#So I wanted to journal about it

[a-murmur-of-a-prayer]

Rambles On Femininity And Gender

(Wow this turned out longer than I thought. I guess you're getting some prose/vaguely poetry-esque writing tonight. WARNING: it's all pretty mild, but I do bring up derogatory terms for women, as well as vague references to sex, sexual assault and suicidal ideation.)

*clears throat*

My relationship with my body, and with the idea of being a woman, is so fascinating to me - because for years I did feel like a girl, but when I turned 18 I couldn't call myself a woman. It felt weird. I still can't call myself a woman. But I don't remotely feel like a man, either. I also don't feel comfortable thinking of myself as non-binary or genderfluid. For a long time, I haven't really known what I am.

Lately, I've started to play with the idea of that, and why I feel that way. I was allowed to be a tomboy when I was a kid, to relate to male characters, to help my dad with physical chores since I didn't have brothers - then the moment I turned 13, I needed to wear make-up and act like a lady. But I couldn't draw sexual attention; I had to wear modest clothes, to be gentle enough, to be polite enough, to be the exact right balance of everything.

"Oh, don't wear that," I'd hear, "you don't want to look like...well, never mind." There was an invisible word there that I wasn't old enough to know. I learned it when I went to high school; the word was slut, or some variation of it. And how do you deal with growing up as a girl, when you like playing in the dirt and pretending to be an action hero, but deep down you're also dreaming of being loved? What do you do when the only way to be loved is to abandon all the things you like in service of some person everyone else wants you to be? What do you do when you want to talk to boys, but your friends tell you stories about being sexually assaulted by their boyfriends? What do you do when old men whistle at you, and when the boys you sit in class with say vulgar things about the girls they want to fuck? What do you do when all the adults in your life tell you to look like a lady but not to dress a certain way, not to even think about sex...and on the other side, most girls in your town lose their virginity by age 15?

You are given a choice, essentially, between being fuckable and having autonomy. It sickens me that I even put it into such black and white terms; removed from the environment, I realize how horrible it was that I thought that was so normal. I chose to have autonomy, partially because it seemed safer at the time but also because I had squashed down every ounce of thoughts about sex I'd ever had. It wasn't a woman's job to be interested in sex; it was your job to be interested in having children. But obviously, I wasn't going to even have that, because I'd made painstaking effort to not draw the wrong type of attention. That meant that when I actually drew the right type of attention, when a boy was interested in me, I couldn't recognize it.

When I turned 18, they said "you're a woman now!" Outwardly, I looked like one. But inwardly, I didn't recognize that. I knew what my body was, but that body wasn't a woman.

Eventually, once I got out of that town, I started to change. Sometimes for the better (I made friends who were comfortable with whatever version of me existed, with whom I could embrace whatever side of gender I felt like), and sometimes for the worse (I craved a relationship, so the replacement for that was toxic people that gave me extreme depression to the point of suicidal ideation). And then, after that all passed, it started to hit me that I hadn't kissed or had sex with anyone and I was in my twenties, an old maid by my hometown's standards, so I started going out to bars, putting on a performance, finding a guy here and there to flirt with, and sometimes more than that...but the more men I kissed, the emptier I felt. So I didn't know what to do.

Now, I'm starting to enjoy things I never thought I would. I wear make-up every day, because I like it. I cut my hair short because I wanted to, and now I'm starting to grow it out in a way I think I'll enjoy. I write smut fics, and I enjoy it; it channels something I haven't historically thought about. I like dancing at bars with my friends. I wear things that sometimes show a little too much, that maybe make me look like a slut. I've learned to experience things for my own pleasure. I've learned to watch movies and say, out loud, that guy's hot, and not feel like a shallow teenager for saying it. This might seem really weird to the rest of you; but that's something I've struggled with for my entire life, and even saying that little bit feels like a huge victory. Scratch that, to think about sex at all is a victory.

And the thing about it is that I enjoy it when I'm doing it for myself. I might not have found a boyfriend yet; a depressing part of me thinks that maybe I never will, that I'll just drift through life craving touch and connection and love and not be able to get it. But I do know that when I do those little things, I feel just a bit happier. I like myself just a little bit more, because it helps me to tell myself - I deserve love, I deserve happiness, I deserve to feel pleasure, I deserve to look pretty. I want to be soft, and I don't want to lead all the time, and none of that is going to put me in danger if I find the right person. And it's okay to want it.

If 14-year-old me could see me right now, she'd be betrayed. She'd think, how could you? Don't you still want to be like Indiana Jones? Don't you want to have your own job? And the answer is yes, I do. But maybe I would've liked doing feminine things too, wearing lacy lingerie and low-cut tops and make-up, and flirting with boys, if I hadn't been pressured to do it for someone else's idea of a woman.

I still don't think I can call myself a woman, though. I'm not upset about it in the slightest; it's just probably something that's never going to change.

Now, I don't know if this is a unique experience, or something anyone else can relate to; this is the most personal, in-depth post I've written about myself, but I wrote it partially in the hope that, if this resonates with anyone, it makes you feel seen. Or maybe this really is a completely original experience, and I've just lived a weird, insane life. Either way, it really does help to own up to how I feel and write it out - usually I channel that in fanfiction, but this has been cathartic in a way I never could have imagined.

(Could this have been way shorter? Yes. However, I'm not a concise person, so I don't really care.)

[idontmindifuforgetme]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[beetlbi]

Gravity falls httyd au, is that anything? Transcript under the cut, more thoughts in the tags

Texts says “red” “very protective of Stan, messes with him a lot” “doing much better than in canon bc he isn’t alone + has someone to take care of”

[almondcroissantsandink]

something something if they had found each other earlier

[fascinationstreetmp3]

I have what you're looking for. High quality. Befitting a man of my tastes. I have a room over on Divisadero, not too far a walk.

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie x fem!reader (reader wears lingerie, no other descriptions of reader given except mentioning hitting that spot just right)

Contents: lingerie, both are a lil pervy tbh, humiliation, crying, praise kink, sub!Eddie, this is literally just horny ramblings

18+ only

It wasn't every day you came back to your house and your best friend had broken in. Maybe, every other week at best.

Usually, Eddie would be high eating your snacks (you were thinking about getting a lock for the cabinets). Or he would be watching whatever show you recorded and tease you about spoiling it (you threatened to use the VHS to beat him over the head and strangle him with the VHS ribbon if he did).

But, you had no clue Eddie was even in your house today. His van wasn't parked in your driveway when you came home. His shoes weren't in a haphazard pile at the front door. You had 0 clue he was there.

Not until you heard a thump coming from your bedroom. Which, your first thought went to the knickknacks you had that someone could be stealing (they wouldn't cause to a normal person it was junk but to you they were memories).

You grabbed a knife from the kitchen (you weren't gonna die without a fight, besides you learned a thing or two from the horror movies Eddie made you watch). You quietly pushed your bedroom door open and-

Shit.

Eddie was standing in your room in front of your mirror. Miles of pale skin just on display, scattered with contrasting dark tattoos he had. Nothing on, save for your lilac lingerie.

The palest purple lace bra, you can see from the back isn't even clipped correctly, missing the hook entirely. But the color is striking on Eddie. The lace thong cuts high on Eddie's ass, and you try not to gawk at the little black heart tattooed on his cheek. Eddie's scars seem softer amongst the lace.

How often did Eddie do this? Come over and put on your lingerie? Stand in front of the mirror and rub his fingers over his one hardened nipple. You couldn't see from where you were, but you knew his cock was hard. He'd be leaking all over your underwear, marking them.

Eddie lets out a little moan and it ignites a fire in your gut. You lick you lips as you watch Eddie, which maybe makes you a pervert but really it is your house and he is wearing your clothes so if anyone is-

Fuck why is it so hot?

"So-" you clear your throat. Eddie let's out a screech (that you are pretty sure ruined your eardrums) as he whirls around. He tries to cover himself with his arms, curls in on himself. And Holy cow he is hard.

He is big, so big, the tip just peeking out of the waistband of the panties. You can see the pearly translucent precum already dripping onto the underwear.

"I- fuck, I'm aha listen I can exp- i can explain!" Eddie fumbles over his words. You blink a few times tearing your eyes away from his massive dick (oh it would feel so good it would hit every spot just right).

Eddie's face is red, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Baby, no," you rush over, pausing when Eddie flinches. You gently put a hand out on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him into a hug, " It's- it's okay. Please don't cry." "Don't hate me." You gasp in shock, pulling back to look in his eyes," I could never!"

Eddie's eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears. His nose is turning a bit red, from embarrassment, shame, or sadness you can't tell. But his cheeks are such a pretty pink you think it'd look nice elsewhere on his pale skin.

Eddie hides his face with his hair, shuffling his feet a bit. "So..." you pause unsure how to ask it politely so you just go for it," I can see this is a kink thing...but like, what kind?"

Eddie shrugs," Wanted to feel pretty..." You frown," You are pretty Eddie." Eddie shakes his head and gestures to his abdomen," Not with these."

Eddie really should not be drawing your eyes any further south then his face. Cause your pulse kicks up and the fire inside you lights back up your spine. You can't help but notice his dick is still hard as a rock.

"You are too pretty." "Not really." "Yes!" Not-" You shove Eddie lightly, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the bed. Eddie's eyes widen in shock as he peers up at you.

"Don't talk about my best friend that way! You are too pretty. And handsome. Funny. So talented," You sigh and step forward, into Eddie's parted legs. Eddie leans up on his elbows and blinks rapidly at you. "You're so fucking pretty Baby." You murmur, hand reaching out lightly touching his thigh.

Eddie let's out a whine before looking startled at himself. You can't help but notice his dick twitch under the pale purple lace. "You like being called pretty?" You smirk. "Like when you call me Baby," Eddie replies softly.

You aren't sure who moves first, but suddenly your arms are wrapped around each other. Your lips meet Eddie's without hesitation. His are slightly chapped but still soft, molding perfectly against your own.

You run your hand down Eddie's neck, to the pale bra strap and snap it. He gasps and you take the chance, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of weed, mint gum, and just Eddie.

Eddie moans against you, hips bucking forward seeking friction. You pull back, gasping for air. Eddie let's out a whine," No, come back-" "I ain't going anywhere Baby."

Eddie's eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. He hums as you kiss his jaw, lightly nipping at his pulse point. He shivers against you, hips bucking forward again. You suck lightly as you decide to give him some relief.

Your hand snakes down, grasping him firmly. You lightly squeeze through the lace, giving just enough friction as you move your hand.

"Look so good in my lingerie Baby, you should wear it more often." You murmur between kisses. Eddie nods absently, gasping and moaning beneath you. "Got a red pair that has some nice straps, you'd look so metal and so so pretty."

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. His brow wrinkles slightly as he moans, pleasure overtaking him. His hips spasm, even his thighs twitch, as he comes. You can feel your underwear get soaked along with part of his stomach.

You stroke him through it, extending his pleasure until he whimpers and pushes at your hand. You pull back, smiling softly at his face. Eddie's eyes flutter open, darting down to your lips. "Kiss?" He asks quietly, unsure. You simply smile and kiss him again.

[divorcedfiddleford]

@tazmiilly and i talked for no fewer than six hours today about parallel ford and his mobility aids. here's some of what i came up with

you can barely see it but credit to @badwaves for the institute logo (link to a drawing he did with it)

image IDs are in alt text; design notes below the cut

Image ID: a screenshot of writing on a digital whiteboard. the text reads as follows:

wheelchairs - 2

foldable chair - easily transportable - designed for manoeuverability in high traffic/urban areas - mostly used at the end of a long day

motorized chair - for long treks/field missions - ridged metal frame - designed for rough terrain - souped up by fiddleford

two or three canes

fancy cane for formal events (mostly for fashion)

everyday cane (sturdy, classy)

field cane (collapsible, has a concealed weapon)

mabel puts stickers on all of them

end image ID.

[sophiethewitch1]

congrats on the milestone sophie! i'm so excited to read what you have to share with us! For your 1k celbration, if it's not too much, I'd like to ask for ABXS for Jason and Dick uwu And if ur feeling particularly sharing I'd also love an L from all of them owo

Strei!!! Thank you for the kind words, here's what you asked for. I even did the L's as well for my dearest most beloved mutual <3

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gen yandere behaviour, murder, stalking, worshipping/weirdly religious undertones for Dick, um pet play sort of?? Jason would bark if you asked him to is all I'm saying.

A = Affection (Is Their Love All-consuming, Expressed Through Possessive Gestures and Overwhelming Intensity With No Bounds?):

Jason: Spreading my Jason Todd Loyal Dog Agenda here but he’s so unbelievably loyal. Way, way too loyal. It doesn’t matter if he personally agrees with whatever your decisions are, he’s listening like the loyal hound he is. Will push and prod at you, but at the end of the day, he’s devoted. While he’d always prefer to be as close to you as possible, he’s willing to stay away if that’s what you really want. Simple guy, aware of himself, and mostly in control of his more fervent tendencies. He refuses to lose control of you, to take too much, so he doesn’t take any. Just giving, giving, giving. He only hopes you’ll take him.

Dick: Dick is probably one of the most clingy yanderes out there. While others might stalk you, or protect you from afar, that’s not Dick’s methodology. He wants to be with you all the time, and make you happy all the time, and he spends his afternoons daydreaming about sitting between your thighs for hours at a time. All the time, if it was possible. While he’s trying not to overwhelm you, he’ll stay as calm and charming as possible. But eventually, he’s going to have to start confessing his love to you because he feels like he’ll explode with it. Along with acts of service, physical affection, and verbal affection, he also really likes buying you things. He’s an all-rounder. Still, he prefers buying you experiences rather than items, like holidays or trips to the fair. He decides against buying you a private island to visit for the summer, but only after staring at the property page online for three hours straight. Like I said, he really is trying!

B = Blood (How Messy Are They Willing to Get in Pursuit of Their Darling? Would They Embrace Chaos and Revel in the Crimson Tableau Painted by Their Actions?):

Dick: I’ve mentioned before that he’s pretty hesitant to kill. He’s gotten over his wild younger years, and is now more mature and in control of emotions. Now, all of that is one huge lie he tells himself that only lasts as long nobody ever tries to hurt you. Dick wears his heart on his sleeve, and then it gets even worse when you come around because his heart is just walking around outside his chest, with no aknowledgement for the dangers of the world. He does try, he really does, but when he snaps, he snaps hard. He’s not too bad of a sadist (also a lie) but when he easily catches whoever has been bothering you, he… well, he might play with them. Just a little bit. He doesn’t kill, he’s very careful of that, but honestly if I was that poor soul, I’d rather be dead. And then the next day, he goes back to being the cheerful sweetheart we all know and love!

Jason: I’ve also mentioned that Jason, unlike Dick, is very, very eager to get bloody. In canon, he enjoys punishing sinners and whatnot, and when he’s fallen for you, uh… So, basically, Jason would rather die than admit it, but he thinks of himself as your protector, your knight in shining leather armour. And along with that previously mentioned possessiveness, he totally lets it get out of hand. He’s aware you probably don’t want him slaughtering everyone who has ever harmed a single hair on your head, but unless you specifically tell him not to, he’s not going to stop. But if you do, he will. He’s loyal, he’s fervent in that loyalty. He wants to destroy anything that could ever hurt you. But he’d never go against your ruling, your will. He might complain about it, though. Loudly, very loudly. However, if you do want everyone who has ever annoyed you dead, he’s totally up for it no questions asked. Would probably consider it a date night of sorts.

S = Stigma (Can the Roots of Their Obsession Be Traced to a Dark Past, a Blend of Childhood Trauma, Twisted Curiosity, and a Skewed Perception of Love?):

Dick: Oh boy, this guy… He’s the poster child for childhood trauma affecting your perception of love. When his parents were murdered, he latched onto Bruce. And when Bruce kicked him out, he latched onto Bludhaven. And now when even Bludhaven can’t bring him any semblance of comfort, of home, you’re fucking heaven-sent. He latches onto you like a benign growth, and god help anyone who tries to tear the two of you apart.

Jason: Oh boy times two. Not the best childhood, raised on the streets. Taken in by Bruce, things are looking better and then- Well, we all know what happens then. After the trauma of literally digging himself out of his own grave, he feels a bit… disconnected from the world? He feels like a ghost, like he’s still dead, like his death never even mattered and the world kept going after he’d been gone. And that’d fuck up anybody, but someone personally trained by the Batman? Woof. We see in Under The Red Hood that Jason really does think vengeance is proof of love, at least in his case. To him, love is bloody and ruthless. It’s cannibalistic. A give and take. But since he doesn’t want to take from you, he’ll just give himself over wholly.

X = Xoanon (Does Their Reverence for Their Darling Border on Worship, Reaching Extreme Lengths to Prove Their Devotion and Ensure Unwavering Loyalty?):

Dick: He sees you like the sun. Powerful, brilliant, beautiful. And you’ll probably burn him to cinders as he loves you, but he doesn’t care. He probably enjoys the idea a little. Wouldn’t it be nice, to die in your arms? To close his eyes and disappear into you, where he’d never be apart from you again? He realises that sort of thinking is a bit creepy, but it’s one of the few things he simply can’t fight against. Not even the littlest bit. He’s self-aware to know he’s putting you on a pedestal, that you’re not some god or something, you’re just like him. Human. Maybe that makes him worship you even more. He can’t tell, it’s too blurry these days. He just knows you’re important, more so than he is. More so than anything is, really. Also, gotta mention body worship kink. Like, he’s really way too into it honestly. He’ll service you for however long you can last, and then place a hundred kisses against your exhausted body telling you how good you did, how perfect you are. When you look at him after a session like that, you can always see something a little too intense, too crazed to be called love. He knows he’s trying to hide it. He’ll do better next time, okay?

Jason: You’re his master. The hand around the leash. He’s angry at the world, so fucking angry. He wants to destroy it all. Assuming here, you probably don’t want the entire world blown to smithereens, so you’re his… conscience. Whatever you say goes. If you say Joker dies today, then he dies. If you say he can never kill another soul, then he won’t. He’s sassy about all of it, but it’s painfully obvious to literally everyone that he will follow every single order you give. And of course, he wants it that way. Maybe he really should get a collar for himself. He thinks it’d be cute, with your name on it in brilliant gold letters. He certainly thinks that the reaction his goons would give would be worth the effort, never mind your own reaction. Call him your good boy and you will get railed so hard you break the bed, lmfao

L = Love Letters (Is Courting an Intricate Dance Marked by Obsessive Letters and Gestures That Blur the Line Between Devotion and Insanity?):

Dick: I can’t see Dick ever actually sending you the letters he writes, but my god, he writes them. At first, it’s just little doodles in the corners of his very important paperwork, and then he’s scribbling on sticky notes, and eventually, he just gives in and buys a fucking notebook. They’re long winded and silly and he’d absolutely rather die than share them with you. But they make it just the slightest bit easier to choke down his devotion to you, so it doesn’t strangle him right then and there. He almost finds it as addicting as you are, almost being the keyword here. It’s genuinely pretty embarrassing, from an outsider’s standpoint. It’s like what a middle schooler would write in their diary, just lots of your name and hearts and very ridiculous poetry. He’d be good at it if it wasn’t about you, okay?

Jason: Jason, in direct contrast to Dick, writes very good poetry. Especially when it’s about you. It’s the sort of stuff they’ll put in museums, that future historians will write about. Of course they won’t know half of his more demented metaphors are just… straight up things he’s done for you. It’s flowing and beautiful and it’d make you tear up if you ever read it. You probably won’t just because Jason doesn’t really care if you read it, so he won’t share it with you on purpose. However if you find him one day in the library, and you ask to see whatever it is he’s made, you’ll be so very, very lucky. And Jason will turn tomato red, so that’s another plus.

Tim: Everybody knows that when Tim starts a list again, his mental health is on the decline. The list about you is concerningly long. And I’m really not saying that lightly, for Mr ‘I stalk literally everyone at least a little bit’. It’s something at four hundred thousand words by now, he’s not sure exactly. The little note app on his phone has had to suffer through hundreds or even thousands of hours of Tim writing down the most minute details of you and your life. How do you like to sit best? Is your posture okay, or should he worry about it? When you’re hungry, what food do you go for first? What about when you’re sick? If he’s ever around, tapping away on his phone, and you think he’s not paying you any attention, you’d be very, very wrong. Would probably share it with you just to laugh at your horrified face.

Damian: Damian was raised to perfect every form of art, from martial to dance, to even the more traditional ones. He’s always had a fondness for painting, and you’re most certainly his muse. Instead of letters, he paints you. For every memory he has of you, he has at least a sketch. He doesn’t care for almost all of them, as he doesn’t think they capture your beauty properly, so he doesn’t really care what happens with said drawings. Your first meeting has been drawn at least twenty times, and your sleeping face probably double that. Yes, he does draw you in more passionate poses as well. Your face all fucked out, drool leaking from your lips, is a personal favourite of his. He’ll probably share those ones with you, enjoying seeing you squirm. Asking if you want to help him find some extra inspiration because he’s all irritatingly smooth like that. Will laugh if you crush the lewd drawing up, agreeing it doesn’t do you justice. He’ll just have to try again.

[typing-catastrophe]

I have been so cooked for this man lately that I need to talk about him— I genuinely think that with a ADHD/autism/AuDHD partner Ford takes notes on your stims and quirks, even before any serious relationship. Just little things like “waves hands when excited :)” and “prefers baggy sweaters” just like a little way of understanding you better 🥺💖

yesss definitely! as an AuDHDer who stims a lot myself, this is everything!! jfskhfshsk

--------------------------------------------------

"Aaaahhhhh oh myy-" the rest of what you were saying was incomprehensible because the words slurred together in an excited squeal. A gleeful expression upon your face, you waved and shook your hands in front of your body, then pressed them over your mouth, to stifle another squeal.

Ford smiled to himself as he watched you from the other side of the room, where he propped his notebook open to scribble something down.

"Heeyyyyy Grunkle Ford, watcha got there?" Mabel's voice rang out right beside him.

He snapped the book shut and whipped his head around.

"Mabel!"

"Waves hands when excited." she cited what she had just read, "Were you talking about-"

"No, I was certainly not!" Ford said, while his cheeks started to turn a deep red colour.

"Are you suuuure? Because to me it looks like you diiiid." she said, a cheeky grin on her face and dragging some of the vowels.

"You are mistaken, dear child. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." he excused himself and stood up, holding the notebook close to him.

Without letting her get another word in, he moved past her and made his way into his study.

There, he propped open the notebook to the page he'd just added a new note onto.

- likes to hum when no one is around - seems to prefer more loose fitting clothes. possibly because the don't restrict movement as much - will subconsciously play and fidget with any jewellery they're wearing - sorts and eats their food in a particular order - would rather not eat at all than something not appealing - skin irritating clothing causes great discomfort. remove tags!! - wants to talk but holds back. encouraging them has positive effect - avoids eye contact but will look at faces when the person isn't looking at them - do not touch without warning and do not force contact! expressed great discomfort to me after being forced to physical contact by someone else - repeating phrases and noises (quite endearing) - easily startled by sudden and loud noises, as well as irritated by high pitched ones, almost too quiet to hear - shows behaviours similar to felines. has stated that they would be delighted to posses the ability to purr (he would be delighted too)

Ford smiled as he looked up and leaned back. He really hoped Mabel hadn't seen too much, otherwise she might figure out how interested in you he really was. And we wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

For now he would be very much content continuing to dreamily gaze over at you and notice all the little things, so he could understand you better.

Maybe one day he could work up the courage to ask you out.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

[slayerdurge]

Durgetash Resurrection AU

"Is that...? That's my body. I remember now. The Morphic Pool. The Elder Brain, it... I was dead. What did you do?" "I made a deal... with Lord Bane."

[ranticore]

YEAR 612: RESEARCH NOTEBOOK OF [REDACTED]

If found, promptly return to [REDACTED]

Entry 1

I've been told that my actual abstract and introduction should go somewhere else and that this is a space merely to record my thoughts and observations as I work. When I eventually publish my autobiography I'll find these notes invaluable. But for now I dispense with the introduction as nobody else will be reading this rough draft anyway aside from you Ami (you're not nearly as sneaky as you think). In addition, I'd rather not sacrifice this reedsilk for the sake of basic definitions.

The question of the Precursors has plagued me as long as I've known them etcetera etcetera this is not news and today I have received my most promising artifact yet. It is a small cylindrical device not unlike the memories within a longwing visor (Postmaster Mia-kef STILL refuses to allow me to examine his. For the attention of my future self: discover some way to bribe him). I have seen only illustrations of a dismantled visor, anyway, and inside the case there are these cylindrical devices.

Now one lands on my desk. It was not I that discovered it but one of the dredgers working at the docks. They would have thrown it out into the midden heap if not for one of my students (Heda-var was it?? Or Hebi-var. The pink one.) who had been buying fruit blocks at the floating market that very moment. He thought the device looked to be of interest to myself and he was right - I can confirm now that I've cleaned off the mud and exofauna that this is of Precursor origin. It is with some regret that I deny that particular student their [graduation] ceremony this year, unfortunately his scholarly work is borderline illiterate. I think I'll tell him to join the trades instead.

Anyway. To any uneducated dock-selkie or unapprenticed fledgling, it may be hard to tell. I see before me a hand-long cylinder roughened by the sea, with a hole at either end, in which sits a small metal prong. Any craftsperson could make a replica of this, presuming they were only intending to copy the look. But it is the material that betrays its ancient origin. This is not reed resin or stone, it isn't laminated silk, it's not the carved and shaped shell of a sipho. This material is lightweight, and if scraped, reveals itself to have been white originally, under the discolouration. An obsidian knife will do the trick. In the white tracks you will find that it is shiny, as well. This substance is a form of resin used by Precursors, which we cannot reproduce (I've tried) (note to self, this would be a brilliant paragraph for my biography). 

I have a few pieces myself in my personal bower, some very rare, which I brought with me from the Breaks. I still can't believe that my most uncommon resin mounting bracket was being used as ballast in that dirty fishing boat. My goodness I'm glad I saved THAT.

Until this landed on my desk, my wire tab was my favourite. Having sent samples to the scholars of material science I can confirm that this cylinder's origin is Siren: when heated in a furnace the structure behaves predictably, and the scholar described and illustrated his findings of oil droplets similar to our own resins produced from reed stalks. Oh - I suppose that's for the results and methodologies, not this journal. 

My bower is rather cramped and Ami-var is a passionate singer, so it's difficult to arrange my thoughts. I believe that if I were to fix this artifact into a reciprocating slot within, say, a longwing visor, I might be capable of accessing some of its contents. It would be a breakthrough the likes of which we have not seen since my master Pelti-vas first published his theses on Precursor diet. This one is larger than a longwing visor cylinder certainly but I am fascinated by that implication; perhaps there is a larger visor somewhere, for larger PrecurSURELY one gets bored of 'Over the Bowl-Run River' after its EIGHTH chorus

-

Argued with Ami-var again. He still doesn't believe that Precursors are anything more than a so-called 'common ancestor' that we harpies developed from. We do agree that Precursors were likely most similar to us shortwings but where does that leave longwings in this 'evolutionary' model? There is no fossil evidence of a so-called 'missing link' between longwings and Precursors. 

There are myths among the Western Spiral peoples of a common ancestor to all Sirenians, though they do focus more upon the sea-dwellers. Tektei-vas would not cease his yapping about all his travels among pelagic villages in every ocean and all their particular myths. I'd like to know whose dick he sucked to get such a venture funded. When I last proposed a research trip to Odr's Sleep to view the Precursor structure there, Iuinti-vay-or laughed me out of his bower. 

"How ridiculous! You want materials and funding for yourself, three students, two barge-workers, a visored navigator, and a dig team?" he said to me then as if my requests were unreasonable. What's unreasonable about a dig team? We're archaeologists! How else am I supposed to do my research? 

But he would rather throw funding into the school of medical science because it's such a crowd-pleaser. Don't think I don't see exactly why he favours them so much, and how the council enjoys such popularity when the medics are happy. Archaeology is just as important as-

Ami-var saw me writing and interrupted me. He accused me of muttering about our President again. 

Who wouldn't! The management of this place is abysmal and absolutely nothing I expected when I first came to this establishment. 

"Master Gania-vas got screwed over by him too," Ami-var said to me. "We were getting co-author credit on our new study about the morphological commonalities between Precursor, phocid, and shortwing phalanges. But they just sent us the study back asking us to fix the wording!"

This was news to me. I pressed him on it and he admitted that the council felt it was poor science to include phocids in the study. 

"Just because they're a different people," Ami-var said. "So there's no justification for roping them into shortwing science, but have you ever seen a phocid's hand up close?" 

"When would I ever have seen that?" I asked, perhaps a touch sardonically. 

"Good grief, Qedi-var, would you ever get off your ass and leave the bower once in a while?" Ami-var said, without anger. "It's really lazy of you."

Maybe I like the peace and quiet of the bower when he leaves. And also, he's taking his Spire birth for granted, he grew up around all sorts of people and all I had were shortwings. I'd never seen a phocid until I got here.

He told me that I was missing out on some great fried scaleworm stalls by the docks and that he only mentioned them because food was probably my only motivator. The usual accusations about my weight. We fought over that insult and I won, so he apologised. But that's not important.  

Back to the common ancestor myths. It's just a curious aside, really, and I don't find it terribly relevant to my work with Precursor artifacts, but when musing on the origin of intelligent life I suppose we could include the legends of the Spiral people and their belief in a common ancestor for all water-dwelling species. Their mythological figure naturally resembles a water person, not a harpy. 

Precursors were obviously harpies, Ami-var insists when I remind him of these tales and their relevance to the mandated exclusion of phocids from his study. I asked the fool how he could justify the selkie-like teeth in his beloved fossils and he told me I was an airbrained idiot wasting my time on resins when I could be looking at some dusty bones. I'm getting tired of fucking him. It's all just deflection with him and no real rigorous counter-argument, and I think his heart isn't in the fights either. It's as if he isn't invested in us as much as I am (cut that part out later). 

I've prepared my new memory cylinder for careful restoration but it won't be easy. It's so intact and whole that breaking it would be terrible and I'd have no other recourse than to immediately and promptly kill myself. But I have to get the dirt off somehow. If I can 

-- 

Journal, much has happened since I spilled ink over the end of the above paragraph in my shock. I was holding the core and something in it started to emit light. Not very much, it was still dirty, but it was clearly no ordinary light. When it shone on the canopy, there were obvious lines. 

The landstriders deep within the Bowl practice a form of shadow theatre by gluing their wing feathers into a board, painting it, and cutting designs into the surface so that firelight can shine through. I was reminded of the shadow theatre troupes I'd seen come through the Breaks, the slots cut between the feathers which would glow and cast orange lines onto our faces as the rest of the wing blocked the light.

But before I could scrape off more dirt to reveal the extent of the pattern, the damned thing perished. Here it lies now, innocently dull, on my desk. Perhaps the lack of sleep doesn't agree with me. I sleep with Iuinti-vay-or's stupid face at the forefront of my mind, as he stamps my proposals with denial, and this is hardly conducive to a restful environment. Ami-var will think I'm being unfaithful. 

I didn't show Ami-var when he got back. I'll show him when I know what it is. He brought me some of that fried scalefish to atone for calling my thesis an appalling rag and myself a fat tourist, so I suppose we are level again. I suspect, also, that he feels some measure of guilt over forgetting my condition and the difficulties it imposes upon my ability to visit the docks.

My next port of call was to recreate the circumstances that caused that light. I held it every which way you could imagine to no avail until I let the end tip, tired of holding it, and the metal in its southern port contacted the wire tab on my desk. It did not light again, but it did let out a rather anaemic glow which could only be discerned because I'd had the foresight to draw the blackout canopy over my desk. That lasted as long as it took me to draw breath, and then no amount of contact with the wire could bring it back to life. 

What I needed was a longwing visor. They are not easily parted with their owners but Ebb-a-vef is more easily bribed than his partner Mia-kef. Ami-var's peace offering did nicely but I wish I'd been able to eat it, it did look really good and I know that locals like Ami-var get higher quality stuff than what I could wrangle from the stalls with my Breaks accent. Ebb was well-pleased with the gift and agreed to part with his visor, the black Signaswun, for the afternoon. 

Signaswun is one of the larger visors and certainly too large for me to comfortably operate. I promised I would not harm it. In hindsight I wish I'd lied, I should have opened the back panel to access the cylinders directly. Instead I was very precious with it and it took almost four hours to run my own wire coil into the back panel through the earpiece. Anyone less dextrous than myself would have destroyed both artifacts. And I confess that by the fourth hour I was increasingly in support of their destruction. 

But with no help from Ebb or Signaswun I successfully fed the wire through the labyrinth and into the cylinder chamber. 

[threewordusername]

"are you sure that's a poem?"

d.b.a

[idontmindifuforgetme]

Just a girl who wants to be her mother’s daughter in the ways that matter

[tofusfortbhk]

An Exorcise in Devotion — Part 6

Part 6 — The End

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Extras

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

In Stars and Disco

(Disco side of the swap)

[shanklin]

Stanford never became friends with Fiddleford.

Instead he got himself a different small friend group who cares a lot about him. At least about the Ford he pretended to be in college.

A kind, soft spoken formerly bullied genius who researches very dull stuff in Oregon and definitely not anything weird. Their Ford would never break any rules or ignore safety measures [unlike that other student they heard about during their college years.]

And then Ford stops answering their calls and loses his grant. 

It’s time for an intervention and they start pestering Ford with letters and calls until he finally agrees to meet them at a science convention, but he’ll take his brother with him.

They’re relieved! Ford is with Shermie! They like Shermie! It's a good thing that Ford still has one brother who isn't a good for nothing selfish criminal who destroyed his entire future!

If they ever get their hands on Ford’s evil twin they’ll make sure he’ll regret ever messing with their friend. Ford is too nice for revenge. They aren’t.

Meanwhile at the not-yet Mystery Shack, the Stans freshly survived their own angsty canon divergent tale of two stans AU and locked Bill out of Ford's mind like a week ago.

Stan: I don’t know how long Ford will keep me around but this will be good for him. He needs some friends to take care of him after I inevitably get kicked out again!

Ford: I only agreed to this because Stan insisted and I still haven’t found a way to thank him and apologize. I hope all my “friends” die in a fire.