#a lot better. certainly not always fixed. though sometimes ! but. a lot better to live with

[jacksprostate]

So what advice WOULD you have for people who might suspect themselves to be autistic, especially those who can’t get an official diagnosis? /gen

Yeah sure, under the cut!

My philosophy focuses around problem solving and improving circumstances rather than focusing on getting or following the path of a diagnosis. So the first thing I recommend if you feel you're struggling, is start actually writing down things you struggle with. Big or small. And then for each, start making a plan on how to mitigate or remove your struggles. Obviously, easier said than done. Lord knows it takes a lot of time, effort, and discipline. However, the biggest thing, is keeping a mindset where it is: you have struggles with x. But this is not a permanent thing, this is something you can work on. You may not be as naturally adept as some people, but this is a challenge and you can face it and improve how it affects your life. This is something that has to be done whether you follow the whole diagnosis route or not, because it's the requirement for living, lol.

I will give an example from my own life.

Firstly, I have always very much struggled with food intake. Eating is something of a chore to me, a lot of food is repulsive (less so than before, thankfully), cooking is a lot of energy. Eating healthily is even more of an issue since you have to make and eat so much more of less calorically dense foods. Over the past 4 years, I've improved a lot though, though it has been trying at times. First, I catelogued my issues. My biggest issue is due to eating little, I wasn't getting enough calories, and I was always tired and weak. I was often sleepy, struggled to concentrate. I was on the verge of being underweight but considered not — yet, I had pretty life impacting symptoms. It was actually thought that I had more severe problems due to all the deficiencies I had. So, the first thing I did was seek out high calorie food that I could use to at least increase my energy. Preferably avoiding outright junk food, but basically, I started routinely trying to eat a meal with lots of carbs once a day. As my energy slowly increased, I started trying to fit in healthier snacks and whatnot, but ultimately (even now!) my goal, 100% is just making sure I get enough calories that I'm not tired tomorrow. It was difficult, especially since my appetite was so surpressed hunger didn't really come back until like 6 months in. Nowadays I do get hundry but still find it unfortunately easy to ignore, though I'm a lot better with it. Anyway, focused on high calorie foods. Once I had more energy, I worked on *cooking* high calorie meals. Literally, just like pasta. Noodles with poor man's pesto (garlic, basil, parm, salt). Ramen. I still eat that like once a day lol. My new challenge is shifting that a bit but it's a work in progress. Anyway, while I regressed some sometimes, I started regularly cooking a very very low effort meal once a day, and eating smth that made sure I had energy for the next day. A lot of my symptoms improved even though my diet was still essentially shit. Then, I also worked on taking a multivitamin. I am very bad at sticking with medications so frankly this is still on and off for me, but I'm planning on incorporating it into my morning routine before work and that should help. I did do this consistently for a while, and this helped. All this happened over 2-3 years. If I ever ate out, I made sure to get something with meat and vegetables since I knew I wasn't getting it at home. Now, my most recent success is I've started managing to meal prep and bring lucnhes to work. I do really simple air fryer chicken and rice/couscous, or fried rice (good for veggies). So far I've managed to consistently bring food, which is a goal I've never dreamed I'd be able to manage on my own! Super awesome. I also found 'drinking' my meals is easier sometimes, so I found smoothie mixes I can tolerate that have more nutritious things. And I do that sometimes. Anyway, I'm finally at the point where the struggle is less eating, and now more expanding my consistent cooking and making myself a better diet. But that is SIGNIFICANT success compared to where I was originally, when I wasn't cooking and I was barely eating and it was physically impacting my life in a way that made it much harder to claw my way out of. But, despite it taking a long time and having a lot of backsliding, I was able to significantly improve.

This sort of thing can be applied to mental health stuff, social stuff, etc. Basically, identify your issues, identify solutions — long term goals but also specific short term steps that will get you there. And then keep trying. Even when you fail. Even when you give up for a long while. Even when it feels like it isn't working. Keep trying. And eventually you'll have made progress even without realizing.

I also applied something similar to trying to work out how to socialize well. Which may be applicable for you. The best thing you can do in my experience is watch people, be confident, and try to pay attention and learn how to interpret people's comfort levels and what's common casual topics of conversation and what's not. Yes, it's hard, and it's usually not intuitive, and that's a big part of why you may feel you are autistic, because this seems entirely foreign in a way it's not to other people. But it is a skill you can learn. At this point, I can hold a conversation with my coworkers, even if we don't have much in common or if we have differing opinions or whatnot, I can have a good lunch conversation and come off as 'intense, but nice'. Which is a good thing to aim for. Like with the eating, I recommend a lot of reflection and efforts to catelogue and identify areas of struggle and how you can observe and practice improvement. The more you do all this, the more it will genuinely become less manual and more automatic, like driving a car. There's a lot you think about when you first start driving, that you aren't consciously thinking about 5 years later. It's the same way. And also, try not to take your fuckups too personally. And some people just won't like you. It is what it is. Just keep chugging.

I know, it is easy to sit here and be like "why should I have to figure out and stick with common topics of conversation? I'm not into those :/" Lord knows, I always felt dumb and out of place whenever people bonded over sports. But what these common topics are, their purpose is essentially like a little olive branch, a thing the person is offering to try and make it easier to chat by commiserating over a common thing, whether it's a issue, a thing yall like, or something else. I'll probably never manage to follow sports teams and I don't want to, but I will nod along as some guys talk and commiserate when they express feelings about wins or losses. The point is to bond. That's why the weather is such a huge topic. Small talk serves a huge purpose! The more you become familiar with how to casually hold a conversation with someone you don't know well over one of these topics, the easier it'll be, and most social stuff develops from that sort of thing. As you bond over the olive branch topics, you can flesh out anecdotes and experiences and personal stuff as you become better friends with people, rather than throwing it all at someone at once and hoping they catch and like you. It lets you sort of get a feel for people, and you can keep it at the small talk level instead of just not talking at all or immediately proceeding to best friends mode. It's a comfortable middle.

I also really recommend, for anyone, engaging and developing a fondness for the world around you, and practicing having appreciation for everything. It has helped my mindset and capability to keep trying. I really recommend learning to identify some category of things in nature in your area, because you'll feel more grounded in the world, you'll see more detail, and the world will feel less threatening.

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 12.5 (Jisung & Minho)

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: Jisung has always been overlooked. Minho has been invisible in his own ways. The two have become inexplicably linked; how did Jisung and Minho come to join SKZ?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings.

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

Jisung 

When I was in third grade, I could not pay attention for shit. 

It annoyed the Hell out of my teachers—I would lean back in my chair, I would distract my classmates by talking to them, and I would even intentionally mess up my assignments as a way to cull the boredom. In reality, I was lost in my own head. My own thoughts were my downfall, even though I was just a child. Full of thoughts, worrying about what my classmates thought of me, whether or not my parents would yell at me, and even coming up with long, convoluted scenarios about all the worst ‘what-ifs.” 

When I was in the third grade, I started missing assignments. I would lose them in my backpack that was always a mess; I couldn’t keep track of my assignments like I couldn’t keep track of those thoughts. One day, my mother got called into the principal's office to talk about my behavior. They suggested signing me up for counseling, that my behavior could have been due to an underlying and untreated disorder. 

That night when we got home, my mother beat me. She scolded me for bringing unwanted attention to our family, for causing a scene and making up issues that didn’t exist. I didn’t need counseling, she told me, I was just stupid. Stupid, idiotic, good-for-nothing child that can’t even pay attention in class. 

The thoughts got worse after that. 

When I was in the fifth grade, I started meeting up with the school counselor in secret. I told her about my mom’s adversity toward me going to therapy, though I left out the details—that sometimes, she would beat me or call me names, that some nights she took pills when she thought I wasn’t looking. I didn’t know a lot at that age, but I knew those were things I was not allowed to share. 

The counselor told me I likely had some academic confidence issues. No shit. But one day, she called up my mother and told her all of her suspicions about me: That I likely had ADHD, ODD, and generalized anxiety. It would explain my lack of attention, my blatant disrespect toward the teachers, and the thoughts. I didn’t want her to tell my mom. Didn’t think she would, because of confidentiality and shit. But my mother was surprisingly receptive to the idea, especially when she found out that I would be starting medication that could fix me. 

That was the first time I felt hope. Hope that I could be better, that maybe she would see me as more than just her stupid son that had no life ahead of him. 

I never started treatment for my problems. It fell through, more or less, though I found out years later it was because my mom started taking the medication prescribed for me. In seventh grade, after a particularly hard night that my mom had beaten me, I left the house. I was only gone for a few hours, hanging out with people that were certainly no good for me way past my curfew. It was only a few hours, but when I returned home my mother was dead. In her hand was a bottle of adderall prescribed to Han Jisung. Me. 

Grief is a funny thing. No, maybe funny isn’t the right word. Because when you’ve never known grief, it runs you over like a stampede, suffocating you until it’s all you know. In the seventh grade, grief was all I knew. Unsettled were all of the questions I had for her; Do you really think I’m stupid? Do I have any sort of potential, or am I just a waste of space? Am I worth anything? But now that she was dead and I was unable to ask her, it was like all of those statements just became the truth. If she was unable to refute them, then they would simply become a fact of life. 

I dropped out of highschool after my first semester. I ran away from the shitty foster home they had placed me in, though ‘placed’ is sort of a kind word. When you’re a teen in the system, you don’t really tend to stay in one home. You bounce around, one after another, reminded that you’re nothing, nobody, and that you will never be wanted. You’ll never stay in one school district, never get to keep in contact with your friends, and never get to keep any of your possessions that you hold dear. So, the first night in foster home number ten, I ran away. 

When I was fourteen years old, I joined a gang. 

They were entertained by me. One thing I found out was that they were amused by how reckless I was. That I would do just about anything they asked. Because when you have nothing to lose you can raise the stakes—and if you make people laugh in return, even better. I lived off of their praise, which was maybe why I was more willing to do things that were… well, stupid, so to speak. 

I’m not sure what my life would have looked like if I hadn’t met Lee Minho, my partner in crime. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Minho 

Invisibility. I always knew what that was like. 

I didn’t exactly realize that I grew up in a gang, at first. I knew that I wasn’t like my peers, that I should stay quiet and stay to myself, to not draw too much attention. There were just certain qualities of my life that were different–my parents would never come to parent-teacher conferences, I would never have a sleepover or birthday parties with my classmates, and I should never talk about what happened in my home. 

These were just things that were always a part of my life. I never really made any friends, but I was good at school. Most people never even knew my name, but that was just how I liked it. Once I got to a certain age I really started realizing what was going on in my house–the robbing, the selling of drugs, the violent crimes, but I turned a blind eye. Always doing homework in the background of my house where these things were taking place, I got very good at listening. So even if I wasn’t involved, I always knew what was going on. And for some reason, my mother and my father, who knew that I was too unnaturally intelligent to be their child, never forced me to participate in anything. I’m not sure they ever knew that I knew more than I was supposed to.

One day when I came home I could tell that something wasn’t quite right. As soon as I walked through the door I was met with silence, not the usual commotion that I would try to avoid. As I walked through the house I found the gun that I knew was hidden in between the couch cushions, turning off the safety. Though I was only a junior in high school I knew there was a silent, unspoken responsibility to be upheld, to protect the same way I had been protected. I held the gun close to my chest, listening closely as I stood against the wall of the kitchen listening to a near-silent conversation. 

“We don’t have your money,” my father confessed. A pair of footsteps walked around the room impatiently, a breath hitching as someone cocked their gun. “We never even gave them the cocaine, it was a bad deal!”

The person scoffed, clearly unamused. “You’re really going to lie to my face? The issue here is that you ratted us out to the police after selling Mark the coke.”

I heard what sounded like my mother’s voice beginning to protest, and though I didn’t know nearly enough of the situation I rounded the corner and pulled the trigger twice. Two bodies I’ve never seen before fell dead on the kitchen floor, limp with their own guns in hand. My parents were relieved, though I had never really cared how they felt towards me one way or another, I turned and put the gun back where it belonged. I let them deal with the mess of the dead bodies and the cleanup. It was the first time I ever allowed myself to intervene, and while I wasn’t exactly sure why I did it it wasn’t the last. 

I was glad I was able to take advantage of my invisibility, of the people who had never heard my name, who never knew my parents even had a child let alone that he knew how to shoot a gun. That he knew the intricacies of the gang business at the age of sixteen years old. 

When I was a senior in high school I graduated near top of my class. I had a perfect GPA, missing the extracurricular activities that my peers had to help them succeed on their applications, but I exceeded in every subject I ever tried in. I even got accepted to a great school in statistics and business with a full ride, but I never told my parents. I thought I was going to enroll, but then somebody new joined the gang. 

We hadn’t had someone new join the gang in over two years, since I killed the two opposing members. Of course, this spiked my curiosity, but I heard that this new guy was more popular with the younger members. Han Jisung was his name, and he wasn’t quite like anybody else I had ever met before. 

Some of our younger members were surprised that I had any investment in their sakes, but I was genuinely curious about this guy. Fourteen years old, dropped out of school, willing to do just about anything that anybody had ever asked of him. He seemed to be in it for shits and giggles, thriving off of the attention he got whenever he did something particularly spontaneous. Stealing from an old woman, selling drugs to a police officer’s girlfriend, he seemed to do just about anything if he could get a laugh out of it. It seemed like bad news–for everyone. If he did something particularly stupid, he would get us all fucked. 

He was assigned to his first real mission–robbing a bank, and for some reason, I decided to tag along too. I’m not sure if it was because I was concerned about the future of the gang–that wasn’t necessarily something I had ever worried about before, but something told me that leaving this guy all by himself was bad news. My parents had been slacking on their leadership of our gang for years, so it was just about time before it fell apart for good. 

Han Jisung didn’t quite seem to like me. Maybe that was unfair to say, because it was just that he didn’t really seem to talk to me at all at first. I think I had a tendency to over-explain things, to be protective and tell him to stand up for himself. He was no longer in high school, he told me, and so I taught him all of the things he needed to know along the way of our mission. I skipped the first day of my college orientation.

What I wasn’t expecting was for things to work out as perfectly as they did. Jisung was an amazing listener. He rarely needed to be explained to twice, and for some reason his brain had a perfect understanding and explanation of blueprints. Once being taught a weapon he was a certified master of it, and though I had shot a gun and had killed people before I was more confident in his abilities, his way around a dagger or a pistol.

Han Jisung was quite literally made to work with me, I concluded, as our heist went off without a hitch. What had started off as a mission that was a joke in order to get Jisung incriminated was more than a success, as we accumulated thousands of dollars without the authorities ever knowing it was us. And though the younger boy was apprehensive towards me at first and I had spent years telling myself I would never get involved in my parent’s business, it was obvious that we were… well, partners in crime, so to speak. 

I found out more about Han Jisung. His mother was just recently deceased and he was very clearly being taken advantage of by the other members of the gang. He was willing to do anything for the attention, when all he needed was someone to believe in him. 

Jisung was my very first friend. I wasn’t willing to call it that at first, but that’s what it was. I was willing to finally tell someone what it was like to grow up in a gang, to work hard to be the top of your class but get no recognition for it. I thought that maybe I would go to college just to be far away from here, just so I could be somebody else, but I was never even sure if that’s what I wanted. 

Jisung told me that he has always been seen as less than, as stupid. No matter how hard he worked, nobody would ever see him for his efforts. He would always, always be dismissed.

I didn’t want to be invisible. He didn’t want to be dumb. It seemed like for the first time, we each saw each other as more than what we had always been. And we worked exceptionally well together, even if neither of us necessarily wanted to be involved in crime. 

I started to think that maybe I could end up like my parents. Maybe I could see a future in this gang, that I could be someone to professionally carry out crimes and get away with it like nobody else ever had before. That maybe there was a future for me and Jisung to be out there, on top and well-known. Though, I unfortunately caught my parent’s negative attention, and with Jisung still known as ‘the boy that would do just about anything,’ it didn’t come of any good. 

We were told we needed to infiltrate another gang. The opposing gang whose leaders I had killed two years ago were still out for vengeance and it was nothing more than a death wish. Even we could realize that, but there was no getting out of this. 

Jisung and I were walking the streets, looking for new weapons and discussing infiltration plans when we were approached by an unfamiliar stranger. 

“Are you the two that carried out the infamous robbery on main street two months ago?” 

Jisung and I had both frozen, reaching for our guns in our pockets as we eyed the mystery man. He had a large nose and wide lips, dark eyes with longer black hair to match his dark ensemble. He gestured us toward an alleyway, and with knowing side-glances, Jisung and I cautiously joined the man for some privacy. Bang Chan, he had introduced himself, one of the most well-known mafia leaders in this area. That was not something to be taken lightly. 

“That infiltration was not something to be executed by beginners,” he laughed, whistling as if to show us just how impressed he was. “You would need to be someone seriously smart, to really know what you’re doing.”

“And your point is?” I had asked, crossing my arms and looking at him with trepidation. I ignored the way that Jisung’s eyes had lit up upon being called smart, the way that Chan had taken notice of this and used this to his advantage. 

“The point is, I want–no, need people on my team that are as smart, as capable as you two. The Lee family has been a part of this city for years, very well-known. But you, Minho, you don’t like to make yourself known, do you? You would prefer to keep yourself in the shadows, to focus on your studies. And you, Jisung, you just need somewhere to belong, don’t you? Aren’t you tired of not fitting in?”

Okay, so this guy seriously knew what he was talking about, how to use his words to take advantage of a situation. It was as if he saw the way that Jisung reacted and easily maneuvered his plan to work in his favor.  I tried to look away from the way that Jisung tensed up, visibly excited when Chan spoke. I even had to calm my own nerves. I was sure there was nothing he could offer us, nothing that could persuade me, but I was wrong. Bang Chan already had his victory written in stone. 

“Come, work for me instead. I’m sure your talents could be properly used. They’re being exploited right now, aren’t they? Don’t you want to get away? Minho, don’t you want to forget the Lee family, let your intelligence be acknowledged for what it is? I promise that we won’t throw you into any known danger for our own amusement at SKZ. You can’t tell me it’s not tempting, no?” 

And no, I couldn’t say it wasn’t tempting. Though I had no more chance of escaping through means of a college degree, I could still get away through other means. I could be useful in ways other than people throwing me head-first into a suicide mission. It seemed more sustainable for me and Jisung both, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one considering it. 

We had two days before we were expected to take down the opposing gang. 

“The only catch is you need to come with me right now and never look back.” 

One glance at Jisung and I could tell that our decision was already made. My partner in crime, now at a different location to work with me within reasonable means. It was strange, wasn’t it? To want to keep my first and only friend, to be willing to continue the life of crime in a way that was more organized and deliberate? 

But on top of that, even moreso I felt this innate desire to protect Jisung, my only friend. I couldn’t let him go by himself either for fear that he would be easily exploited by this powerful man. 

And even though I had become well-known as the ‘master of infiltration’ I wasn’t sure how much longer I wanted to be invisible for, not when I found the one person who had made me feel seen. I could either send us both into a death trap and Jisung would never be recognized for his talent, risk the only thing I’ve ever cared about dying before my eyes, or I could take Chan up on his offer. 

“We’re in.” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

@zerefdragn33l ; @uhh-awkward-rightt ; @astudyoftimeywimeystuff ; @kaleigh-2002 ; @thatonexcgirl ;

@mindfreecreator ; @linoalwaysknows ; @velvetmoonlght ; @minahaeyo ; @crystalchuuu ;

@hash2013 ; @skzswife ; @b0bbl3s ; @thecutiepieme ; @bear8585 ;

@moss-the-man ; @softkisshyunjin ; @sylveonitesworld ; @m00njinnie ; @nicoleparadas ;

@starsofasteria ; @klopez01 ; @luvlinos ; @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn ; @skz-akira ;

@boi-bi-ahaha ; @l33bang24 ; @hermione640 ; @gal82 ; @b-chansbbygirl ;

@kayleefriedchicken ; @notsojourni ; @hogwartslife64 ; @stilltrynafuckingtumble ; @ellelabelle ;

@melleus ; @hyun-bun ; @luminouskalopsia ; @leftovercigarettes ; @sabrina-gal-kpop

@ghostedgameplays ; @wealwayskeepfighting ; @meloncremesoda ; @Lovelino23 ; @honeyybbuubblleess ;

@blossominghunnie ; @sunlitangel777 ; @kkamismom12 ; @slaykanejvetsi ; @eastleighsblog ;

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@raspberrii ; @holdontoitwhileitlasts ; @korthbum ; @nxtt2-u ; @drinkingrumandcocacola ;

[happykinzz]

Brian Thomas x Tim Wright Headcanons

This was kinda written erratically cause I'm sleep deprived lol, enjoy!

-They first became friends when they were assigned as dormmates in College-

-They started talking and hanging out more ( kinda hard not to do when you live in the same place), and it didn't take long for Brian to realize that Tim had a lack of social experience-

-So he takes Tim everywhere, Aquariums, Zoos, Museums, restaurants, places Tim didn't go to often as a child-

-He doesn't judge Tim for not knowing social cues or how certain things work, even if Tim asks what would be an obvious question to most people, Brian will reply with that sweet smile and a helpful answer-

-Anyone who ostracizes Tim for how he act or behaves will most certainly be getting more than a mouthful from Brian-

-In return, Tim also teaches Brian many things, and sticks up for him when Brian won't stick up for himself-

-He introduces Brian to tacky horror flicks, and gets Brian interested in dark literature and woodworking, things Brian would come to like a lot!-

-If anyone is being a d!ck to Brian (*cough cough* Alex *cough cough*), Tim will not hesitate to let that person know how he feels and demand an apology from them-

-They both do lots of acts of service for each other, Tim makes lunches for Brian, and Brian always likes to do hard labor like mowing the lawn / fixing their car for Tim ( even though Tim can do it himself and always argues so)-

-Brian confessed to Tim at a Frat Party, while they were on the roof of the house, looking at constellations in the sky-

-While Tim has been pining for Brian for awhile, he felt reluctant at the start but pretty quickly opened up to the idea of dating Brian-

-They're both head over heels for each other-

-They date privately for at least a year though, cause y'know, it's Alabama-

-The first person they come out to is Jay-

-Then eventually Jessica, Amy, Alex, and Sarah, in that order-

-While on school vacation, they take trips together across the state-

-They always stop for roadside attractions, and take their time looking at everything they see, they're in no hurry-

-Brian takes a lot of photos of Tim, on his laptop he has a whole folder dedicated to photos of him-

-Whenever Brian takes Tim out on date, he is the sweetest gentleman ever-

-One time he even put his coat down over a puddle for Tim to step on-

-Tim got so flustered over it and could only mumble things like "you didn't have to do that" and "oh stawp it you"-

-You know they're gonna spoil each other on Christmas, Birthdays, and Valentines Day-

-The only difference is that Tim starts crying because he has never had anyone show him so much love and kindness before-

-This definately throws Brian off the first time it happens and he's so worried that Tim didn't like his gift and offers to get him something better and all that-

-They rent and watch movies a lot together, the people at the movie store know them as "the two guy friends that always come in and sometimes smack each other's ass"-

-Tim eventually opens up to Brian about his past and his condition, which further motivates Brian to do good in his Psychology class so that he can help Tim somehow ( don't forget he's a Psychology major girlies)-

-Tim likes the sound of Brian's heartbeat, whenever they cuddle Tim is always on Brian's chest-

-Brian doesn't mind because he loves being able to run his fingers though Tim's smooth hair and being able to kiss his temple-

-Tim is also very warm too, and Brian is cold all the time so needless to say they cuddle a lot-

-Brian's main way of showing affection is through physical contact, and Tim is suuupper touched starved so it's a match made in heaven-

-Tim thinks Brian is like the Sun, always bringing warmth and happiness with him wherever he goes, while glowing with a radiance that brings you comfort and makes you feel secure-

-Brian thinks Tim is like a pearl, a coveted rarity that everyone desires, standing out in a crowd of oysters. If they were ever to get married Brian would totally propose to Tim with a ring that has pearls in it-

[maxislvt]

https://www.tumblr.com/maxislvt/720434423402807296/httpswwwtumblrcommaxislvt720433685821849600?source=share

DROP IT!!!!!

warnings: horny thoughts towards the end, no specific genitals

you're so proud of yourself for buying your first house and moving out. it's definitely not your dream home, but it's a start so you go out of your way to keep it up. the lawn stays mowed, walls get repainted, and the house is always clean.

the garage is strangely difficult though. you don't know how to fix the garage door so you hire someone else but narrowly avoid a freak accident fixing it. all your friends get sick after trying to help you clean, so you just brave it alone after that.

it takes weeks to get it clean and usable again. after enough cleaning you realize there's an attic of some sort in it. you make the choice to open the hatch and climb up only to immediately climb back down once you see the rune and the altar. Maybe you believe in witchcraft, maybe you don't but you know better than to touch mysterious shit you don't know the origin of

for a few days you consider just ignoring it and going on about your life without the extra space. unfortunately, whatever is trapped in that had other plans because it keeps appearing in your dreams and it's accompanied by a voice that makes you feel....odd to say the very least.

after like 3 weeks of weird dreams and getting wet/hard over a disembodied voice you climb back up to the attic and try to figure out what to do and you spend like 30 minutes looking around trying to find some sort of instructions only for the portal to randomly spark up and Wanda crawls out

Wanda can't even explain anything because you spend 5 minutes just screaming your fucking head off 😭

Eventually she manages to explain her whole situation. don't ask me what the situation is but she's bonded to the house and can only leave for so long

I'm not sure if I want her to be a horny demon or one you can sympathize with. either way, I imagine that you two are roommates for a bit.

Wanda still needs to eat and uses normal human amenities so she covers her half of the rent with cursed and strange objects you can pawn at the local occult shop

I meant for this just to be funny but she fucks hard!!!

maybe she isn't immediately focused on having sex with you but once she gets the idea she can't let it go. if Wanda was normal and respectful then, she certainly isn't now. Wanda gets a lot weirder. she doesn't force anything but she's definitely messing with your dreams and thoughts again!!

Wanda plays all innocent and unassuming at first. She acts like she's so confused why you're too shy to even look at her or aren't as comfortable cuddling as usual.

you don't know if you've gone off the deep end and are suddenly okay fucking a demon or if Wanda is fucking with you, but eventually it gets to be to much and well 🥴

she's as rough or gentle as you prefer, assuming you give up easy. if she has to spend a long time chasing you, she definitely goes a little overboard regardless

she tries to start out slow so you can get adjusted, but eventually she gets really needy and is just as whiny as you are. Wanda overstimulates both of you because she doesn't wanna stop.

despite being a demon, she's very praise heavy. even if you're just laying there, whining, and taking whatever Wanda is kind enough to give you. she won't shut up about how adorable you are or how good it feels inside of you.

if you're not loud, she's going to make you loud! Wanda knows she's doing a good job but she wants to hear you beg and whine like a needy little pet

oral is her go to. if Wanda could live between your legs, she would. sometimes she does it to tease you. she does whatever to make you cum as hard as possible and you have to keep going on with your work or watching your show

also you make a joke along the lines of "this isn't going to bond my soul to you or anything is it?" and Wanda gets really quiet 😭

[ungrateful-cyborg-moved]

Enough time has passed that I can share my opinion about Dawntrail now. It's a potentially unpopular point of view at times so uh... beware? Idk, people have very strong feelings about stuff sometimes xD

At the very least, beware of spoilers.

Overall I liked the story. Liked it a lot more that Endwalker despite a few things that bothered me. The first half is the most solid to me, because the second half has too much incoherent stuff going on for my taste.

But first thing first. I'm really happy with how well they made us care for all those new people and this giant country. Once or twice, I wished they wouldn't insist on how diverse it is I must say, because while it's nice as a marketing point, it gets old after a while. I have eyes and ears, after all. I can see that for myself.

Wuk Lamat left me cold when we first met her. I was a bit worried about accompanying her at first because she's a character archetype I don't like that much, but she quickly grew on me through the expansion, and I love her now. I do think, however, that the voice acting didn't always match the energy of the scenes (in English. According to friends who use the French dub, it's not an issue in French). Since it also happened once or twice with Koana, I'm gonna assume it's due to how they were directed, but it took me out of the story on occasions.

I really really wish they'd stop with the world threatening shit though. They did it for Endwalker. Fine. Logic even, it was the end of a 10 years old story. Then they did it again with the patches, when really saving the dragon should have been motivation enough. Then they had to do it once more in the second half of Dawntrail, this time threatening the Source AND the reflections. Frankly, it feels cheap and unimaginative, I'm a bit disappointed and worried about what comes in future expansions if they can't find other reasons for us to fight. For a game that keeps insisting that doing the right thing is what matters, they certainly don't like making it our main reason to fight.

The Mamool Ja story bothers me. They survived for centuries on eating bananas apparently and there's no sign of deficiencies so clearly they're adapted to their environment? And if not, nothing stopped them from cutting down trees to make space for the sun? Idk the fact that they spent centuries down there but need a foreigner to teach them how to live well rubs me wrong.

Solution 9 looks dope, though. Loved meeting Otis and Gulool Ja. For Sphene, I understand why they kept Wuk Lamat as the focus, but it felt like a missed occasion to teach her that wanting the happiness of her people and actually bringing it are two different things. Instead, it felt like listening to a teenager telling you that fixing the world is easy when they have no idea what's even wrong with it. In character, perhaps, but frustrating when you have so much more practical experience.

Not to mention that Sphene's issues with the weight of expectations echoe nicely with the weight of the WoL's mantle, and we didn't even get to pipe in to try to connect with her. Or with Zoraal Ja, for that matter.

The twins were entirely unnecessary. Them joining us felt forced and nothing in the expansion made me change my mind. They have nothing to do here except stealing potential lines from the WoL to say out loud the most obvious thing like it's deep. I love them both, but they should have stayed in Garlemald. It's not like the Garleans give a fuck about how the rest of the world deal with their shit anyway, and they visited enough places already. Tural gave them nothing they weren't already aware of.

Erenville got many hugs from my WoL, idc that the MSQ won't make it canon.

I'm still indifferent to Krile, but the Scions didn't grow on me before ShB so I'm giving her time. Still, I would've liked it better if instead of the twins, we'd had her and G'raha with us instead. You know, the guy with actual ruling experience of people from diverse backgrounds.

Slightly disappointed we didn't get to fight Thancred and Urianger tbh. That would have been fun XD

The whole time shenanigans hurt my brain in the second part. Like, if 30 years passed in just a few days for us then they shouldn't have had time to prepare Tuliyollal's defense. The dragons intervening was cool but there were better ways to make it happen without mysteriously forgetting that time flows differently inside the dome. Unless I missed something to explain why very conveniently it aligns now?

I liked the last zone. Gpose bait lmao I found it sadder that Ultima Thule tbh. Though, uh... we were in a hurry. Now wasn't the time to talk to every dead people we met.

Also I don't think it'll happen since he seems to have joined the guards, but I want Bakool Ja Ja to travel with us and Erenville for a while xD

Overall, I really liked it don't get me wrong. Aside from Thancred and Urianger, I don't think any Scion was truly useful however (not even Krile). This was my main problem with the time stuff, but I suppose they're not ready to let them go just yet.

And the graphical update makes me want to travel through all the areas and take screenshots until my hard drive can't take it anymore x)

[onmyyan]

Currently trying to overcome writer's block for this writing trade I'm doing so I had to go back to the delmonts and boy howdy- hear me out. I had the perfect idea for a shared! darling

Free use kink. Like, it's probably a lot of work to divvy out the times and the days that the boys would get with you. It's made even more complicated since I'm sure the boys would all agree that darling's wishes come first. So while they each have their days where they spend time with the reader doing cute domestic things or just fluffy content in general- the nsfw is a little more chaotic

It's really a- if darling lets you do it you can go for it. And if the darling has been raised around these boys their whole life and is, by now, used to all their affections and shenanigans just takes it all in stride. After all, these are very affectionate boys we're dealing with here.

Just imagine it, waking up and then heading to the bathroom to shower and then Ricky's sliding on in to have some fun before he has to get to work and get everything ready for the day. He grabs a coffee and dips after a small bout of affection, leaving reader to clean themselves again.

It's a bit of a lazy morning so aside from Cas cooking in the kitchen, no one's there. You go to help make breakfast and suddenly shorts are being pulled down and he's taking his darlin over the counter. Or, even better, you get to go on the ride of your life while he feeds you breakfast.

Cas then heads off to tend to the gardens and grocery shop, leaving you to hang with Gabe who's returning from a morning workout/run. Probably doesn't actually have to show up at the shop until there's something to fix so he plays some video games while you watch. You tell him all about how your morning has been and now he's feeling very left out and really needy. Just hoists you up and bounces you while he's playing. If this is a regular thing there's no real hesitation, just a sudden tug and bam.

Groans when Ricky texts him, leaving you a mess in the living room before he heads off, though he's always certain to give you a smooch goodbye. Will carry you to your room if you ask.

The twins are probably the last to wake, stirring sometime in the afternoon due to whatever it is those two get up to late at night. Partying, murder, arson, idk. They don't even have to ask- they know just from looking at their darling about what's happened. Clearly, they've been cheated of a very happy morning.

But you certainly want to make it up to them right?? It's only fair!

Getting sandwiched between the twins for the next few hours might not have been what you had planned, but it's not unwelcome. The two of them take turns and behave if just to spare you the extra exhaustion of having to juggle between the two of them. Once they're finished they cuddle up to you and take care of your every need till they get called away to the shop or until their other plans come up.

I dunno how you feel about it, but I don't find the mental image of the reader being all surrounded in the conversation pit by the brothers to be an awful sight. Just imagine, it's a real real busy day. Cas has breakfast wrapped and on the table for you. Little snacks and treats from the twins scattered everywhere for you. A note from Ricky explaining and apologizing that the boys couldn't be there to wake you up. Gabe grumpy because he's too busy to even leave a message or thing behind like the rest of the brothers. Yeah, he's that busy.

You just chill in the house for the whole day, watching tv or reading or playing games. Whatever burns the time and keeps your attention. Then all the boys come home very apologetic and very needy. They want to make it up to you and before you know it every facet of you is being used one way or another. Barely any space or time to think, just, all you can do is focus on what they're giving you and taking it in all in stride- metaphorically and phyically.

God. And if darling really wanted to try their luck or maybe its been one too many days of this treatment and they've become very well trained they just go around bottomless. Makes it all easier that way. It also serves as the biggest "take me now" sign. Darling at that point WILL be grabbed and will be thoroughly ravished.

Thank you for listening to my TedTalk and now having finished this, my writer's block is over and I will disappear to try and finish this piece I'm working on lol no more procrastinating!!

the bark that left me at this was....something lmfao

but fr this is so tasty??? and also super likely in the shared darling universe, omfg there's nowhere in that house you haven't had your guts rearranged in.

[marietheran]

Thinking I might shed some light on a few cryptic statements I'm wont to make, and besides, it doesn't hurt to say and it's probably a strangely large part of my inner thought in proportion to the actual temporal significance... so...

Kamil. Kamilek. He is my brother, and he was born and died after six months pregnancy and I was three years old at the time. I was awaiting him eagerly, and I vaguely remember the day I was brought to see my mother in hospital and they explained everything to me. We were sitting by a window. I think it might have been raining.

If he had been born ten years later, or in Warsaw where the facilities were better equipped, he might have lived, I guess.

I have no idea how it impacted me — I don't think adversely, or not adversely in a particularly marked way and not more than things like being an undiagnosed child on the asd/adhd spectrum or anxiety did. But I never, ever forgot, and he always occupied a strangely wide portion of my thought, all considering (all being the circumstances, the period of time we shared — zero or the approximately three months since I learned I was a sister, depending on how you count it — and my age then).

And the Catholic view on the Communion of Saints — there was a time I talked to him (well, monologued, rather) probably more than... certainly any acquaintance from school (not that I did talk to anyone there). Addressed a fair amount of diary notes to him. That's decreased a lot over time, probably to/due to my better psychological state.

(I also spoke to God a lot these days. Sometimes in the same sentence — as should be maybe. The intersections of spiritual and psychological states are tangled for me.)

And, I don't really believe in "ghosts". I don't know if Catholics can share the popular beliefs about the subject. But I wonder what I should say if a secular person asked me if I do, how someone from without this tradition might understand the fact that I can't count the nights I fell asleep believing my brother to be (symbolically/metaphorically speaking) sitting at the side of my bed. Not because I "felt" anything but simply because I asked him to. And to speak to me of the great things that are his to know, though I may not hear, because surely even that would be help and healing.

When I was a child, he was always a baby to me; then I realised how old he would have been had he lived and tried to adjust the image accordingly, based on my other brother and cousin. He'd have been older than that too now, but right now it's "fixed" at somewhere around twelve, I think. Dressed like a prince or a royal child from old stories, with a fillet of gold on his brow. Of course it's all an image, but it's one I ever return to.

...he was not technically baptised, but I trust in God's grace. And my parents would have had him baptised if it was at all possible, "baptism of desire" (technically not the same thing, but an analogy is welcome, I think) et cetera.

...I named him, too. As a three year old. My mother didn't entirely like it, but no one came up with a better one in time, and then mine stuck. I may be oddly proud of the fact, even if I did name him after a baby boy in my nursery and I might have named a doll the same soon before or after. I then lost that doll and I wonder how much of my enormous regret for it had to do with the other loss.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there! Do you have anything about circular timelines, or time moving in the wrong way, or having to fix a timeline? I'm thinking less about characters travelling through time and more about the timeline being out of joint. (Although of course I'd be grateful for anything you'd find.) Thanks so much!

Hello! We have #time loop, #time travel, and #multiverse tags, which you may be interested in. Here are some fics with some time travel and multiverse elements, but focused more around timelines and circular narratives...

The Apple of My Eye by MaterialMortal (G)

On his way to drink away the End Times, after discovering Azirafell's pawn shop flooded with holy water and giving up hope, Anthony trips and falls into a portal to an alternate universe - one with a living Azirafell, but not his own.

-

Somewhere else, Aziraphale is packing up his bookshop only to be interrupted by an Archangel falling on his floor.

And the Stars Look Very Different Today by Jackie Thomas (NR)

Aziraphale and Crowley travel back in time to put right the things they keep doing wrong.

“Are you suggesting you’re both from the future?” Cravat-Aziraphale asks, sounding put out, as though he now has to accommodate some unwanted house guests.

All Of Me by Katzedecimal (T)

There was a customer in the shop, which was odd because the shop wasn’t open. Aziraphale sighed and put his book down. The shop had a mind of its own sometimes and it was always open for someone in trouble. He got up to put the kettle on then went to take a quick look at his visitor, to get an idea of what kind of trouble they were in.

As it turned out, rather a lot.

Not So Different by effing_gravity (T)

When a demon named Crowley walked into the bookshop one day to find a demon named Aqzirab closing it up like he owned the place, he was understandably confused. When he found out that he himself was in the wrong universe, his confusion deepened. In the next universe over, an angel named Gadreel was experiencing something similar with an angel named Aziraphale.

Or, in which there are multiple timelines, Gersonides was really on to something, and the Archangel Raphael is there.

I've Loved You Forever by tenandi (M)

The tale of an involuntary time traveler and the ethereal love of his life.

Anthony Crowley first met the angel in 1976, yet Aziraphale first met Crowley in 4000 BC. Throughout their confusing six-thousand year history, one thing has become certain: there must be a reason that they keep finding each other, over and over again…

-

"I travel through time and end up in random places. Except they aren’t so terribly random. It’s always where you are.”

“Where I am?” the angel repeated.

“Like a tether,” Crowley said softly. “You’re my constant."

Wrong Turn by anticyclone (T)

Lots and lots of somethings are wrong. First, Crowley's nearly hit by a car. Then he almost brains himself tripping over new and excessive piles of books at the bookshop. To add insult to near-injury, Aziraphale starts throwing knives at him. Safe to say his day could be going better.

The thing that's the most wrong of all is the universe, of course. In this one there was never an Arrangement. Aziraphale and Anthony (they can't both be 'Crowley') aren't friends and they certainly never agreed to prep for Armageddon. Unfortunately, the end of the world is two days away.

So that's something Crowley really has to fix before they can figure out how to get him home.

- Mod D

[helianskies]

Frain - 16?

you know what. i haven't written a ficlet for frain since the winter prompts last year. and this is perfect. here you go! >:)

Friends

“You know something,” Antonio begins as Francis sits down opposite him, having brought them both their second hot drink (a hot chocolate for Antonio, who really doesn’t need any more caffeine in his life, and a vanilla latte for himself). 

“I know a few things,” Francis quips. “Go on, though. What is it?”

“Well,” his friend continues as he claims his cup and starts to warm his hands on it, “I was just thinking that… I’ve been on a lot of romantic dates in my time, and yet, I still think the best ‘dates’ I’ve ever actually had have been with you.”

Francis is not sure where this has come from or why, but he’s curious. Antonio has had his fair share of liaisons and short-lived relationships, and has heard all sorts of stories. So he supposes that this thought of Antonio’s is a bit random, out of the blue, unexpected. 

“You’ve had some good ones, no?” Francis therefore remarks, before he gives his latte a taste—perfectly sweet. “They can’t all have been bad.”

“Francis.”

“Mmh? Yes, w— what?”

“We are sitting in a café. At a spa. For a ‘romantic weekend getaway’.”

“And what of it?” Francis responds (though, admittedly, he hasn’t thought of it like that, and feels a bit embarrassed that Antonio has pointed it out). “I had a voucher! I had to bring someone.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Antonio says, nevertheless. “I just think… on top of the spa, there’s the fancy meals out, the botanical gardens, the picnic, the pottery class, the art galleries, the family dinners…” A warm smile has bloomed on his face. “Why is it that you manage to take me on better dates than anyone I have ever actually dated?”

To that, Francis lacks any real response. He doesn’t know how to feel. He… can’t think of an instance where it’s ever been intentional, to invite Antonio to do so many different and fun things with him that, from the outside looking in, probably did look like romantic gestures. 

Upon reflection, though, Antonio is no less guilty of such things. 

Sometimes he turns up to Francis’ place clutching a bouquet of flowers (‘I just thought the colours would look nice in your kitchen’; ‘I remember you saying you like calla lilies…’). Sometimes he texts randomly in the middle of the day and says things like, ‘i heard there’s a new restaurant by the docks’ followed by a flurry of emojis of wine bottles and hearts and winking faces…

It’s like how Antonio would offer to do Francis’ hair before going out, to sit and listen as he offloads a bad day at work, to do some tidying in his garden (that is not a euphemism!) because it isn’t Francis’ priority. He’d even agreed to have a look at Francis’ car when he’d had issues with it starting, popping up the bonnet, playing mechanic for him. 

He’d gotten so messy, but had fixed whatever the issue had been, and… well, that is what friends do, no? Help each other? Have a laugh with each other? Go out with each other?

It isn’t that Francis doesn’t care for Antonio. He’s… He’s certainly had his moments of feeling like he cares too much for Antonio, like he’s overstepping or walking a fine line at best. But he doesn’t want to ruin what they’ve got. He doesn’t want to put twenty years of friendship at risk just because he may or may not sometimes believe he lo—

“Take me on a date.”

Francis sputters on his latte. He moves his cup away as he begins to cough, and Antonio hurries to pass him a napkin, apologising profusely for saying such a thing at what was clearly the wrong moment.

“It’s fine,” Francis replies, giving his mouth a quick wipe as he tries to compose himself. “It’s fine, it just— it just caught me off-guard, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” Antonio says again. “But I… I do kind of mean it, you know.” He gives a gentle sigh, and holds onto his hot chocolate again in both hands. “I dunno… Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me, but I just always seem to have more fun being around you than I have with… Well… Don’t worry,” he dismissed in the end. “Forget I said anything.”

But how can he? How can Francis pretend that he didn’t just say something like that?

Even though Antonio is trying to hide behind his drink, Francis feels that hiding is an impossibility for both of them. So, he reaches out and steals away Antonio’s hand, having to pry it carefully away from porcelain.

Despite Antonio’s wariness, Francis says, “Maybe we can talk about it later on, in our room.”

Antonio looks meek, if not disappointed. “For the best,” he replies. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s fine, really,” Francis assures him. 

He gives Antonio’s hand a pat—all he can think to do in the moment to try and comfort him, knowing that… things may now be awkward between them—before Antonio pulls his hand back, returns it to his cup, and instead decides to talk about their next shared session. A ‘sleep and reset treatment’. Maybe that is what they need. A reset. A hard reset…

[ full ficlet collection here on ao3! ]

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #138

So much has happened today. I am going to describe it to you as much as I can, but I'm not even sure I understand it all myself.

…I woke up in some kind of ZONE today. Something akin to determination, but… somehow also on steroids and also on fire. It is the KNOWING in my BONES that I need to do STUFF. I didn't fix more letters today. I didn't even make tea, that's how laser-focused I was.

I told you about the song I was searching for yesterday, written by someone in my past, supposedly on tapes that my mother gave to me years ago last time time I tried searching for it, which I had misplaced in the end. I found four of them yesterday and the song wasn't on any of them.

So in a random burst of inspiration this morning, I wrote down as many of the lyrics as I could remember, and then filled in the rest with whatever came to mind. I don't think it has ever felt so easy to fill in the blanks. It was almost eerie. It is not exactly the song I remember. But it's still CORRECT. And I can't explain how or why I know that. I just… do.

For context about that "CORRECT" feeling: there's a lot about the way I perceive the world that I don't fully understand. There's a lot of it that I know better than to talk about to anyone, ever. And even if I didn't know better (from having been harshly rejected for it every time I've tried…), some of it is, I think, much too beautiful and convoluted to explain in any case. And even if I were to try to explain it in words that approximate the way I see and hear and think and feel, it'd probably sound absolutely bananas to someone else, and then they'd back away from me slowly as though I've got rabies or something. All the same, I know that if I ignore the feeling of "THIS IS CORRECT", or if I ignore the feeling of "THIS IS INCORRECT", something mildly inconvenient usually happens.

So, for a very vague and contrived example, suppose I go outside on a sunny day and I get the "THIS IS INCORRECT" feeling. I can certainly ignore it, because most of the time I don't even know why I'm getting it. I don't usually find out until later, when it rains, that the feeling showed up because I needed an umbrella.

Or, as a more recent example, I might grab one of my handmade trinkets for seemingly no reason (and get very confused as a result), and get the "THIS IS CORRECT" feeling, and so I put the handicraft in my bag. And I don't find out until a couple hours later that I'm going to want to give it to some random person who is going to unexpectedly give me a pair of handmade pins that he made for me just because he likes my hat. I have LOTS of examples of stuff akin to this. It's vague, confusing, and… I've been like this my whole life. The only thing I know to do is to roll with it.

In any case, I now have the lyrics to the old song, and the melody is still fresh in my mind. I'm not going to write them yet; I'm going to wait until I weave it into something better. Something for you. I'm going to ask for help in the process. I hope to have it done soon.

Shortly after that, J and I went to the awesome place with the awesome leader. Today, I took away these things: There are only sacred things and desecrated things; there's no such thing as an unsacred thing, but sometimes desecrated things go on to desecrate other things. From there, there's no such thing as unsacred people. From there, that which has been desecrated can always be renewed. And from there: no living thing has the power to make anything unsacred.

With that lens… I have been desecrated, time and time again. I am in the process of renewing myself, and I become a little stronger day by day, and piece by piece. I am still sacred. The bowl that I repaired (that was briefly mentioned yesterday), which was desecrated by its fall onto the asphalt as a result of my clumsiness, was renewed into something better, stronger, and more beautiful than before, piece by piece. It is still sacred. And… then there's you.

You were desecrated in some of the most brutal and terrible ways imaginable. But you are still sacred, just like everyone, and you can be renewed into something more beautiful than before, if you want to. I hope someday we get to see you be renewed. I suppose it's part of the reason I write these letters; I'm hoping to give to you as many memories of beautiful and wholesome things as I can, day by day, and piece by piece. I know for sure that I also have so very many unwholesome memories, but… all those do is empower me to appreciate what I have now even more than I otherwise would. You can use your unwholesome memories to make the ones I'm trying to give you shine even more brightly and joyfully in your mind than they otherwise would, if you're brave enough to try.

At the place, when it was time for snacks, I had the good privilege of speaking to a teenage girl with a vibrant mind and a wild imagination! I guess she really likes my Eevee hat and the reminder of you that I carry around; I am proud to have you with me in a visible way everywhere I go, even if you are only "with me" in an extremely abstract sense; anytime anyone asks about it, I speak your name and talk about how kind and gentle you are.

Anyway, I guess me being loudly myself has inspired her to modify and wear her own fabulous headgear that looks as though it feels correct to her; I was really happy to see it! We talked about some anime that she likes called "Land of the Lustrous" (I'm surprisingly not very well-versed in anime for someone who speaks Japanese…), and we talked about some instruments that she plays, and we talked a little about Pokémon cards, and so many other things!!

My goodness Sephiroth, if only you could have seen the way her eyes and her whole presence lit up and sparkled as I listened to her talk about her various things! To my eyes, her reaction makes it seem like she doesn't have a whole lot of people who are willing to listen to her earnestly, and… I feel very sad in response to that, because I find that deeply relatable. All the same, next week, she wants to show me some instruments she can play, and I can't wait to see what she can do! I can't wait to hear about all the rest of the things she has on her mind! I wonder what awesome things I'll learn if I sit, listen, and ask questions for a while!

When I got home, I tore through some more boxes in search of additional tapes. There was one more - a tape of unknown contents that was, for some reason, packed away in a little drawer in my jewelry box, along with a locket of my nanna and poppy that I thought was lost, a little pin in your shape, and a winged heart that says, "Fly" on it:

...Nanna and poppy are gone. This is all I have left of them, so I'm really glad that I found this. They were probably the closest thing I had to loving parents, until I was taken from them when I was like 3. Things got... really weird for me... after that, and... there wasn't anything they could do.

...I wonder what they'd think to see me now. Nanna might still love me, but poppy would hate me for being pansexual and poly... Still, I... I'm really glad that being aware of the value of a locket is something that we have in common - something we both understand. I'm really glad I have it again.

...I really wanna write "thank you" to you here, for some reason. But that's ridiculous and silly, so I won't.

Anyway, I remember this tape being one of the first ones my mother gave me all those years ago, last time I searched for this song; I didn't have a cassette player at the time. It's unmarked, but it's certainly colorful:

...I also, in the course of searching, found my collection of all the feathers I find on the ground:

...I had thought I lost this. I find feathers everywhere, often enough that even other people think its kinda weird. I think they're pretty, so I pick them up, wash them, dry them, and fluff them back up. Normally I find dark-colored feathers, but occasionally, I run into white ones or colorful ones, like that blue-jay feather. Truth be told, it used to be a much, much larger collection, but some creep a long time ago felt entitled to use my collection for some art project of his, so he cut up all the ones I had and glued them to some wooden thing; I was devastated.

I still find them though, so my collection has built up again. And I keep finding them, so there's still a bunch scattered around the house in random weird places; I guess now that I have a place for them, I had better go around and gather them up nicely, no?

I also found my box of pretty rocks. Some of them were given to me by friends. Some of them were found at the bottom of lakes, back when I used to do mermaid training. And some were just found while derping around:

...Hey, Sephiroth? Do you ever pick up weird things from the ground and keep them? I do. It's why I have a collection of feathers and a collection of rocks, hahaha! 🤣

...So many old pieces of me, found while on a quest to look for one little song on one little tape. Things I thought I lost forever, returned to me, just like that. I found more pieces of writing, more doodles... I even found the matches to several feather earrings that I thought I'd never be able to wear again:

...I did not find the song on the tape, and there are no more boxes to search through. The song is gone, and my reconstruction will have to do; I hope it'll become something that is worthy of you when I'm done with it.

But I did find five other songs on this tape - stuff by well-known artists. I was a little disappointed that it wasn't more of my mother's singing, but that's okay. The tape is old, and the contents are garbled, but I made a playlist of the songs that were on the tape:

...Sephiroth, if I didn't know better, I'd think... I'd almost think... Well. I know better. So I'm not even gonna bother finishing that thought, because it's VERY silly! Ahaha~! 🤣😅😞

Guess I have some singing to do in the coming days. And some other stuff to do, too. I hope my rib will cooperate. I guess we'll see... Wish me luck, yeah?

...Hey Sephiroth? What songs echo through your heart? What do you sing when no one is looking? I wonder. I hope someday you'll sing a little and show us; I'll bet your singing voice is lovely. And even if it's clumsy, it'll still be lovely so... please give it a try, won't you?

Anyhoot. It's becoming late, so I'm going to end this one here.

Please stay safe out there, all right? Rest when you need to. Be kind to yourself. Find reasons to laugh and to sing and to play. Hydrate and eat balanced meals; y'know... all that fun stuff that is essential to renewal.

I love you. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[eldritch-spouse]

Cue awkward ‘meet the parents’ with Adrul and his human obsession… also, side note, how do the princes get along with the other workers in the clergy?

It'll always be awkward no matter what he does, that's why Adrul spends entire days brainstorming the event, trying to cover all possible outcomes and keep you safe. Adelo, on the other hand, just throws the two of you headfirst into meeting his parents.

Generally speaking, the brothers have a good relationship with all workers, who were present in their lives growing up, to differing degrees. Although Adelo and Adrul only began having full access to The Clergy's Eye when they became adults, naturally.

Gallon used to be the "chocolate milk" man when the two were little. The slime was happy to fix little safe drinks for the two but had many games of wits as Adelo and Adrul would join forces to try to steal alcohol bottles. As adults, they know Gallon is someone they can count on for witty banter and interesting stories.

Morell got hounded to bake cakes a lot, Adelo in particular would knock things to the floor in his kitchen if he refused to. Nonetheless, Morell often cooked, and occasionally still does, for the two demigods- Which is a little stressful for a chef considering how they're the first of their kind, but stellar for his ego. Both of them like him a lot.

Santi only got to actually know them when they became adults, naturally. He's regarded as a suave but nice demon by both brothers, who may sometimes come to him for advice when they find their obsessions. After all, if there's someone who knows about pleasing a partner, it must be the incubus working here. He's so ready to give them lessons.

Grimbly used to find cute clothes for the two siblings, or try to in Adrul's case. Sometimes they'd enjoy getting dressed up, other times they'd whine and complain as kids do. Currently, they see Grimbly as a source of endless gossip, Adelo in particular having many vapid conversations with the bat monster about rumors.

Patches, and Stitches, are monsters the two have had a lot of contact with, because the dullahan was often called into the scene to help handle some of the newer aspects of their natures. After all, help is needed when dealing with brand new types of monsters. Although both brothers saw them as doctors to be avoided, they now realize they should thank Patches and Stitches for making their lives easier in key moments.

Oh they love Vinnel. The jester could provide them with endless entertainment, whenever one of them was feeling down, they could just ask the performer to do a trick and things wouldn't be so bad anymore. Even now that they've seen the less wholesome side of Vinnel's shows, they just respect and think fondly of him.

Nebul was a great help when Adrul and Adelo were very young, as the wraith could easily tell when either one was distressed, and look into the very simple emotions of the infants. Adrul crying? Ah yes, tummy ache, solved. The undead has become something of an emotional confidant for the siblings, which is a role he feels flattered to have.

Fank-e used to scare Adrul a lot due to how loud and bombastic he is. Adelo loved him though, the two really got along. Nowadays, the robot is almost as good of an entertainer for them as Vinnel is, and he certainly keeps up with online lingo/trends much better than all the other staff members, so they always have someone who gets them and their references roaming around.

Sybastian used to take them on rides inside his mouth a lot when they were tiny. It was tons of fun, other staff members would hear the brothers squealing whenever Sybastian started running around. They'd also play with the mimiclings a lot, he was a great babysitter for someone who has difficulty articulating his speech. They continue to see Sybastian as a sort of babysitter figure and sometimes reconnect with the mimic for old time's sake. He's proud of them.

[unconditionalcaretaker]

I just saw your post about OCD and moral scrupulously, and I feel for you! I have similar intrusive thoughts of being a horrible person, though in my case my emotionally abusive religious upbringing is at fault. I’m usually able to get over it pretty quickly, but when *someone else* seems to confirm it by actually calling me a bad person…even if it’s just online and they don’t actually know me or anything about me…that’s when I am sent spiraling.

I don’t know if this will be any help to you, but something that helps me is to separate the subjective and the objective. You have these thoughts that you are a bad person, and it’s okay to own and acknowledge those thoughts, they are yours and completely eradicating them might be a full time job, if not impossible. But also recognize that they’re not objectively true…that if you look at yourself and your life objectively and compare yourself to people as a whole, you are at least an okay and probably even a pretty good person. Then if you can objectively accept okay to pretty good as good enough, that you don’t have to be a perfect saint, that might go a long way toward being able to live your life and be mostly okay on the day to day, even if your subjective thoughts sometimes insist on torturing you. At least that’s how it is for me, I’m sharing this just in case it might help you too. Sincere best wishes.

Thank you so much for this! I really appreciate such a thoughtful offer of advice. I wish that worked for me, honestly. But to try to judge whether it's objectively true that I'm a bad person, to try to compare myself against others…that just leads to hours and hours of rumination for me. Who's to say what is objective? I certainly don't trust myself to do that - that's subjective as heck. My own mind picks out a million valid reasons why I am worse or better than other people as a whole, and neither is ever enough to give me certainty.

But I do have something that works for me. Oversharing below the cut - don't feel obligated to read it! This gets really specific and personal and talks about my history growing up with ableism against cluster B people in my home.

It's true for me as well that hearing outside observers confirm my "you're-a-bad-person" thoughts makes me spiral. I'm going to talk a little bit about why that is, because it feels relevant. I grew up with a father who had NPD/ASPD, and a mother who berated him for it, used a lot of ableist, anti-cluster-B language, and said that I would not be her child anymore if it turned out that I was the same as him. He also did some genuinely awful and abusive things, not excused by his diagnosis. So a lot of my thoughts revolve around suspecting myself of a cluster B diagnosis which, according to therapists, I don't have, while other thoughts revolve around doing those terrible and abusive things that he did (which I have never done or wanted to do).

But (and this is a really triggering thing for me to say but it shouldn't be so I'm going to say it anyway) my OCD is actually so similar to cluster B stuff. I have that perceived lack of safety. That fear of abandonment, of disapproval, of shame, of breaking with the community. I may present it by frantically trying to fix things, as opposed to lashing out, but it's the same root. The fear for me is that, if I don't prove I'm the "right" kind of person, then whoever I'm talking to (my partner, my friend, my online community, even myself) will completely reject me just like my mother always threatened. And maybe I'll find that I've been hurting them, too. Maybe I'll even do those things that cause real harm, and I'll never be able to go back.

So, I try to remind myself that when I'm assessing my "goodness" in some intangible, unprovable way, I'm really assessing whether other people can love me. Whether I'm in danger of being rightfully abandoned. So what helps the most is to remind myself that, unlike my family, most people will not leave me over the moral mistakes that I make. I often say on here, "I love you more than I hate myself," and that is such an important phrase for me. That phrase gets me through everything. "Yes, I hate myself, I feel like something has to be done about that, like something has to be destroyed to prove I'm sorry, or I have to hurt myself or exile myself, but nobody has asked me to do that. They love me and I love them. I can't take myself away from my loved ones. Maybe I am heartless in some way that I hide even from myself - in fact, let's assume that I am and call it a day just so I don't keep ruminating on it. But people need me and that's more important. My loved ones do still want me, and until the moment they send me away, I'm staying." When I don't want to think about who I am, when I disgust myself too much, I think about who my loved ones are. Some of them, because I've tried very hard to do exposure therapy and overcome cluster B stigma, actually are NPD or ASPD or BPD. And see, I don't hate them for it. So why should I hate myself for it, even if it were true? It wouldn't make me an abuser.

Anyway, that's how I cope! It came to me after a lot of exposure therapy and basically it amounts to: "assume the thoughts are right and just roll with it -> notice that no one is running screaming from you like you expected (or whichever consequence you expected) -> carry on." So far, it's the only thing that has helped, and maybe you'll find it useful too. Sincere best wishes to you as well!

[eve6262]

now vs then

OT 2 SPOILERS // Throne and Father-centric, not ship (hopefully obviously).

Sometimes it’s hard to read Father.

Mother is obvious. She doesn’t bother hiding her emotions, because why should she? She’s the one with the whip, the one who makes the plans; her obvious glee makes her all the more frightening. Mother doesn’t care about that sort of thing.

But with Father, it’s harder.

The two of them are in one of the upper rooms of the den. Most Blacksnakes aren’t allowed up here, having rooms in other buildings across the New Delsta backstreets or something in the basement, but Father said she was special because of how young she joined them, so she lives in the den. The killing and crime she could do without, but a fluffy bed and pretty pictures are nice to come home to.

Father sits at the desk, though he’s turned around the chair so he can watch her practice her knife work. Every now and again he gives a pointer- “A little more momentum, less force-�� and she complies. There’s a smile on his face.

His eyes are...harder to read.

There’s something that she thinks is supposed to be pride, in there. It’s probably to do with his own knife skills- second to none and killer of the most well-guarded targets, he’s certainly got reason to be proud of that. She’s gotten well enough into her own skills to understand how hard it is to fully master so many different blades and wield them as well as he does.

But something else is completely foreign to her. It’s not like the way his eyes glitter when he describes the fresh scent of blood, or the thrill of the kill. It’s not like the way his eyes haze over a little when he’s had one too many glasses of whiskey, and his voice gets a little raspier. It doesn’t even look like the time she mentioned that she liked talking to Pirro because he was nice to her, and he knelt down on her level and said, “If he ever tries something on you, you come tell me, okay?”

She, of course, said, “Why would I need to do that?”

And he laughed. And then looked her dead in the eyes and made her promise. Maybe it’s a personal thing.

It’s always a personal thing with the Blacksnakes.

Not for Throné, though. She likes Pirro, is friends with Scaracci and Donnie, but she doesn’t go out of her way to hate other people. Nobody’s ever done something so mean to her she wanted to hurt them. It’s never been personal. Maybe that comes with being barely twelve years old, maybe that comes with hating the smell of blood. She isn’t sure.

Not a lot of things are concrete aside from her collar. The way Mother’s temper flares at the slightest disgrace; what was courtesy yesterday is disrespect today. The whip marks may never truly heal from her skin, especially from that one incident with the blood.

She hated that.

But Father’s eyes had been something special.

That’s what it is now, she realizes. The second thing in his eyes. Whatever it was, it’s the same thing as when he bandaged her back after Mother whipped it bloody. She was only ten at the time, and her own eyes held tears she was trying furiously to hold back, but they simply wouldn’t have it. It’s been more than a year since then, and now she knows better. The tears will be stayed, or else Mother’s wrath gets worse.

It also gets worse when she doesn’t see tears, to be fair. There’s no winning in this house unless you’re Mother or Father. Or maybe one of the dealers at the poker tables.

Father makes a noise in her throat and she stops on instinct. Looks up to him- even sitting down he’s so tall- and walks over to her in that strange gait she’s heard Pirro call a ‘stalk’. “Good job, Throné.”

He pats her head. She closes her eyes and pouts, because now her hair is all messed up, and he laughs. But she does miss the warmth of his hand when he pulls it away. Still, she fixes the part around her eye, now out of place and hard to see through properly.

“Come on, then. I have some work to do. Do you wanna come with me?”

“...Okay,” she says, because accompanying Father on his work is better than staying in the den with just Mother. Even if there’s the smell of blood.

“I hoped you’d say that,” he says with a familiar glint in his eye, and beckons her along.

---

It took a while for her to figure out what that look in his eye meant.

She didn’t think about it even after he died. Even after the word “dad” spilt from her lips like the blood from his stomach, the life leaving him even as he held her hand and wanted nothing anymore but the love from a daughter he’d thought he’d lost. He had it, in the end. Claude didn’t get what he wanted, and neither did her true mother, and neither did Mother-

But maybe at least Father is happy in whatever hell he’s in. Happy that he got his daughter.

It took a long, long while. But she finally saw it again.

In Osvald’s eyes.

Elena has apparently discovered some huge conspiracy within whatever organization controls the labeling of soulstones. Naturally, Osvald agreed to accompany her, and Throné was bored, so she decided to tag along. In secret, because Elena is a nice girl and Osvald’s daughter shouldn’t be caught mingling with thieves.

He’s probably noticed her by now, though.

She’s ranting about something or other. It sounds remarkably less like the man himself and more like Partitio rambling about whatever new invention he’s discovered, excited almost more than Ochette catching a whiff of good meat. The look in her eyes is soft but determined, a combination she’s never seen before but wants to associate with pure-hearted children.

Osvald is of course proud of his daughter. It’s in his eyes- pride, and what she can now safely define as affection.

It’s almost unfathomable to think it was in Father’s eyes.

Almost.

Because wasn’t that what it was all about? Mother cared for nothing, Claude dispassionate, Pirro setting aside whatever reservations he had in search of luxury. But Father was nothing like any of them. He told her where to go, gave her a warning but knew she’d follow because he never cared about this game. None of it- not the garden, not the tests, nothing.

He wanted a daughter. And Claude took that away from him. So he hid, and bid his time, and knew that the only thing that could get him his daughter was his skills with a blade, and so he used them. And then, when he had her, he realized:

What did he have to give her?

The answer wasn’t much. A life of crime. Of death. That she didn’t enjoy, he must’ve realized. That fateful day, when he asked if she liked the smell of blood, and she asked for the raspberry jam she loved back home. He’d given her some, but looked contemplative as he stared out a window. Perhaps he forgot, in all his quest for the things he wanted, that not everyone was as bloodthirsty as he was.

And yet he tried anyway. He did, in the end, give her the one thing she wanted- her freedom. With Father alive, there could be no freedom, even if he had simply handed over the key. He knew the truth- the spiraling, awful, toxic truth. He knew the Lostseed tale and the man who presided over a fallen kingdom.

It was a gift to him, too. A chance to finally leave the hell of a cesspit that was life for him- a wife taken, his daughter raised into this awful cycle, having to deal with Mother as a cohort.

“Father. Wherever you are...”

She starts down the path, realizing that Elena and Osvald are gone. She’ll catch up. She always does.

“I hope you’re happy.”

--

this is pretty short and really only has me as the target demographic so I thought I'd post it on tumblr instead of ao3 if you want me to post it on ao3, leave a comment and I'll post it though, I get not wanting to read your fanfiction on tumblr lmao

~Eve6262

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Yes, hello! I am currently dealing with allergies in my dorm room. May I please have any of the Noah's Ark Circus crew taking care of an s/o who has an awful case of allergies? I'm talking similar to seasonal allergies but year-round and unpredictable AF. I hope I'm not asking too much.

never too much! aaaaaaaa

Well, she’s doin’ the best she can, but… wot exac’ly is she s’posed t’ do?? Other than fetch you anything you need, which she’s already doing. It’s not as if she knows of anything that can make a person stop sneezing, after all. And, although she sometimes gets a little irritated by the repetitive noises when symptoms crop up, she knows it’s a her problem and not your fault. She’s definitely sure that you’re infinitely more irritated with it all than she could ever be. Still, the best way to help eludes her… you just tell her what you need and she’ll do it, she simply doesn’t have any ideas of her own which might help. Other than giving you kisses on the cheek and running a loving hand through your hair, as long as you’re alright with that. She can’t ‘fix’ anything; she’s a great emotional support, though, and maybe that’s all she really needs to be.

Errrrr… damn… ‘e don’t s’pose some kinda tea might ‘elp, would it? The first time he experiences this he’s almost in shock, seeing that they’re treating it like this is normal for them. He’s pretty sure something like that would drive him mad — regular hayfever in the spring is bad enough! Despite that he might get a little bit of it himself, it’s nowhere near as severe as (Name)’s, and at least that slight bit he goes through lasts only a couple of months. He’s the type to dote as much as he can, offering possible remedies that he’s asked around about and reminding his S/O every so often that he’ll do whatever they need him to. It makes him pout some, to see them in a not insignificant amount of misery with nothing he can do about it. At least he’s there, so he prides himself on making sure he takes very good care of them.

Lord, but they never seen someone sneeze so many times in a row! Ain’t (Name) dizzy?? If nothing else, they understand that yes, their darling is probably a little lightheaded from all that. Immediately following any kind of allergy attack, Freckles is quick to let their S/O lean on them, or they’ll reach over to steady their sweetheart. They have no shame in the way that they try to help, mainly because it’s the kind of thing they’d hope someone who loved them would do for them. That’s what it should be, shouldn’t it, to treat someone you love the way you want to be treated? Of course, they’re forever giggling about it, teasing their S/O: “Oi, y’ exaggeratin’ this jus’ ‘cause y’ want me t’ ‘old y’? Y’ don’t need an excuse f’r that!” It’s mostly an effort to get them to smile and make them feel a little better during moments that might be a struggle. None of it really bothers Freckles, and they’re perfectly willing to ask what they can do to be of help. Whatever their darling needs, they’ll get!

Haha, goodness… they’re a sight! Aww, ‘e ain’t laughin’ at ‘em, ‘e’s jus’… th’ situation’s a li’l funny! While he’s never really seen someone with these kinds of allergies before, he can certainly imagine that it’s not a good time at all. He and his family have run into a lot of different people in their lives, so this sort of thing doesn’t really surprise him despite it being something he’s never encountered until now. Honestly, his poor darling; he’ll have to take them to visit Doc and see if there isn’t anything which might take the edge off, however small it may be. Aside from that, he’s always more than glad to take care of them. All they need to do is tell him what they need, and as long as it’s something that’s physically and financially possible, he’ll find a way to make it happen. He also thinks he’s hilarious, because he counts their sneezes, and gives them a half-affectionate, half-cheeky, “Bless ye ten times, m’ love!” once they’re finally done. Just smack him to train him out of that habit!

Wot the devil… are they alright?? They’re not comin’ down with somethin’, are they? He’s far more likely to assume it’s illness, (mostly in the beginning), than he is to think it’s some kind of year-long hayfever sort of condition. Although he hasn’t ever heard of anything like that, he doesn’t have any problems accepting that’s what’s going on once they tell him. It makes him wince a little whenever they complain about their eyes watering, because he’s had his own issues with vision, and he’s a bit scared that it could lead to them not being able to see. Thankfully, he doesn’t often show his fear, and just does whatever they need him to do. If they’re okay with him carrying them around just in case they start sneezing, so that they don’t get dizzy, he’ll do that. As well, they don’t need to do anything other than mention something that may help, and he’s off to go get it or set it up or whatever they need. He doesn’t think anything of it, but he’s really incredibly attentive.

Good God, wot is goin’ on with them?! Even when ‘e’s sick as ‘ell, ‘e don’t sneeze or sniffle ‘alf as much as they do! Much like Jumbo, Peter is definitely inclined to think it’s a cold or something rather than allergies. While he’s got his own respiratory and immune issues, well… he complains in the beginning that his beloved is “bein’ drama’ic, surely it can’t be that bad??” He thinks they’re exaggerating for sympathy and rolls his eyes a little. (This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s sometimes faked an extra sneeze or two so that he can ‘prove’ he’s so sick and has to sit out practice or performances. Nope. No projecting here.) Once it clicks that they literally can’t help it, he freaks out in a panic that he was so mean. It’s like watching a switch flip — he’s suddenly at their beck and call, fetching whatever he thinks they’ll need even before he thinks they’re going to ask for it. He surely feels bad about acting so dismissive, so he desperately wants to make it up to them. He might even apologize as he’s trying to take care of them. Dammit, he doesn’t want them to suffer!

(… How many times was that?) Hm. Not sure, Emily. Seven, was it? (Good grief. They’re never going to stop, are they?) Both he and his friends are all startled the first couple of times they see it happen. Actually, it’s a little funny, because Snake tends to sneeze at least five times in a row whenever he does, so he’s borderline relieved to see that it isn’t just him that happens to. Of course, he’s usually sick when he does, and he’s practiced for years to try to keep his from being noticed. (Name) looks a little dazed and annoyed, just… not really surprised. And they don’t seem ill. Tsk. Even though he doesn’t know exactly what it is, other than some kind of long-term hayfever, he knows that any cold remedies probably won’t work. So he tries some of the folk remedies for hayfever that he knows, gently sliding them over toward his sweetheart with eager eyes that beg them to try it. It puts him in pain to see them suffering, so he wants to ease it a little, if he can. If nothing else, he’s content to curl up with them and just… be there. Emotional support Snake, all the way.

One, two, three, four… Lord, ain’t it ever gonna let go of ‘em? They jus’ look so damn itchy ‘n’ uncomf’table! She couldn’t imagine having to sneeze so many times in a row, and coupled with the sniffling and watery eyes that apparently come with whatever this is, she’s quietly worried about her S/O. It extends into her going to see Doc, asking about if such a thing is normal and if anything might be able to help her darling out. That must get old, and she certainly knows how old it gets from the fact that she and Peter tend to catch a cold seemingly every two weeks in the winter. As far as she can picture, that’s a taste of what this year-round hayfever must be like for (Name). If they could see through their sneezing, they’d notice her watching them with a blatantly concerned expression whenever it happens. As small as she is, she thinks she can give them some help, or at least be of comfort. It’s not going to stop her from trying, anyway, so she likes to just lie down with them as often as she can, an attempt to get them away from whatever might be bothering them and a chance to relax. If they tell her anything will help, she’s prepared to go get it. She just… she wants to take care of them. Any way she can.

[storyunrelated]

Bottled up

Perhaps a good fifteen or twenty feet across, James’ platform was just one of many such little outcrops throughout the cave, albeit one of the few large enough to live on. Lucky him.

The light from his fire cut through the gloom of the cave and let him see maybe two or three others in the distance but they were more like stalagmite than platforms, really. Too small to stand on. No use to anyone.

He didn’t mind though. Life on the platform was more comfortable than you’d expect, though lonely. James didn’t think he’d ever seen another person, now he came to think about it. Or if he had he certainly couldn’t remember it.

Every day in the cave it was just him on his platform with his tiny hut and his fire and the silent, echoing sounds of absolutely nothing else.

He was pretty used to it. Being alone was normal.

After gathering cave wood (which sprouted from just under the lip of the platform and was only moderately perilous to collect), getting his fire going and seeing to the essentials of life James would - without fail - settle down to write something.

What he wrote varied, though he tried for narrative consistency in his story about an adventurous cave vole. He named the vole Harold (a strong name), and enjoyed thinking up nail-biting events for him to wrestle with. Harold went through a lot, but endured it with bravery, good humour, and a smile.

Sometimes James just didn’t feel like doing that one though, which was okay. Sometimes he liked to mix it up. Dipping a specially sharpened piece of cave-wood into a puddle of cave-ink (the source of which remained a mystery to him) and setting it to cave-parchment James would write down whatever he felt like that day. 

Once he was done he would roll said parchment, slip it into his bottle and send it off into the cave dangling beneath the heavily repaired lantern he had for just such a purpose. It just felt like the thing to do.

He would sit and watch the little light of the lantern growing smaller and smaller as it drifted off into the cave before finally turning that far corner and winking out from sight. It’d be back. It always came back.

The origin of the bottle was another mystery (most things in the cave were, to be honest). Many years ago, when James had been a younger man, he had once woken up to find the bottle on his platform. This had been a first for James, and he had been understandably surprised - so surprised he didn’t notice the sad, deflated remains of the lantern the bottle had ridden to get there until afterwards.

Inside the bottle had been a poem. He hadn’t even liked it that much if he was honest, though it had helped him get the fire going that one time the cave-wood supplies had got a bit thin.

More though, it was what the poem represented that hooked his interest. Someone else was out there! Someone else sitting in a cave James had always thought he was the sole occupant of. What was more, this meant there was a definite means of reaching them!

A quirk of the airflow within the cave - which was well-known to James, pioneer of the parchment-airplane as he was - was a particular stream of air that ran more-or-less in a complete circuit around the known interior of the cave. Around and around, carrying things far and along.

Or at least that was what James thought. Given the darkness it was hard to tell, but his few experiments with it had seen a crude craft of his own design float off into the gloom and return the next day none the worse for wear.

The lantern, he had imagined, would fly much better. It did.

No-one ever replied. Nothing he sent ever got any kind of response. Whoever had sent the poem in the first place - and anyone else who might have happened to be in the way, assuming they existed - apparently didn’t feel the need to comment.

James knew they were getting them, too. It wasn’t like they weren’t. The bottles always came back and they always came back empty. There was no-way the parchment could just fall out. He’d fixed the bottles so they couldn’t.

The first time his bottle came back sans-writing he imagined that their response would be forthcoming in another bottle. Perhaps they needed some time to write it, but thought that James would still need his bottle.

How considerate of them, James thought. So he waited.

But they had never sent anything. James was torn between the terror of sounding needy by producing something new and the nagging worry that they might need his bottle to reply in the first place. He kept waiting, just to hedge his bets. Some time later, he finally cracked and wrote something else, sending it off into the dark, towards whoever was out there.

The bottle came back empty, again. 

Maybe they were still writing responses to the first and now needed time for the second, he thought, starting to wait again. Eventually James stopped waiting and just wrote something every time the bottle came back. It kept getting opened and it kept getting emptied, and James continued to sit on his platform alone and in silence, writing for when the bottle would come back and sending it off again when it did.

Maybe his work wasn’t good enough. This idea popped out of nowhere one day and stopped James in his tracks.

Objectively, living without any real constructive feedback, James had no way of knowing how good or not what he was doing might have been. But now the idea was in his head. He quickly became convinced that it must have been pretty bad - why else wouldn’t they reply? Why else wouldn’t they say anything?

Not having a single clue what was expected of him, James tried much harder. If you tried harder, that would mean you were more likely to succeed. Right?

Of course, he had no idea what this meant, so in practical terms he just ended up losing weight from worrying about his performance - which dipped. The bottles kept leaving and kept coming back empty, and James’ desperation grew as his frame shrank.

He had to do better, he had to try harder.

Maybe they didn’t like Harold the vole. James could understand that. Now that he looked back over what he’d done, he could admit Harold the vole was stupid. He could see why they’d ignored it. He’d have ignored it too. It was stupid. Boring.

How had he not realised that before? He’d do much better. Forget the vole. He’d never waste his time on that again. He’d try something else. He’d make something better.

Or at least he’d try. He told himself he would. He thought he’d tried, but they still hadn’t replied. Maybe he was getting worse? Maybe he was doing it wrong? Maybe he was bad at trying?

He asked the cave but the cave said nothing. It was just dark and quiet. It told him nothing. Swallowed up everything he said in silence.

James was pretty sure he was getting worse. It didn’t help that his trousers kept falling down. They used to fit him quite well, now not so much. He made a belt but it stopped working after a while. He was finding it harder to get to sleep. It was just so quiet. He’d never been bothered by it before but now it was impossible to ignore.

With his hands shaking so much now it was hard to write. His fires weren’t as bright anymore either since he was getting so difficult to gather wood for it, and it didn’t help that he was just so tired all the time these days. Eating hurt.

Some days he couldn’t even gather enough energy to write. Some days he forced himself to but all that came out were scrawls he couldn’t read and couldn’t remember what they meant in the first place.

Not that it mattered. No-one ever replied. He doubted they even noticed, whoever they were, wherever they were.

One day, lying curled up by his dying fire in an effort to ward off the cold - he was always cold now - James caught a flicker of something moving in the corner of his eye. With supreme effort he pushed himself onto his elbow and peered up.

His heart practically burst when he saw another bottle drifting towards his platform. A new bottle. One he’d never seen before.

Dragging himself on his belly across the platform he frantically swiped at the bottle, catching it out of the air. Rolling onto his back he struggled with trembling fingers to open it and, after much effort, managed.

The cork rolled off the edge and fell away out of sight, but James didn’t care. Up-ending the bottle he held it with both hands and gave it a shake, watching the rolled parchment sliding its way out before plopping onto his chest. He unfurled it.

It was another poem. From the same person as the first, judging by the style.  It made no mention of James’ vole, their opinions on James’ vole, their opinions on anything else he’d ever done or indeed any sign they were aware of him at all. Even though they clearly must have been. They had to be. They’d been opening his bottles. He knew they had.

James read it twice to be sure, then a third time, then a fourth through tears. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough yet. Maybe he still had to try harder. Maybe he'd almost got it. Just a bit more. A bit harder.

Letting the empty bottle follow the cork off the side of the platform James pulled himself over to his hut and fumbled around inside for fresh parchment and his old bottle. Sniffling, his writing completely illegible, ink splashing down and mixing with his tears, he forced himself to start something new. Something they’d like this time.

He’d try harder. He had to try harder.

END

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

HI JAMIE IM HAVING A NOT SO POGGERS MOMENT RIGHT NOW…Would you be willing to write some dark fluff cprime for your favorite Luke in the whole wide world 👉👈

tommy is drowning.

the water burns like fire and lava and it crawls into his lungs and his flesh like he's melting and he surfaces for air, and-

it's burning, everything’s burning. the air is red and full of smoke. a spiders web covers the air, a skeletal shroud blotting out the sun, and-

blood falls down onto tommy's face, and he looks up and there’s a sword right through wilbur, and he's smiling. he falls, surprisingly quiet and understated, and there’s the slightest hint of wings, and-

an axe crashes into his leg, burning fire through his skin, as he crawls to safety on a blackstone floor slick with blood. they’re screaming, everyone's screaming, tommy's screaming screaming screaming and he turns around and the mask is off and there’s a grin and-

“put your items into the hole” he says, his voice like honey. but there’s something in his eyes, the predatory glint of a cat towards a mouse. there’s nothing. he has nothing. a million sorries leave his lips but he raises his fists and laughs and laughs and everything goes dark dark dark quiet like he’s being ripped apart and-

“tommy?” there’s concern and nothing else in the voice tommy is too tired to comprehend. “you okay?”

“yeah. just fine. lemme go back to sleep.”

“you were screaming, tommy.”

“sometimes you just gotta scream yourself to sleep, y’know? just a big man thing. you wouldn’t get it. you are simply too cringe.”

“tommy.” the slight venom behind a cheerful tone is enough to make it click who it is even in tommy's sleep deprived mind, and no no no no no no no no no no no no he’s not dying again he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not.

“i'm sorry dream, i'm sorry, please please please i'll be good i'll be good please don’t kill me again please-“

“shh. tommy, i'm not gonna hurt you. i'm just worried.”

“well, it's your fault i have nightmares, y’know.” tommy groaned and raised his head off the thin mattress, glaring at dream. he tried not to think about the dark-red stain covering his overalls. “you ruined me.”

“i fixed you. or i tried to.” dream sighed, sounding almost guilty. almost. “it’s hard, i know. so, so hard. but i was- well, y’know, trying to test you. it was to make you become better, y’know. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, you ever heard about that?”

“well. you did kill me.”

“semantics.” dream scoffs. “but, y’know, you failed. by running. you weren’t fit for what i had in mind.”

“what, to be your punching bag?” tommy rolled his eyes.

“my equal. i'd thought, if anyone… but no.” dream sounded disappointed, but gave a soft smile. “you’re certainly closer than anyone else i've met, though, so don’t go sulking. besides, i don’t need to push you as hard if you’re lesser than me, right?”

“die. die. I will kill you.”

“go ahead!” dream sounds almost too cheerful at that. “i'll get you my documents, if you want. then you can bring me back when you inevitably start calling out for me. you do that in your sleep, y’know? it's always dream, dream, please.”

tommy turned bright red. “fucking liar.”

“i'm not lying and you know it. what was it you said? you were conditioned into being my friend or something?”

“also i wanted to fucking kill you.” tommy huffed. “i think that’s important too, don’t get too big a head.”

“yeah, yeah. live in denial if you wanna. i think things would be a lot easier if you just gave in, y’know? no shame in that. you don’t need to be strong.”

and fuck, tommy knew he shouldn’t, but he was so so tired of being angry and keeping up his walls. maybe he'd prefer being in fucking exile to the agony of loneliness and death and dream's “punishments”. he sighed. “fine. just- just this once, i'll be your little- i don’t know, pet.”

“i prefer best friend, but call yourself what you like.” dream shrugged. “now, c'mere. i think i know how to get you to sleep.”

reluctantly, tommy dragged his battered corpse of a body over to dream, ignoring the sickening scent of blood covering him. eagerly, a bit too roughly, dream pulls him into a warm hug, one that reminded tommy of the sorts tubbo loved to give. he gave a pained yelp, and dream gave him an apologetic look.

“did i hurt you, Tommy?” dream sounded… sad, almost. “i'm sorry.” and that couldn’t be real. dream would never apologise.

“you've done worse.” tommy said, laughing because if he didn’t he’d cry. “now, i fucking challenge you to get me back to sleep. if you’re able to, i'll- i'll-“

“give me your discs? finally listen to me? break me out of here?”

“fuck no! i'll- I’ll visit, okay. once lockdown is over. every week, if i'm able. but only if you’re-“ tommy cut himself off with a yawn. “only if you’re gonna be nice and not beat me to death again.”

“okay. i'll only beat you a little, i promise.” dream said that with a snort, but tommy had the feeling he wasn’t joking, and he hated that he didn’t mind.

dream rubbed circles into tommy's back, the calming motions like the ones wilbur used to do when he was younger and couldn’t sleep, or on the bad nights in pogtopia. distantly, through fog in his mind, tommy wondered if dream had been stalking them in the night even then. he thought dream was a good un' then, but maybe he never was. maybe he always was and tommy was the problem. he didn’t know. it was all so exhausting.

closing his eyes and falling back to sleep in the warm arms of his brother no that wasn’t right it’s not wilbur it isn’t, the last thing tommy heard before unconsciousness mercifully took him was “i guess you're stuck with me now, huh, tommy?”