrines in the house in the spring I was relieved. Felt like lifting a weight off I hadn’t realized I was carrying. Everything’s good with my household gods, but they all seem content taking a step back and letting me make space for something new. The lack of coven meetings isn’t bothering me as much as it might have at one time. It feels like I need to code-switch to exist in that space, where I did not used to, and the thought makes me anxious. So I'm a little melancholy that some things I felt evoke connection and power and beauty and ecstasy aren’t raising the same energies and emotions anymore. My once very-pagan-following-the-Wheel of the Year altar space here in the bedroom is all dark gothic reds and purples most of the time. (I admit my palette for this altar type is very much lurid 70's occult novel cover.)

So yeah. Apologies if this meanders without sense. Just trying to keep one foot in front of the other, without having to stare at my feet as I walk. It’s somewhat of a relief as you get older that people don’t scrutinize you with the same levels of interest. You can exist a little more freely, messy spirituality and all. Less need for validation from those around you is also a relief.

I just want to be who I am, with joy, without judgement, without hesitation. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Quick Thoughts on Secret Invasion...The Comic event. Not the Show.

So, with Secret Invasion coming out in a week, I thought I'd share my thoughts that no one asked for on the event it's based on. Because this is actually the first time I have read the entire source material before throwing myself into the adaptation, mainly because I had the time and was always curious about what it was about. And truth be told...it's okay?

I mean, I feel like this is one of the instances where the source material is outclassed by an adaptation. And I'm not talking about the MCU because...that's not out yet. I'm talking about Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Yeah, the show with a TV-Y7-FV rating somehow manages to do better than a comic event geared toward teens and adults. And there are a few reasons for that.

#1. The event rarely doesn’t move forward.

In the comics, so much about Secret Invasion focuses on flashbacks to explain how the invasion happened in the first place and tie-ins that show what other characters were doing at the time. While the flashbacks are necessary, it takes the momentum out of the present story. As for the tie-ins, they're unnecessary. Oh, don't get me wrong, there's some fun to be had, like...

Deadpool training Skrull clones of himself to become as insane as him.

War Machine turning into a giant mech to fight off enemy ships.

Thor defending a town from god-killing Skrulls

And Black Panther defending Wakanda from another faction of Skrulls.

There are a lot of fun side stories and tie-ins but could skip a lot of it and miss nothing. All you really need to keep track of are the Avengers and the Thunderbolts. Speaking of which...

#2. It focuses mostly on the Avengers.

Three comic titles were about the Avengers at this time. You have The New Avengers, The Mighty Avengers, and The Avengers Initiative. The only ones who had prominence in the event were the Thunderbolts, and that's about it. A fun thing about events is seeing how all the heroes react to it while feeling like they're part of a larger story, but here it's mostly about the Avengers. And sure, everyone was practically an Avenger at that time, but the universe doesn't always revolve around them. I want to see the X-Men, Fantastic Four, and even the Guardians of the Galaxy showing up for that final battle against the Skrulls or all of their fights to stop them from feeling like they make a difference rather than shoved off to the side in a skippable story.

I read a story where Thor wielded Mjölnir and Stormbreaker to kill a god-killing Skrull...and you can skip the whole thing. That's frustrating.

And it's extra frustrating because...

#3. The premise is great, but the execution is NOT.

The idea is that Earth has been invaded by Skrulls, only this time, it's done in a way where NO ONE can detect them. Not by spider-sense, magic, or telepathy. NOTHING. They're completely hidden, and Avengers have no idea who to trust. That is a fascinating idea for an event...There are just a few problems with that.

A. It's incredibly vague how the Skrulls can hide themselves so well. The best explanation we get is that a clone of Reed Richards figured something out...and that's it. They never say HOW he figured it out. They just say that he DID.

B. They only really play around with this premise in flashbacks, which, as I've said, ruins the momentum of the present story.

C. Most of this premise is wasted on Avengers fighting Super Skrulls instead of the ones inside their faction.

And D. The best usage of that premise is when it should be painfully obvious who's a Skrull and who isn't.

At one point, the NEW Avengers and the MIGHTY Avengers go to the Savage Lands to investigate a crashed ship that holds Skrulls disguised as them but in outfits from the seventies/eighties, all in a way to play with the Avenger's heads about whether or not the invasion has been planned for that long. Absolutely NO ONE should have fallen for that, yet they all do. It's honestly frustrating that these heroes who have been doing this shit for decades NEVER picked up an obvious trap as it was literally punching them in the face.

And it's here where I get to how Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes does all of this better.

It starts early on to tell the audience that Skrulls have invaded factions of superheroes, including the Avengers. For almost half of Season Two, we see our heroes deal with this as it happens in the background as the audience knows who the Skrull is while our heroes remain clueless.

It makes sense why it's about the Avengers because...Well, it's a SHOW about the AVENGERS. I mind it less when a big story focuses slowly on the Avengers when it's abundantly clear that the Avengers are the sole focus of the story and no one else. Especially when this show takes place in a universe where heroes are starting out and are more unprepared for something like a Secret Invasion.

And finally, it executes the premise perfectly, having a Skrull mess with the Avengers and subtly tricking them instead of letting a gigantic fight against Super Skrulls be the crux of the invasion. It's all interesting to see and a lot more of what I expected going in when reading this event from start to finish. Only to be... disappointed.

There are some fun stories, cool fights, and solid character work in Secret Invasion, but it's still an event that feels more carried by its premise than its actual story. A cool premise for sure, but too much bogs it down. I'd sooner attempt to read Secret Wars again. That actually had a cool premise with even better execution from the...VERY LITTLE that I've read.

Still, would this mean the MCU's take on the story will be any better? Well...depends on how well they play with this "Who can you trust?" aspet. But if you want a better version of the story, just watch Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

In fact, just watch that show in general. It's SO good.

[formulapisces]

ANOTHER DEAFIE ON F1BLR! i feel so left out when people talk about engine noises and things 😭 i was born profoundly Deaf, sensorineural, so it’s good to know i’m not alone around here ❤️

WELCOME 🫂 i want to give you the biggest hug.

i’m moderate-severe in both of my ears, so i can still hear the cars but i really heavily rely on closed captions for commentary, lip reading, context, transcripts, etc. if i’m in a quiet room i can listen to things like podcasts etc, but if not, everything sounds all mashed up.

im sorry you feel left out, it must feel so horrible. i actually only lost my hearing last december. (i remember the exact date, december 19). december last year was a terrible time for me, i just had problem after problem after problem. the first few months were a blur but i found out that my hearing wouldn’t recover on my birthday. (february 27 if you want a time frame).

growing up one of my biggest fears was losing my hearing/ one of my senses, and now that it has actually happened, it isn’t too bad 😅. obviously the vertigo, ear infections, aches, and tinnitus, is bad, but one thing i’ve learnt over the past 7 months is how accepting the D/deaf/HOH community is. when i figured that my hearing wasn’t going to get any better without surgery to try repair my tympanic membranes (which i am not getting, there’s far too many risks in my opinion. id rather wait for hearing aids which i won’t get for months) i instantly went searching online for people like me and they’re all so nice :)

my hearing loss started as a sinus infection so mine is conductive, not sensorineural - the pressure built up in my sinuses so much that i practically obliterated both of my eardrums from a single yawn. i ended up losing about half of my hearing. my doctor thought i had eustachian tube dysfunction because my hearing sounds muffled like i’m under water. my hearing has never been the best before the illness too and i’ve struggled with ruptured eardrums before from when i was about 10 and i got scarlet fever and other various colds etc (these should’ve been the first red flags) but my hearing has ALWAYS recovered. accepting and realising that my hearing won’t actually recover has been the hardest part of all of this in my opinion. i think the psychological impact was a lot larger than the physical one, personally. what happened to me is so rare and usually people recover within a few weeks, so i really beat myself up about it happening, blamed myself, etc.

i’m obviously not as affected as some people are and i’m really lucky, but it’s such a struggle sometimes and i feel like nobody understands my rants so it’s just so nice to know someone here can get my frustration 🙂 (and the good things too).

it so relieving to know i’m not entirely alone on f1blr 🤟🤍

[chalterdh22]

Chapter 7: What About the Starfighter?

 A few weeks have gone by, mostly filled with working on the ship, playing with Grogu and small talk with the Mandalorian.  I hate to say it, but I started to have feelings for both of them.  I wasn’t feeling attached to them by any means, but I found myself having reasons to work near them or helping out Grogu when he needed some.  We just had a great relationship.  I’m not sure why, but I seemed to understand him better than anyone else.  He in return seemed to be there when I needed it, like he sensed something in me. 

As for Mando, the conversations were mostly him asking me questions and not really understanding a “normal” or “non-mandalorian” life.  It was very entertaining sometimes.  In return, I’d make him tell me more about the creed and all those rules they must follow.  Whenever I’d start getting frustrated in a rule, he’d calmly turn to me and simply reply, “this is the way.”  Like it never really phased him.

One day, after we ate lunch, we all walked out to the ship we had been working on.  Not all the panels matched, and there were inconsistencies in the parts, like pulling together different materials from different elements, which is exactly what she did.  But man, it looked sweet.  It ended up being half Razor Crest and half a Cutless Black, which is almost the same thing as the Crest, but larger.  The three of us walked around it, admiring our work.  I walked inside following Mando.  It was completely upgraded with a new refresher, almost as big as ours was in the house, secret storage for his weapons, three bunks, and two carbon-freezing transport units.  I guess that’s for his “cargo.” 

“Well, I think she’s ready for a test fly.  Now, she’s not as fast as your Starfighter obviously, but she’s quicker than your Razor Crest ever was.”  mom explained.

“How’s the hyper-speed drive?”  Mando asked.

“Pristine, of course!  She won’t pitter out on you!  Take her up!”

“Can I go on your test flight too?”  I asked with excitement.

He looked at me.   “Sure.  Might be a good idea to have another person on board in case the set of controls fails.”

“It won’t fail, Mando!  Promise.  Just give her some love, will ya!  She’s not a young gunner anymore!”

I followed Mando on board, closing the hatch behind me.  I strapped myself in the co-pilot’s seat, super giddy, like I’ve never flown before.  “I want the auto pilot to do the secondary flying while we test her out.”  He said as he was turning her on.

“No problem!  I’m just here for the ride!”  Smiling, I looked over at him.  Placing my hands neatly in my lap, fidgeting my fingers around, listening to the hum of the engine starting.  I love that noise.  We started to rise slowly off the ground, with a little sputter action.

“How’d she start up?”  Mom asked through the comm.

“Little hesitant, but I’ll work that out of her,” he said as we shot off up.  I jolted back in my seat.  It’s been a while since I rode in a private transport ship.  He was zipping her around and went up into space.  Once out of the atmosphere, it was so quiet and beautiful.  I had forgotten how vast it was.  I realized I was looking all over with probably a stupid smile on my face, but I didn’t care.  I looked over at Mando.

“This is so cool!”  He was sitting so still, almost like he fell asleep.  He started to press a few buttons, testing them out.  We sat in silence just floating around before we started to descend.  “Thanks for letting me come along.”

“You’re welcome.  It was nice having the company.”  Company?  I thought to myself.  We barely said anything.  But I guess that’s better than nothing.  As we landed, I looked over at mom holding Grogu with a big smile on her face.

The ship shut off and we exited.

“Well?”  she asked excitedly.  “What did you think?  Smooth, right?”

“Very………. Thank you Peli.  You’re a good friend.”  It seemed hard for him to say that.  He reached for his pocket and gave her credits.  I didn’t see how many and didn’t want to know.  Her face lit up and said it all.

“Thanks, Mando.  What are you going to do with your Starfighter now that you have this ship?  Which reminds me, we must give her a name, since she’s a hybrid.”

“How about the Cutless Crest?”  I suggested.  Not great, but better to have a name.

“I haven’t thought about it.”  He looked over at me.  “Do you want the Starfighter?”

My mouth dropped and before I could even answer, mom yelled, “No, no!  You need the Starfighter too.  She’s yours!”

“How’s he supposed to fly two ships, mom?”  We all looked at each other. 

“Can you fly it?”  Mando asked looking at me.