#also the way a lot of people talk about ''the mandates'' makes it sound like they dont actually know what that stuff means

[taintandviolent]

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).

a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Ah, Tuesday night. 

In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals. 

There’s also the… criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one. 

Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance. 

There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else. 

You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way. 

“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.” 

A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten. 

“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?” 

“Better now.” 

You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.

“The usual?” 

He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?” 

You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”

“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?” 

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”

The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.

“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words. 

You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.” 

With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?

As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile. 

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table. 

He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.” 

“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.

You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew. 

“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.” 

Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready.  He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else. 

“Only you, doll.” 

You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.  

He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?” 

“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.

“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”

“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.” 

There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.

“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket. 

The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again. 

He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It’s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides. 

Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to. 

“Doll!” 

You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain. 

“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat. “Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair. 

“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked. 

“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location. 

“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”

 “Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?” 

It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well. 

Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park. 

You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching. 

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?” 

You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again –  like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question. 

“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?” 

Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...” 

“Do you come for me?” 

Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy. 

“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”

You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.

“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”

He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell. 

“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”

You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours. 

He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good. 

As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.   

This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat. 

A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you. 

“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”

You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.” 

But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind. 

Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.” 

With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.  

Thank god it still fits. 

You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours. 

Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.

“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job. 

“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.” 

One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate. 

It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.

After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on. 

“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice. 

“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?” 

When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though. 

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”  

You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner. 

“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side. 

You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of. 

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin. 

“How long have you felt this way, huh?” 

You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…” 

“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously. 

“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.

“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”

You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” 

He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?” 

“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”

Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?” 

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you. 

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?” 

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.” 

His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other. 

Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.  

Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance. 

“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips. 

At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you. 

“Hoo, baby...” 

The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you. 

He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core. 

Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving. 

“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat. 

“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.

Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.  

“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.” 

You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing. 

“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.” 

In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.

“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”

His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips. 

“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?” 

He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his. 

“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.” 

You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back. 

Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.  

“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck. 

His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months. 

Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…” 

Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.

“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging. 

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together. 

While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window. 

“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back. 

“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother. 

“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”

[sonknuxadow]

btw the whole people getting really angry about shadows fast friends forever profile thing just proves i was right that people were setting their hopes way too high with all the "shadow is completely fixed now guys! The Mandates™ are all gone!" just because they heard that the rules for writing shadow in idw sonic have changed slightly

[tomriddleslove]

can I please please please request a reverse grumpy x sunshine with theo 😭🙏🏼 i have a horrible cold rn and im pretty sure im getting a fever too and im so so close to my periods and im in some very desperate need for something nice 😭 it's totally fine if you can't or if you're busy, no pressure!

p.s. im in love with your writing! (if it wasn't obvious before)

Show a little loving.

✩ Theodore Nott x F!Reader

The one where a smitten Theodore Nott is willing to do anything and everything to see that smile of yours. It’s only a matter of time before he has to let you know - and the school mandated trip might make that a lot earlier.

A/N: This was so disgustingly cute i actually almost threw up but ig its necessary after 61 letters LOL (also @stardustsymphony ur actually amazing i hope you like it)

songs: Lovers - anna of the north

Theodore Nott had a habit of being too cheerful for his own good, especially in the mornings. You couldn’t figure out how he managed to wake up so early and still be this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

It was unnatural.

You leaned against the Slytherin common room wall, waiting for your first class of the day, arms crossed and expression set in your usual neutral state. Your friends called it a "resting bitch face," though you insisted it was just your natural look.

Either way, no one seemed brave enough to bother you this early - except for Theo, of course.

"[name]!" His voice rang out from the entrance, and you groaned internally before turning your head to see him practically bouncing down the stairs, his dark hair flopping slightly as he moved.

“Too early for that much enthusiasm, Theo,” you muttered, but you didn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. He always had that effect on you, no matter how much you tried to resist it.

Theodore didn’t seem fazed. He gave you a wide grin as he plopped down next to you on the stone bench. “It’s never too early! Have you seen outside? It’s perfect weather - I thought we could grab breakfast and maybe sit by the lake before class.”

“Not sure if I’m awake enough for all that,” you grumbled, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself. The dungeons were always too cold in the mornings. “But breakfast doesn’t sound too bad.”

“See? You’re already coming around,” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

It was a running joke between the two of you. Theo was always the optimist, the 'sunshine' that (much to your dismay) seemed hellbent on making you smile. He was one of your closest friends, so you let him get away with it, though you wouldn’t admit how much you enjoyed his company - or how much his smile did things to your heart you didn’t entirely understand yet.

He nudged your arm gently. “I even asked Mattheo to save you a croissant for breakfast. No need to thank me, though I’ll accept compliments.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him out of the common room, the two of you falling into step as you walked through the corridors. It was easy, the way you fit together. Where you were quiet, he filled the silence with his never-ending commentary on whatever came to mind-whether it was about the latest Quidditch scores or some random thing he noticed about the castle.

Today, it was the latter.

“Have you ever noticed how that one portrait near the Great Hall looks like it’s giving people side-eye? I feel rather judged every time I walk by.” he rambled, feigning hurt as he places a hand on his chest.

You snorted, unable to help the laugh that bubbled up. “No, but now I’m definitely going to look for it.”

“See? I’m expanding your horizons,” he said with a satisfied grin.

You shot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking and you’ll lose your seat.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that way that always made your stomach flip. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t there.”

You didn’t respond right away, but he wasn’t wrong.

You didn’t know how to describe the way your friendship with Theo felt like it was standing on the edge of something bigger, something neither of you had quite dared to name.

And maybe you weren’t ready for it just yet. But when he sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed under the table, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

Theodore hummed contentedly as he reached for the little pot of sugar, dumping three heaped teaspoons into his coffee like it was perfectly normal behaviour. The steam rose lazily from the cup, and he stirred it absentmindedly, flashing you that familiar, easy-going smile.

“Have you packed for the astronomy trip tomorrow?” he asked casually, as though he hadn’t just committed a serious coffee crime right in front of you. “Apparently Tromsø is absolutely piss cold at this time of year. Draco was telling me.”

“I’ll help you pack later. Just so you don’t forget something important. Like, I don’t know, an extra jumper for me.”

You shot him a glare. “Sure, Theodore. I’ll just pack your entire wardrobe while I’m at it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking,” he replied, grinning again. “Just the scarf, though. You know, my lucky one.”

You snorted. “That hideous green one? Absolutely not.”

“Blasphemy,” he said dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me, [name].”

“Good,” You deadpan, turning to look at him.

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with something between disbelief and amusement. “God, Theodore-” you chided, pointing at his cup with disgust, “is that not just sugar with a side of coffee?”

"Well someone needs to make up for the clear joy discrepancy in this friendship." He defended, taking a long sip as if to punctuate his point.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smirk creeping onto your face. “Right, because your never-ending cheerfulness is the only thing keeping us all from a dark, miserable existence.”

“Exactly!” he declared, entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m performing a public service, really. One smile at a time.”

There was something ridiculously charming about how he just… didn’t care. Theodore was all lightness and laughter, one could argue too much so for a Slytherin.

“I wouldn’t need to drink quite so much sugar if you’d stop glaring at me like I’ve just murdered a puppy.” he teased, bumping your knee lightly under the table. “Honestly, one of these days I’m going to get you to smile before 10 a.m. Just you wait.”

You scoffed, but the warmth in his tone made it impossible to stay annoyed. “You’d have better luck with a Patronus charm.”

"There's a reason why I'm top of the DADA class" Theodore shot back with a cocky grin.

Despite yourself, you felt the corners of your mouth twitching upward, and before you could stop it, a smile crept across your face. Quickly, you took a sip of your coffee to cover it up, but Theodore noticed.

If you saw the way he looked at you, you'd know he was in love then and there. The way he almost melted into your expression, eyebrows almost furrowing as he looks over at you. Just as he opened his mouth, ready to say something - something he wasn’t even sure he was ready to admit to himself- Pansy’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Well, if it isn’t day and night sitting over here,” she chimed, plopping down next to you with a knowing smirk.

“Merlin’s sake, Theo. You’re going to give yourself diabetes.” Pansy’s voice broke through, dry and unimpressed as ever.

“I reckon the sugar’s the only thing keeping him tolerable,” Mattheo said, slouching into his chair and eyeing Theodore’s cup with disdain. “Otherwise, we'd have to listen to him drone on about defensive spells without end.”

You snorted into your coffee before you could help it, the sound surprising you. You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up, covering your mouth as you shoot Mattheo a glare that was only half-serious. It was loud - unfiltered and genuine, and when you glanced up, you found Theodore staring at you with that easy smile, his eyes warm and a little too soft. Even with Mattheo’s jab at his expense, Theodore couldn’t bring himself to be mad, not when the sound of your laughter was still ringing in his ears.

“Right, like I’d ever come to you for life advice, Mattheo,” Theodore muttered, finally tearing his gaze away from you, though his grin lingered.

Mattheo shrugged lazily. “Probably shouldn't. I’m a terrible influence."

You let the three of them fall into conversation as you zone out, sipping on your coffee. Their chatter faded into the background as your mind wandered, focusing instead on the upcoming trip. The Astronomy class’s trip to Tromsø was all anyone could talk about lately.

And as the pessimist you were, all you could focus on was how damn cold it was going to be.

--

You were right.

It was cold - too damn cold.

As soon as the group stepped off the train in Tromsø, the icy wind cut through your layers like they were made of parchment. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, teeth chattering despite the heavy coat you wore.

"Bloody hell," you muttered under your breath, glancing around at your classmates as they all shivered in the bitter chill. "Why did I think this was a good idea?"

"Because it’s Norway, and we’re going to see the Northern Lights," Pansy answered with a 'that's so obvious' tone, bundling herself up in a fur-lined coat that looked like it cost more than your entire wardrobe.

You shot her a look. “I don’t care if we’re going to see dragons dancing in the sky. It’s fucking freezing.”

Pansy only rolled her eyes, linking arms with Lorenzo as they trudged ahead through the snow-covered streets. The rest of your group followed suit- Draco, Mattheo, Blaise, and, of course, Theodore- who was surprisingly unfazed by the weather, despite the hideous green scarf he insisted on wearing.

By the time you arrived at the lodge where you were all staying, your fingers were numb and your patience thin. The lodge was quaint, wooden, and cosily tucked away at the edge of the forest, the surrounding snow-capped trees giving it a 'hallmark christmas' charm.

You all shuffled into the common room, where the housekeeper with a rather large bushy moustache greeted you with thick blankets and far too much enthusiasm for someone who lived in such a cold climate. Everyone split off to their rooms, getting settled before heading out for the evening’s stargazing expedition - one you had organised amongst yourselves. You were sharing a room with Pansy, while Theodore was bunking with Blaise.

Once you'd unpacked, you met the group downstairs again. The fire crackled in the hearth as the others talked about what to do before heading out for the night.

Theodore appeared by your side, leaning casually against the arm of the sofa you were sitting on. "So," he started, that familiar grin tugging at his lips, "what do you want to do?"

You frowned at him in confusion. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because I want to do whatever you want to do," he replied simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "I don't care. I'll just go along with whatever everyone else is doing."

But Theodore wasn’t having it. "You always say that. C’mon, humor me."

Before you could argue, Mattheo walked past and clapped Theodore on the shoulder. "Come on, Nott, stop making her overthink. Let’s go grab some snacks and freeze our asses off while we wait for the lights," he said, and with that, the group started bundling up again, ready to head out into the freezing night.

--

The sky above was almost too perfect - as though it had been plucked straight from a postcard. It almost compensated for the bone numbing chill, the sight of string-light lit stalls far too pretty to make you feel grumpy.

For a while, though.

You trudged along beside Theodore, bundled in so many layers that it felt like your entire body had been wrapped in blankets. The long puffer jacket you wore reached nearly to your knees, and your scarf-wrapped around your neck at least three times-barely left room for your face to peek through. You couldn't help but grumble to yourself, tugging at the edge of your gloves to make sure no skin was exposed to the biting cold.

Theodore, of course, noticed immediately.

"Merlin's beard, you're waddling," he teased. "If you added another layer, you might not be able to walk at all."

You shot him a glare from under your knitted hat. "I'd rather waddle than freeze to death."

He chuckled, eyes flicking over your bundled-up form with an almost too-pleased look on his face. "I don’t know, it’s kind of cute. You look like a disgruntled penguin."

You snorted, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Glad you're entertained."

"Come on," he coaxed, nudging your arm lightly, "I bet under all those layers, you're secretly enjoying this. You’re just too stubborn to admit it."

"Enjoying this?" you asked incredulously, gesturing to the freezing air and the snow-covered ground beneath your feet. "I’m wearing half my wardrobe just to avoid becoming an icicle."

Theodore shrugged, his easy grin never faltering. "Still cute, though."

"You're insufferable, Nott," you muttered, scowling as you slap his arm.

He grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself for pulling that almost-smile out of you.

"Oi! We're gonna go see if we can get some hot chocolate and blankets before we set up for the evening, You guys just guard our spot before someone else grabs it." Blaise yells from a short distance, and Theodore nods as you groan. You wanted to be in the cosy warm lodge - not out here on an isolated ledge in the middle of god-knows where whist your friend traipse around the quaint markets.

You look up, momentarily stunned as the half sarcastic curses that were about to escape your mouth dry out on your tongue. Ripples of greens and blue entwine, seamlessly dancing through the dark that otherwise shrouded the night-sky. It wasn't magic, only charged particles from the sun colliding with gases in Earth's atmosphere, causing them to emit light in vibrant colors, typically seen near the polar regions (courtesy of muggle book you had read on the journey here) but it was nonetheless enchanting.

Surprisingly, your voice broke the silence. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Theodore nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Yeah… it really is.”

There was a brief silence, and when you glanced over, you found Theodore watching you instead of the sky, his expression soft.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, still smiling. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out how to make you smile.”

You huffed, turning your gaze back to the sky. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I like seeing it,” he said simply, his voice so sincere it made your stomach flip.

You didn’t respond, the weight of his words lingering in the cold air between you. After a moment, he sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “I’ll have to try harder, then.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your tone was more fond than irritated now.

He chuckled, his laugh low and warm. “And you’re stubborn.”

You turned to chastise him, ready with another quip, but the words faltered when you looked up at him. The moonlight caught his features- soft shadows dancing across his sharp jawline, his eyes gleaming with that look that you had seen far too often these past few weeks. His scarf, that hideous green thing, was crooked as always, the ends flapping slightly in the breeze.

Your hands moved instinctively, reaching up to fix it. "This scarf..." you started, your voice trailing off as you focused on straightening it.

Theodore’s gaze never faltered as he watched you, his eyes tracing every detail of your face as if committing it to memory. "You know, I’m not sure if you actually hate the scarf or if it’s just an excuse to keep touching me."

You scowled, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mumbled, but even you could hear the wavering in your voice.

His smile widened, but he didn’t say anything more, just stood there.

Before you knew what you were doing, you tugged him closer by the scarf, pulling him toward you. "This hideous scarf of yours," you muttered under your breath, using it as a flimsy excuse to hide the fact that you were really just closing the gap between you.

Theodore’s eyes flickered down to your lips, his breath fogging in the cold air between you. And then, without another word, you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were testing the waters. But the second his lips moved against yours, something inside you shifted. It was slow, unhurried, his hands gently cradling your face as if he had all the time in the world. The cold air disappeared entirely, replaced by the warmth of his touch, his closeness, and the feeling of him - consuming you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, Theodore’s eyes were still on you, that stupid smile of his making your knees weak.

"You didn’t even fix the scarf," he whispered, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, but you couldn’t fight the grin that broke through. "Shut up."

But Theodore only laughed, leaning in again to steal another kiss.

Your gloved hands came up, fisting the thick wool of his jacket as you-

“Finally!” Pansy’s dry tone rang out, followed by the sound of scattered applause.

You and Theodore broke apart, startled, only to find the rest of your group approaching, grinning like idiots.

“What the-?” you began, but Blaise interrupted, holding up a handful of galleons.

“We made a bet on how long it’d take for you two to finally snog," he said with a grin, pocketing the winnings. "I was getting worried."

Your face burned, and your grumpy demeanor returned in full force as you glared at them all. "I hate every single one of you."

But before you could storm off, Theodore just chuckled, pulling you into his side with a warmth that made it hard to stay annoyed. "Don’t worry," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, "they’re just jealous."

Grumbling under your breath, you leaned into him as the group settled down.

Perhaps it wasn't all too bad.

[newx-menfan]

NYX # 1 Review

*Spoilers!*

After weeks of waiting, spoilers, comic leaks , and “The Krakoan’s” identity being very brutally obvious…it’s FINALLY HERE guys! The CLOSEST we will probably EVER get the a NXM book!! JK!!😆

The issue starts with Kamala monologuing about her recent acceptance to an after school program in NY to Bruno, who is currently in Amsterdam. (I’ll fully forewarn everyone and be transparent that I only read Kamala when G Willow Wilson was writing the book 😬…so Kamala fans MAY need to help me out a bit, lol) 

Kamala literally runs into Sophie and they go to Prodigy’s lecture…(no offense to Prodigy…but Sofia’s a bit right…the lecture COULD use a little more finessing, lol…)

Sophie gives him shit and Kamala realizes she’s friends with the “cool kids” now, who pointedly go out of their way to embarrass and humiliate their teachers (not that Bruno or Miles isn’t cool, Kamala…)

It’s interesting that in some ways DAVID is going the academic, “through proper channels” route…but it also makes sense considering some of his characterization during NXM: AX…(and why a certain character is the PERFECT FOIL for him, in this storyline!…)

David- who, while calling out characters like Josh…was also a bit of a “rule follower” in a way that certain OTHER characters DEFINITELY weren’t…

Any, Sophie convinces Kamala to go clubbing with her and they run into Anole bartending. Anole gets accosted by some patrons screaming about a mutant “terrorist”. (Also…I really LOVE Sophie swearing all the time 😂🤣…I guess her polite way of sassing has changed after “Riot at Xavier’s” and being dead lol)

Kamala and Sophie get kicked out of the club while defending Anole (I guess they’re not having a “brat” summer….☹️). Kamala then dons her Ms Marvel suit and calls David…sorry… Professor Alleyne… to help unlock a phone (the interaction IS super adorable!) and we learn that the guys at the club are committing crimes and pinning it on mutants. (Or so it would SEEM! Foreshadowing!!)

While on the phone, Laura attacks and brakes Kamala’s phone, because Laura is kind of a dick, telling her she’s chasing “ghosts”. (This is why Laura doesn’t have consistent friends guys 😒🤣)

Laura’s characterization…isn’t great… (Laura you were LITERALLY ON a teen X-Men group…you LOST the right to call anyone “kids”!)

Kamala then tells Laura she needs to get a life (which is kind of TRUE…). 

FINALLY…after all the filler…we get to the STAR!…who people have been desperately WAITING FOR…

KRAKELLION! (Sorry @ thestomping-ground …but I’m stealing the name because “the Krakoan” sounds terrible lol)

In one of the COOLEST, MOST AWESOME panels ever (I am really NOT biased)…Krakellion ARISES…ready to enact revenge on the FLATSCANS!!

In HANDS DOWN, ONE OF THE BEST SCENERY CHEWING MONOLOGUES EVER WRITTEN (told you, I’m not biased!), Hellion more or less just calls into question Kamala’s movie to comic book mandated retcon… (Feel like he should have leaned more into the “Emma/Ms Marvel call out of 2006”…but I am not judging, Hellion…)

Kamala then saves the helpless flatscans on the subway- but is then forced to reckon with the fact that humans will ONLY support her because they don’t know she’s a mutant. The minute she’s outed- that hero worship will ultimately go away. ☹️

Kamala then meets up with Sophie and they talk and have coffee (Wait a minute… Kamala is an inhuman too? I thought that couldn’t happen and that’s why Quicksilver had such an identity crisis while married to Crystal??…I told you guys I’m kind of out of the loop on Schrödinger's newest mutant/inhuman…🐈‍⬛😬😂🤣); Kamala also having a mutant friend is adorable…

We transition to the Krakellion walking in some shadowy penthouse, giving Empath shit on the telecom (Brownoses shouldn’t throw stones, Empath! Also Hellion did LOTS of COOL stuff in NXM, OkAy Empath?!) and we see the new….Hellfire Club?…Hellions?…Council??…. Hopefully that gets cleared up in the next issue….

(Also…I bet you 100 bucks Empath FORCED Hellion to drop the name “Hellion” because he couldn’t stand being “Hellion and the Hellions” to Julian lol- Not Julian’s fault he picked the superior name! 😂🤣🤣)

(Also- can anyone tell me what the QR code is- it won’t scan on Kindle and I am waiting on my paper copies ☹️)

Review:

Obviously… I am biased; but this has been one of the few X-books I have been excited about in a while! 

I know people LOVED “Krakoa era” X-Men… but I am personally happy to see return to a more “Astonishing/Mutant Town/Morrison X-Men” type of story.

I am also happy to see a return to a more “Tom Taylor/Tamaki” street level Laura; as much as I whined about Taylor’s representation in the past… Laura really does work better when she’s more low key…

After years of sitting through “Wolverine and the X-Men” style books…it’s nice to see characters like Prodigy or Hellion being treated AS ADULTS and with narrative care.

The writing is fine; there are moments where I think it could be tighter, but I do think it definitely has its moments and will definitely get better as the writing team goes on and gets more used to the characters voices.

I KNOW people are going to complain that this seems more like a stealth Kamala solo…and while I DO think there’s some validity to that argument (it’s focus is DEFINITELY on Kamala and getting stubborn “Inhuman fans” like me to accept her as a mutant….); I am mostly fine with it, since that seems to be what it takes for fans to get a “New X-Men: Academy X” book.

The biggest complaint I have is unsurprisingly Laura- we’re still sadly in the “Talon-esque”/ “Laura written as Wolverine” representation. Hopefully this gets better the more they feature her…but I do fear this era

will be very disappointing for Laura fans (I haven’t heard much about the Gabby/Laura mini either!)….

Question/Theories:

More and more I am thinking Laura and Julian are in cahoots- possibly Laura didn’t want Kamala involved because of her emotional connection with Julian…. It may just be that she wants to try and reform him; to give him the same chance he gave her…but I think more than likely she’s using Julian to spy on Empath. (Also because I can’t envision Manuel and Julian standing each other for more than five minutes lol)

Is Tag helping Hellion? I feel like Tag SHOULD be helping him, since they’re bros and Tag literally got blown up in a school bus… (Also his powers are cool…)

The BIGGEST question is- Is Hellion blasting “brat” through AirPods under that helmet? Is he having a “brat summer”? Is “Mean Girls” his favorite song? …(someone needs to make a “Hellion/brat YouTube fan vid” like they used to in the 2000’s 😂🤣… @romulanslutempire …?)

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

The Pixar shift saga continued:

All over twitter and even BlueSky, I see it, and it's quite something. Hell, people I know who barely ever talk about animation, or film or pop culture for that matter, are talking about it... Animators, artists, filmmakers, critics... All calling it out.

Namely, Pixar CCO Pete Docter's words on having Pixar - at the behest of Disney executives - move away from telling "autobiographical" stories, making films that are personal to their respective filmmakers... Hollow, corporate words that I bet he was "supposed" to say.

The backlash is almost feverish. To the point where some are reading it as Pixar catering to white people only, given that two of those "autobiographical" films are... Let's see... TURNING RED, directed by Chinese-Canadian Domee Shi, and ELEMENTAL, directed by Korean-American Peter Sohn. SOUL as well, Docter's latest directorial endeavor, which was co-directed/written by Kemp Powers. Whether the intent is "no more autobiographical/personal stories" or "no more stories told from different cultural backgrounds", the pull quote is still NOT a good look. Hell, I'd say this looks worse than the time John Lasseter fired Brenda Chapman off of BRAVE.

And I wonder if this quote, otherwise tucked away on some cynical Bloomberg article whose writer feels that sequels will "restore Pixar's magic", getting all this scrutiny online possibly leads to... Pipe dream... A clarification at the very least? Some kind of backtracking?

Look I'm no dummy, corporations are gonna corporation. I'm pretty sure if Disney overlords are mandating it, it's gonna happen either way. Bob Iger's whole deal, after taking back the reigns from Bob Chapek (who he appointed in the first place), is this need to make the films "better". And that means interfering with the filmmakers instead of considering every other variable: High budgets, competition, a much different marketplace, how COVID wrecked everything and accelerating long-gestating problems in the industry, etc.

But the statements didn't go unnoticed, and there's some hot water brewing. Maybe an animation news site, particularly one that practically THRIVES off of this kind of drama, amplifies it. And maybe, just maybe... A little controversy erupts over it? Part of me feels that this won't go unnoticed, it already hasn't in some circles. Twitter and BlueSky and such are not real life, but I think the eruption over this quote speaks volumes. Pixar is often associated with original storytelling that's often from the filmmakers' passions and hearts, and to hear Docter essentially say "We're not going to do that anymore" has been a shock to many, myself included.

And again, if you've read my previous rants on this, I don't blame Docter. I think he's merely just saying what Iger's cronies want him to say. He said something similar a year ago after ELEMENTAL was released:

"I always felt that ELEMENTAL would speak to a lot of people, and I'm so happy it has... But we have also taken another look at the projects we're working on now. What are the kinds of films we want to be making? I really think I want to double down on what allowed us to speak to audiences to begin with."

This quote, from October of last year, went relatively unnoticed. This seems to put it into perspective better, even if it's a little more vague. This sounds more "let's play up certain commercial elements" and not "squash out the personal stuff".

I don't mind a compromise where an artistic vision shares the 90 minutes with what the bean counters call "general appeal" or whatever. Often times, that's just how the sausage is even made in animation-land, even if it makes for results we might not always like. That's literally the entirety of Disney Animation's output from the mid-'90s up until the mid-'00s. Films like HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME had things like the silly gargoyles and fart jokes, yet they were still allowed to have some really great stuff in them and really cool filmmaking that young animation fans marvel at today. It's even a thing in the praised '10s movies, too. And a lot of the non-Disneys, too. NIMONA, for example. Take away the punk edge and LGBTQIA+ perspective, and it's quite similar to a lot of Western animated movies, particularly the "mild-mannered character gets saddled with the funny and unpredictable sidekick" thing with Ballister and Nimona, and that end-of-2nd-act breakup.

Outside of the SPIDER-VERSE movies and maybe PUSS IN BOOTS 2, it's typically imperfect in the American feature animation circuit. There's almost always behind the scenes battles and compromising, and ultimately, I'm happy if we still get a film that looks like something the filmmakers had a great time making and were able to work around certain notes/mandates/etc.

This is merely speculation on my part, but what matters is that the quote that's under fire is recent. Like, days ago recent. And I wonder what'll happen from here... Things go as Iger wants them to go? Or some kind of attempt at correction?

[aeolianblues]

Been a little 'in the public eye' if you can call it that, in a musical context in the last few days, and as a result of that and being young, a lot of people have been asking me how I discover new music, and that's an excellent question that just becomes trickier as the age range of my questioners changes. I do have multiple sources, some of which are more analogue than others, while some are purely digital. And I do recognise that it's tricky to even keep up with some of these methods: I don't know if I can feasibly tell a 60 year old that five of the artists I played on my last show were bands I found through Instagram and gave a chance to. I can't tell a busy person to read through DIY or Dork Magazine. Bandcamp deep diving also takes its time. I know people that would scoff at the idea of taking an algorithmically recommended band from Spotify or YouTube. Picking up names from the lineups of showcase festivals (which are specifically for emerging artists) is a Task, especially since when artists are smaller, there's less available out there on them. I can't just tell them to listen to BBC 6 Music. I love 6 Music, but they're not going to tell me about the new Canadian artists who literally are touring our country and stopping by our venues. The CBC doesn't serve its mandate in that regards at all.

All this tells me if that there is certainly still a hunger for new music, and a need for someone to present it to people in a way that helps them make sense of all the noise. The over 40s are not going to comb through Tiktok's latest shoegaze revival. Radio should still play a massive, massive role in the music industry, and it's a shame that most people won't know it's out there when they really want it. Commercial radio serves advertiser interests, not that of music fans. Unfortunately that's what most people think radio is at all.

People have got to rediscover their local independent stations, whose curators are only driven by a love for exciting new sounds and acts they've found. Obviously because they don't rely on sponsors like that, they're basically always in need of donations and on the precipice, but we have ways of helping that out. The biggest perhaps is just actually listening to them, and letting people know that they're important. To you, to your friends, to the music community. When campus stations and other independent art initiatives apply for grants and funding from art councils, the work that we're doing and its impact on, and our involvement in the community is a big factor in whether we get funding or not.

I don't quite know what the 'call to action' on this post is, I'm genuinely just thinking out loud since I've been talking to people who showed up at these festival gigs drawn by a headliner but impressed by the openers and wanting to know more new bands! All I can say is show up for openers, stay tuned to the avenues bringing up new music, and spread the word about them! Music isn't dead, not yet ;)

[ironunderstands]

Can I thank you for creating that post regarding Jade? Because that's exactly how I felt whenever I see people acting like I'm some type of misogynistic hypocrite for feeling sus about her.

"Jade didn't do anything wrong", "You're a misogynist if you don't like women with personality or hobbies", or something similar.

Listen, I like Jade's design and I'm interested to see more of her. But GOOD GOD, people! She ain't a saint or an angel.

I can go on forever about how many times I've seen people get called misogynistic for not liking or straight-up hating female characters but I'd rather not waste any more of your time.

You’re welcome, honestly I was fed up of all the absolutely braindead posts like that about her 😭

I feel the exact same way about her as you do, she fascinates me, and I like her design and kit, but in no way shape or form am I gonna pretend like she’s a good person.

Also you’re not wasting my time, I have my asks open for a reason, and if I’m being honest yeah, it is a problem in fandom culture to ascribe every single negative or even neutral opinion about a female character as misogyny. It’s especially annoying when people complain about people “not focusing on female characters” and then proceeding to never make posts about them themselves.

Like oh my god if you want to see actual in depth content of female characters, MAKE IT. Complaining isn’t going to manifest it into existence, and there are plenty of people who do actually make analysis and think posts about the women you like, it’s just you don’t look for it hard enough. Honestly I genuinely don’t know what’s stopping these people from making their own posts, as they clearly have ideas and good reasons for why they like these characters, so ??? Is it laziness, do they expect the people who make posts about men to make government mandated posts about women every now and then, do they expect people to tweet for them?

There are so many interesting women I can go on and on about in Genshin and HSR, but it seems like a majority their fans are people who don’t really appreciate them, and just expect other people to talk about why they are amazing for them.

I know it sounds egotistical, but god I wish more people in fandom were like me. I don’t see enough Acheron posts talking about her character? I��m going to make them. I don’t see enough Topaz posts talking about how compelling she is or her potential? I’m going to make them (I’m gonna start the one on Topaz today actually!)

If you want people in fandom to actually start appreciating women, then that starts with you, and if everyone expects it to magically manifest, it’s never gonna happen. So make your analysis and appreciation posts, because a lot of people want to read them :) (and even if they don’t, make it for yourself!)

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-10-28

Back in the saddle

Listening: Went to a show at DNA Lounge, the nightclub run by James Zawinski of Netscape and Firefox and Xscreensaver fame. Small show, thursday night deal, but pretty good. Main event was I Speak Machine.

Good show! Lots of screechy unnerving sounds, and a really well choreographed stage performance that pairs with replays of the music videos very precisely that was impressive to watch.

Reading: About halfway through The city and the city which is extremely funny in a very dark way. What do you do about border control when two cities exist in the same space, do you simply give up and allow people to mix freely? No, that's insane, you enforce rigid customs and laws to prevent the mixing of two spatially colocated populations from different countries. Duh. I should read more Mieville.

Watching: Watched Solo: A Star Wars Story on the plane mostly to pad out the front half of a flight until my scheduled sleep time. It's not a good movie! Every other line feels like a pick-up mandated by an anxious marketing team who were worried someone might not understand what's going on. Near constantly explaining the blatantly obvious.

Look. Okay. Han Solo can be an interesting guy. He is a scoundrel with a heart of gold which is a great archetype to play. They decide to play this bizarrely.

I cut the weird style some slack. Much like Rogue One, they were trying to see what happens if you make a movie that isn't a samurai movie in the Star Wars universe, in this case this is a sort of war refugee/insurgency/espionage deal. I think that's interesting. The imperial trench warfare raises patently unanswerable questions about the state of the imperial military. Making Han an ex-Imperial soldier could be more interesting if they played into it at all but they don't. Which is stupid. They have Qi'ra taking up with Crimson Dawn which is a great parallel! It writes itself!

In a great example of not trusting the audience the final-ish scene features Qi'ra talking to Darth Maul, the most recognizable motherfucker in the Star Wars Universe and they have him deploy his lightsaber for no fucking reason JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN'T GET IT IT'S DARTH MAUL YOU KNOW THE GUY FROM PHANTOM MENACE? WITH THE DUAL LIGHTSABER? IT'S THAT GUY. They should have saved some time by providing ushers in the theaters with physical copies of the script so that they could individually beat moviegoers over the head with them.

Playing: Gave my partner a brief tour of the games library while they were hanging out which ended in us playing Drink More Glurp together, which is a fantastic party game, gotta organize that with my friends sometime. If you haven't played Glurp, it's a QWOP-like party game where you play various chopped-and-screwed sports events as aliens with two huge arms and a freespinning body where each stick on a controller controls one arm. Watch this LRR stream to see it in action.

Making: Busy with some printing designs but they are not yet realized. Also I have other things to do including Diwali foods. Technically the timeline is really tight but no one else knows when Diwali is so I can do whatever I want.

Tools and Equipment: A coat with a lot of pockets plus a window seat on a plane means you can use the coat hook on the seat in front of you to stash a large number of readily accessible items in a convenient way without really inconveniencing anyone if you plan this out correctly.

[pumpkincentaur]

“Born with the power to mold the flesh of living things both human and animal,” HELLO THERE

That sounds super cool, so how about #15 to give you an opportunity to talk more about Sevka? 👀

Ahhh, thank you! Sevka is a pretty cool character, imho... this is long so I'm putting it under a read more.

She's a study in contradictions, for sure. Her magical ability is incredibly powerful, and she can eventually shred whole legions of troops at a decent distance, though not without effort. She can also use her abilities to heal wounds, cure illnesses, and even regenerate missing body parts--though, unfortunately, due to the circumstances of the story, she doesn't really end up being used to do that.

There's some worldbuilding context needed here--in The Lady Dressed in Blood, mages (known in-world as Astari) within the setting (the Alabaster Imperium) are considered by law and divine right to be the personal property of the ruling emperor, and are kept in sanctums scattered across the realm to serve at the emperor's discretion. Religiously speaking, the souls of the Astari are considered tainted, and barred from reincarnation after death, instead disappearing into nothingness to be devoured by the one responsible for their existence in the first place--kind of an original sin sort of thing.

Sevka was born an Astari. Sevka's mother, an Astari herself, died birthing her, but before she died, laid a curse on Sevka that prevented her from leaving the village she was born in. As a result, Sevka has spent her entire life hiding her magical abilities, trapped and unable to surrender herself to the sanctums as the law mandates, convinced her very soul is forfeit because of the way she was born. Sevka is a very religious person. And a very screwed-up person. Her circumstances, though, would screw anyone up.

Her entire life up until the beginning of TLDIB has kind of been a dance along a razor's edge. She's trained as a healer in the mundane, herbs-and-poultices sense, but also has the ability to heal with magic. She works as a healer in her isolated village, and has spent the years since her mentor died balancing her desire to help others with her need to survive--using her powers on some while letting others die in an attempt not to blow her cover. She has a LOT of guilt about this, but has justified it to herself with the reasoning that more people would end up dying if she wound up executed for being an Astari, because there are no other healers in her village. She has a weird utilitarian sense of ethics that she's kind of been forced to adopt to prevent herself from breaking under the strain of the balancing act that is her life.

Then her village is sacked by an enemy nation's army. Sevka is the sole survivor, and awakens the much more dangerous side of her powers as a result, and shortly after is captured and brought to the sanctum at the heart of the emperor's palace. There, she goes from healer to magical soldier in the emperor's army.

Her whole life spent trying not to hurt people, or to hurt people as little as possible while still eking out her own survival, only to become an instrument of conquest and mass destruction? That would make anyone want to go absolutely batshit.

And she does. It does not go well.

Sevka is a character who has never known any freedom, has had to make some absolutely brutal decisions to survive, and has been raised to believe that on a very real, not-just-metaphysical level, she is an irredeemable monster and her very soul is rotten.

When someone like that has a moment of weakness during the worst thing that's ever happened to them up until this point, and unleashes the thing they've been sitting on top of their whole life? The thing they've always known they could do, the power inside them that is so wantonly destructive that they're more afraid of it than anything else in the world? It's not going to go well.

When a colonial, conquering absolute-monarchist government shows up and decides to make that person its superweapon, that's not going to go well either.

[granulesofsand]

Satanic Panic

I saw a post about Satanic Panic, so I felt the need to write an overview of what actually happened for those who don’t know.

What is Satanic Panic?

Satanic Panic can be viewed as either part of the Memory Wars or as an entirely separate entity. If viewed as aligned with the False Memory movement, it might be seen as proof of False Memories and a near complete lack of the existence of ritual abuse. The other takes Satanic Panic as still harmful, but removes the blame from those claiming to have experienced it.

I believe that a crucial part of enabling healing is giving survivors the benefit of the doubt. People who are speaking out about abuse might be doing so for the first time, and are particularly vulnerable to disbelief even if they have told their story before. Talking about maltreatment takes a lot of courage, especially when a stigma already exists around the topic.

Fundie Satanism

That said, the Satanic Panic was weaponized by Christian groups expecting to gain power from it. Some genuinely believed Satanic Ritual Abuse was a primary concern, others knew it was only a face for the politics.

Fundamentalist groups wanted to have the kind of attention they were no longer getting, and the instatement of mandated reporter laws and influx of unsupervised children gave them a fighting cause. They saw that child abuse was becoming popular in media, and they used it as leverage to frighten well-meaning folks into their way of thinking.

Satanic was the word for non-Christian, and Christians were quick to disown anything that hinted at rot within their own organization. Christianity was still popular, and nobody wanted to believe they could be involved with a group that caused harm. So they took any religious abuse, and some non-religious abuses, and slapped Satanic on it.

Satanic Ritual Abuse

Ritual abuse refers to maltreatment that is both standardized and associated with symbols or ideologies. At the time, many kinds of organized (involving multiple perpetrators and victims) and/or coercive (intentionally manipulative) abuse were grouped under that name. Extreme abuse was also called ritual abuse, and we still don’t have a solid definition for that one.

Given that all ritual abuse would have been considered Satanic, fundies basically screwed over anyone who was abused in this specific way. Ritual abuse as we know it now did and does happen. An abuser doesn’t have to believe in their symbolism or ideology to misuse it, and many forms of religion and other structured beliefs can be applied to hurt and intimidate people.

RAMCOA

Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, and Organized Abuse are grouped together under a metric ton of buzz words. The survivors of this collection of abuses are left with research that is out of date, chock full of misinformation, and unable to communicate with people outside of the community.

I know the words are conspiratorial. I get that the books have fear-mongering content. I need people to understand that there is no better option, and pretending bad things don’t happen doesn’t make them go away.

Government Mind Control

Mind control is manipulation with intent. Coercion. Using psychology to get your way. Implanting false memories would be mind control. Again, it doesn’t sound good because cultural contexts have evolved over time and clinical language for this kind of abuse has not. Not all mind control is abusive at all. McDonald’s using targeted ads is mind control. But also training children like dogs is mind control.

There have been government-sponsored projects on mind control. There probably still are. Governments do sketchy things like that for military advancement and because they don’t face consequences, and there was a time where government employees admitted to it. Similar to McDonald’s and their hot coffee campaign, there were some strategic moves to look better to newcomers.

The government has sponsored lots of things they don’t want to acknowledge, and people are still suffering the effects. People in poverty, black and brown communities, and so on can probably agree that government is not synonymous with benevolent.

One of the things the government did was talk to criminal organizations. I don’t know if this is news to anyone, but it was a good way to get information and resources. There were wartime experiments on drugs and interrogation, and those were mind control.

Enough survivors agree about their experiences that it doesn’t seem worthwhile to dismiss them, so until there’s better information we would do well to try to understand them. You don’t have to agree full heartedly to sit with people in their own stories.

Cult Mind Control

I would describe a cult as any group that uses unhealthy practices as a defining feature of their cultural norms. Not everyone agrees on what is or isn’t a cult, and that mostly fine. This is the definition I’m using because it makes the most sense to me in context.

Cults members are not the only ones to use or receive mind control tactics, but the post I saw mentions cults this way. The specific technique is called Trauma Based Mind Control, which is the application of psychological responses to danger and overwhelm for the purposes of an abuser.

TBMC is the primary method for what the RAMCOA survivor community calls programming. Programming is the use of cues associated with PTSD triggers to achieve a desired response in a subject. When programming is done to a small child (under age 6-12, depending on the source), a common response is Dissociative Identity Disorder.

HC-DID

Abusers create alternate self-states within one body to react to the cues given. Depending on how knowledgeable the perpetrator(s) is/are, a child might have a very structured system of alters with little control allocated to them. These systems are designed by and for abusers to create long term obedient subjects.

Not every DID system is formed this way. Most are naturally developed with the induction of trauma in a child’s life. Some organic systems have complex structures anyway, but not for anyone but themselves. These systems are polyfragmented, or C-DID systems.

The level of control and organization found within a programmed system is almost always more than those found in organic systems. In the RAMCOA community, this is called HC-DID. The key difference isn’t true complexity, but the type of prerequisites to qualify.

Highly Complex DID isn’t particularly difficult to groom in a child, but it does require intent. Cult groups, as well as other high control groups, are quite capable of figuring it out by sheer cruelty and observation.

Why Does It Matter?

Making blanket statements about what abuse is and isn’t real doesn’t actually help anyone. While people prone to worry who didn’t experience RAMCOA might feel temporarily safer, it’s likely they’ll figure out they were lied to.

People who did experience it struggle with doubt and disbelief from others, and may have been told that nobody would care. This field is still considered taboo, and there are victims of torture and adjacent who are ashamed or afraid because of the state of the larger population.

I survived RAMCOA. My family and friends survived RAMCOA. Not all of my friends survived RAMCOA. Watch yourself.

[cleo-fox]

The “When Are You Updating?” Ask

I should say up front that this isn’t in response to anything I received. This topic came up in a Discord server that I’m in and another friend of mine got a similar ask shortly after.

I’ve alluded to the fact that this Tumblr isn’t my first account and that I’ve written for other fandoms previously. What I haven’t talked about is why I’m taking an extended hiatus from that fandom or why the majority of my work in this one has been one shots.

Historically, I’ve been a long fic writer. On my other pen name, I posted a long fic that had a fairly decent following in that particular corner of fandom. I’m a slow writer under normal circumstances but when the pandemic hit, I started having more trouble writing and my updates slowed a lot. I worked in a public facing role and the stress I was experiencing was unlike anything I’d ever dealt with before. About a year into the pandemic, I got pregnant.

To sum it up: I was pregnant, which put me at a higher risk for developing complications from Covid. I was working in a public facing role, which increased my risk of catching Covid and had the added factor of people being aggressive about not complying with mask mandates. Because of my pregnancy, I was not able to take critical medications, which then negatively affected my focus and energy levels. I was dealing with other chronic illnesses that were exacerbated or changed by pregnancy, as well as the physical symptoms of pregnancy itself. Then there was also the delivery, which had complications, as well as adjusting to life with a newborn and then going back to work.

I was upfront about all of this. I said that my fics weren’t abandoned, but that I didn’t know when the next update would be because I was dealing with a lot.

I still got asks asking why hadn’t I updated yet.

I knew that these asks came from a good, well-intentioned place. I loved that people were so excited about my writing that they wanted to read more. I loved that they cared so deeply about my characters. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful for their enthusiasm or their support, nor did I want to initiate a pile on with a snarky reply or make someone feel bad for asking a genuine question. I often struggled with how to word my replies, to find a way to be grateful for their enthusiasm while also reiterating that I had a lot on my plate and that I would write more someday, but that I didn’t know when someday was.

It didn’t seem to matter, though. No matter how many times I said the same thing, the asks still kept coming. The worst ones were the ones that scolded me for taking so long because the sender didn’t know how long they would be in this fandom or the ones that included the phrase “I know you had a baby but…” Those hurt. Those made me feel like people saw me as a content creation machine and not like a person.

Eventually, this started to negatively impact my desire to interact with that community, as well as my desire to write that story. When you log in and you know that there’s a good chance your inbox is going to have one of those notes, it’s hard to feel enthusiastic about logging in at all.

So I decided that I needed to take a break. I still check that pen name every so often and I still intend to finish those other fics, but I need some time. This pen name was created out of a desire to give myself the space to write on my own terms, and I’m grateful for all the people here who have let me do that.

And honestly? If you want a writer to update, it is far, far more effective to talk about what you love about their fic. There are so many times when I’ve been pulled out of a writing slump by a comment or reblog where someone talked about what they enjoyed about my fic. That kind of engagement is more motivating than a request for an update could ever be.

There’s that one post going around with the compilation of crazy AO3 author’s notes—the ones that are like “sorry this chapter is a day late, I spent the night in federal prison lmao.” It’s a great post and I love that there are people like that. I admire people who can create art despite their circumstances. But for every writer like that, there’s someone like me who’s going through some shit and doesn’t have the time or energy to write the same way that she does when things are going okay. I wish people would remember that.

TLDR: be kind.

[rexcaliburechoes]

“fight by your side” vs “i will lay my life down for you” // the diamant-sertation series

my partner (@asylumdream) said, “so, you’re writing a diamant-sertation“ when i said i was “writing another diamant dissertation“ since talking about engage localisation funnies triggered this conversation.

@successeurdiamant i’m gonna move the convo over here since this might be a long post and i’d rather not clog a post with character dissertations, lmao (any other ppl in the diamant tumblr zone do feel free to add onto this post too, though! the more the merrier!)

“fight by your side“ and “i will lay my life down for you“ both have two distinct feelings and i love them both because of both of the feelings they convey and how they both relate to diamant’s character.

to my personal taste, i really love “i will lay my life down for you“ mainly because it plays on his sense of devotion and how he’s hellbent on giving all of himself to his country, to ending the way, to alear... because he would, and he does. i wouldn’t know about how his character behaves specifically in the jp version (since i don’t speak japanese, and from what it sounds like is that he’s still relatively the same, if not tonally different because of line changes), but we know that he is a perfectionist and holds a lot of guilt based on if you let him or alcryst kill morion.

what kind of brother is he to let his brother fill in for his weakness? what kind of son kills his father? alcryst outright says that it’s a burden that is too heavy for him to bear (so he shall do it instead), but imagine how heavy the other burden is, to be helpless in helping the ones you hold most dear? he’s still his brother’s brother, after all. alcryst also states in ch15 that he’s worried for diamant’s mental state because he keep bottling his emotions.

diamant... there’s some (a lot of) brodian stubbornness in there. it’s the sheer devotion, come hell or high water, in sickness and in heath, and all of that- it’s his need to see everything through. what kind of king is he is he does not? he wants peace, and he’ll devote himself to that peace. he wants the one he loves to be safe, so he’ll devote himself to that, too. (this kind of devotion is actually what’s all over alear and marth’s dynamic. there is so much subtextual devotion from one to the other, it hurts. marth was, in fact, the one watching over alear the entire time, after all. but i digress; this is a diamant/dialear post, not a marth/alear post)

the thing is, though, it’s not exactly his life to give, now is it? his life, first and foremost, must prioritise his people above all. he has to be the the pillar of strength and the perfect, flawless diamond that everyone perceives him as. there’s his relationship with ivy and how brodia has hurt elusia over, and over, and over again and how elusians are taught to be scared of brodian armour. he’s the one only one that can make it right. that’s his job as king, after all. his life for his people. always.

in fact, perhaps giving his life to one person, the person he loves most, is a reclamation of his life. he cannot give his life to one person, for his kingdom mandates him to give himself wholly to the greater good. but perhaps, in another life, he could do so without fear of flaw or failure.

as an aside: now’s the perfect time to plug in and propose “shinunoga e-wa“ for diamant and alear’s relationship (i’d talked about it a little here but nothing in depth) because doesn’t “i want you to be my end. if it meant saying goodbye to you, i’d rather die“. fujii kaze has also said that the lyrics are on the old fashioned side, and historically, when “i love you“ gets translated from other languages into japanese, some equivalent similar to “i could die for you“ or “the moon is beautiful because of you“ is used because of the cultural context behind it. (i cannot believe this has come back to grace me with its presence.)

now... after some mulling it over, “i’ll fight by your side“ also carries a similar sort of intimacy... but different. it doesn’t have the same gravity that “i would lay my life on the line for you“ has, but it’s sweeter. softer. understanding that his life is not his to give and thus, he has no right to give it to someone whom of which it does not belong to (ironically, however, he gives his life to the state, but that’s out of duty and not out of emotional intimacy).

but this doesn’t make it bad. no, far from it, actually.

you see... “i’ll fight by your side“ very strongly reminds me of this confession:

“you are the wind at my back, and the sword at my side. together, my love, we shall build a peaceful world, just you and me.“

sound familiar? it’s chrom’s s-support cg dialogue, and i think it conveys the same exact thing that diamant tries to convey in his english s support. chrom has always viewed robin as his equal, and in terns of feh canon, his “other half“ (no, i’m not lying about that. chrobin is practically canon confirmed, especially with its inclusion of chrom and robin as the emblem of bonds). he loves robin- platonically, romantically, or even a secret third thing. friends are not lesser than romantic partners, after all.

but diamant... diamant views alear as close, just as close. maybe not as an equal like chrom and robin (who is he to consider the divine one an equal? he’s just the king of brodia, and alear is the monarch dragon of lythos. they’re god, effectively. to be equal to a god... or to drag a god down to his standing... it doesn’t sit well with him), but definitely with the level of understanding that goes beyond a commander and a subordinate, or a king and a god. they’re friends. they love each other, romantically, platonically, or even a secret third thing.

[utilitycaster]

I’d been wondering if you were going to listen to the Behind the Screens episode! As someone who was likewise put off by people’s “promotion” of that system, I appreciated hearing about it from trusted actual-players who were new to the mechanics as well.

That said, was there a specific mechanic that you didn’t gel with based on the podcast? Or is it just that the episode didn’t do enough to get you past the vibes you were already picking up from the game?

Sure! There were a few things that I'll cover below as specifics, but I think the biggest takeaway overall I have, as D&D player and a DM, is that it feels like D&D places the largest burden on the DM, and Pathfinder places it far more on the players. Which isn't good or bad, but I think, especially in terms of accessibility, placing the burden of crunch onto the person who says "yes, I like the crunch" instead of on your friend who wants to pretend to be Aragorn for a couple hours a week, makes far more sense. Murph actually says in the episode that 5e was optimized for simplicity, and PF2e for consistency, and I think he's right, and I happen to strongly prefer simplicity in this context.

I also say this as a crunchy person, but you know the D20 bit where Ross Bryant talks about TTRPGs and is like "Come to a world of fantasy...after you fill out your taxes"? The complexity of character creation comes with benefits and drawbacks. The way I described it to someone else is that in my first job, my role involved liaising between our software developers and our end users, and sometimes, software developers were like "this is so intuitive!" and the end users were like "what the hell is this." Pathfinder feels like game designers made the game they wanted to play, and that is great...if you are a game designer. Many people are not. Honestly, that's the biggest takeaway, actually. Pathfinder feels like it was made by game designers or software programmers or some other group of people who are very smart experts in something and don't necessarily know how to like, engage with the layperson in a meaningful way. (I also suspect this is why the fan community is afflicted with similar conditions.)

Specific things I wasn't a fan of:

The three-action economy sounds...ok in theory, but my hunch is it gets rough in practice. Like, it's great you have more room to allow failure of one action on a turn without everything failing, but have you ever been playing D&D and someone takes forever to decide what to do? multiply that by 3. I get wanting to foster creativity and cool moves, but it feels oddly mandated, and you are actively punished for just wanting to hit it three times, which is the main joy of having a sword. Also I checked out the SRD for more information and not only is this a LOT to learn, the mere act of concentrating on a spell takes two actions. Which brings me to the next part:

Emily Axford, who I trust on mechanics, and who was doing a very good job to be as positive and welcoming with a system she does not know as she could, was like "seems like it's not great for casters", and well, yeah. I get where they're coming from, because it is true that at L20 in D&D, a cleric can make god grant boons and a fighter can hit dragon with sword 4-5 times, sometimes 8-9 times. However, you do become a wizard because you want to see through reality, and you become a fighter because you want to swing a sword a lot. Anyway, point being, as a caster main, this is not appealing to me.

I never really got mad that a nat 20 dex save on fireball means you still take half damage, so the critical success/critical fail on saves is like. It's fine. I don't really feel strongly about it, but it doesn't feel like a cool selling point to me either. It's also like...if you really love this, it's very easy to throw into your home D&D game without having to take the rest of Pathfinder along with it.

This is a weird one but I feel like the reflex/fortitude/will save concept is SO CLOSE to being great but falls short. I agree that the three uncommon stat saves (strength, charisma, intelligence) are, well, rarely used and kind of vague. However, in practice, I also find this means many people tend to be super precious with dex and wisdom and won't dump them, even if it makes sense not to have good dex or wisdom, and this also means that charisma casters or strength-based fighters can feel stretched thinner than they genuinely are, stat-wise. It feels like a great way to balance this and trim the fat would be to, perhaps, allow your highest mental stat to be your will save stat, regardless of what it is, or permit strength or charisma to sub for con in some fortitude checks. However, Pathfinder eliminates strength, charisma, and int saves entirely, which unbalances this even further, and like, fuck that.

There were probably more but like, in general, I understand that Pathfinder absolutely has an audience and its fans, but it's just...even when presented by someone who I know isn't being a condescending asshole, who is also coming from D&D, and whom I like, I was just like. This is definitely for some people, and I am not one of them.

[puc-puggy]

Hello! Tumblr ate my ask response when I tried to save it as a draft, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Here it is:

It's strange to hear you like me; I tend to avoid a lot of personal interaction, so hearing someone's opinions about me is a little new. That said, if you want to continue this discussion, you can feel free to message me, asks can be a little clumsy for dialogue.

I'd like to clarify two points, explain why I responded to your post, and respond to the question of support for Harris.

First, let me assure you, I was not and am not upset by your post. I write forcefully and persuasively and care about the rhetoric and the actions that rhetoric sits in, but I not deeply emotionally troubled by what you said. I have heard it, processed it, decided I respect it, since a long time ago.

I have seen that last point in several places now, and I decided to write a full response to it on your post because I thought it was worth adding to the notes of that post, and because I thought you might be personally receptive to the argument I make in favor of third parties and against that particular framing of voting...

Which brings me to the second point I want to clarify. I am not arguing that Trump and Harris are identical. I never say anything like that. What I wanted to say, in a sentence, is that framing voting as a choice of opponent deeply muddles the picture because the characteristics that make a good opponent can be fitted to Trump just as easily as to Harris (perhaps more easily).

I know many kinds of organizing are easier under Democrats. But when it comes to the core issue for the entire world this year—Palestine—Democrats have and are demonstrating that they will be as hardline and wily as the Republicans. Imperial interests, after all, are where their actual power is, and therefore what they cannot allow to be threatened. It is a fact that organizing on that issue under the Democrats has so far failed, and a fact that it is easier to gain broad support against horrific policies when those policies are the work of a Republican.

If, as it seems, that "better opponent" framing is the reason you would personally support Harris by voting for her, I also wanted to cast doubt on the rhetorical force that framing has. And yes, it's true, I have ulterior motives—I'd like you and others to seriously consider voting for the Green Party. I think it's tactically sound and that my advocacy (such as it is) could have a meaningful impact on the outcome. Tell me, did you know the impact reaching 5% of the vote could have? Have you heard the various ways it can effect change? I've only briefly summarized some of the highlights. By calling it a protest vote, do you mean to say it can't accomplish anything substantive? That is what most people mean when they talk about protest votes.

I do know that Trump will be domestically worse in several ways, despite Harris attempting to close that gap with some truly terrible policies. However, I think there's something to the idea of choosing the lesser evil.

I believe if Harris wins, it will be worse for the world in the long term in a way it won't be if Trump wins. The Democrats are committing genocide, and Harris, by word and deed, has committed to double down on this. Do we agree on that point? Because if so, you might find reasonable the idea that by electing Harris this year, the government will take away from the election a mandate to commit genocide with impunity, and the project of Zionism will be explicitly reinforced as the world's peoples and governments understand that genocide can very easily garner popular support if framed correctly.

Right now, Zionism is collapsing. The war is creating an enormous economic and PR burden on Israel, and on the US empire. A Harris win does a lot of real material work to prop up that failing system. It releases pressure on government and international systems. It all but wins the PR war for disengaged liberals who simply swallow headlines about humanitarian aid. It makes it easier to approve weapon sales to Israel, and undermines efforts to block them. Every expert I've heard talking about this has their own perspective on how it will make fighting the genocide meaningfully harder. The domestic policies of Trump simply do not compare to the genocide the US is committing. Between an oppressive, dictatorial fascism aimed at propping up a failing empire and the comfort of white supremacy and the greatest atrocity humanity can commit, I know which is worse! I stand to lose a great deal under a Trump presidency, and I'm not doing all that great now. But comfort and safety that comes at the cost of supporting a genocide? Every war criminal who has committed genocide has held out there other hand with the promise of domestic prosperity. That isn't a bargain I can make, and make no mistake, I would be making it. There are other choices, even good choices.

Electoral politics must be discarded if people are to turn their attention seriously to the organizing that is required to help those in trouble and trouble those who pursue empire. Electoral politics can no longer serve to mitigate or create breathing room. There is no breathing room left. Everyone gets a (mostly) free vote, and I think it's most effective to use it to support the Green Party. But even if it helps, it's a long term plan. Until people turn away from the weight the US places on elections, they will struggle to turn towards the action required of us now, to stop, my god, literal actual current genocide.

This has gotten a little long, I will of course understand if you simply can't get through all of it and/or aren't interested in responding. Again, if you want to continue messaging, feel free to reach out.

I will check out your video, but so far it isn't covering ground I haven't heard and considered for months now. You might check out this video, especially the sections including and after "lesser of two evils": Why US Muslims are Abandoning Harris with Sami Hamdi. But in the end, I don't have a specific singular source I can point you too that compiles my understanding.

asks are super clumsy but dms are hell for long form. i also have a blunt & aggressive writing style, so i'll take this as permission to be both direct and confident it won't be taken as intentionally aggressive.

"Electoral politics must be discarded if people are to turn their attention seriously to the organizing that is required to help those in trouble and trouble those who pursue empire. Electoral politics can no longer serve to mitigate or create breathing room."

I agree that electoral politics is not a fruitful venue for resistance. but that talking point harms your cause as much as it does harris'. i will state here clearly that i do not think that this presidential election is the most important thing when it comes to palestinian solidarity right now. in fact, i do not think that any vote cast for anyone will change the US government's policies as they relate to israel. we have to picket senators and congresspeople at their offices, harass them at their homes and in public, and generally make life genuinely fucking miserable for some very wealthy and powerful people. a vote cannot do this. a vote will not do this. this unfortunately includes votes cast for the green party. casting third party votes is very specifically electoral politics. politics about election. any voting strategy or tactic is electoral politics.

i personally think that harris would benefit from a close race and rabid criticism of her positions on palestine. i think that we should make her fucking miserable. but i do not think that withholding your vote from her will materially benefit palestinians or USians. i think a large protest vote related to palestine could help put the fear of god in the dems. but i do not think it will until our protests move beyond electoral politics and become persistently and physically unavoidable.

There is no breathing room left.

our job as activists is to manufacture that breathing room. to claw it together from scrap with our own hands. mutual aid. that intentionally created breathing room is where solidarity is born and nurtured. taking care of our people should be the underlying ethos of all of your leftism, and that means balancing decisions and outcomes to take care of everyone as best we can.

framing voting as a choice of opponent deeply muddles the picture because the characteristics that make a good opponent can be fitted to Trump just as easily as to Harris (perhaps more easily).... I believe if Harris wins, it will be worse for the world in the long term in a way it won't be if Trump wins.

you are wrong about this. i am telling you this clearly because american leftists seem to want people in the imperial core to Be Punished and Suffer For Their Crimes and seem to expect that there will inevitably come a time when we need to suffer as much as the suffering we've caused. i need you to understand that allowing bad things to happen will not make the world better. it won't. it will not teach anyone a lesson, no one will learn anything. they will be tired, angry, and scared. tired, angry, and scared people do not consider new ideas or put themselves out on a limb for someone else.

there is no future in suffering. there is no cosmic karmic retribution coming to exact vengeance on white people and colonizers, and if there was, it would only cause new cycles of violence to contend with. justice does not require further suffering or punishment, it requires transformation and restoration. another trump presidency forecloses innumerable opportunities for transformation and restoration due to its practical reality. you can't transform or restore when you're beating back relentless crises. you don't have time. you're using all of your time dealing with immediate crisis after immediate crisis.

I am not arguing that Trump and Harris are identical... I do know that Trump will be domestically worse in several ways, despite Harris attempting to close that gap with some truly terrible policies.... However, I think there's something to the idea of choosing the lesser evil.

i am going to be very honest again. cut this shit out. we have very very good reasons to resist harris. it is the palestinian genocide. we do not need to pretend that she is comparable to trump. we have objectives of resistance specifically for harris, which we should expect to have for every single politician. because every single american politician is invested in imperialism. because our government is an imperialist government. which means it is our job to resist our whole government. not just the democrats or republicans. the united states government.

effective resistance requires choosing the government that we have the best chance of resisting. not choosing a government that gives us more to resist. we do not need more problems to solve. we do not need another administration exhausting every activist in the country through a grueling pace of constant attacks on every marginality that exists. we do not need to split attention between multiple overlapping crisis again or have everyone running in every direction like chickens with their heads cut off, unable to focus on anything, build a coalition, or devote any mental/emotional/financial/physical efforts to anything other than their own base survival. that is not helpful for us. when everybody's scrabbling for their own base survival, there is nothing left for solidarity with others. that is a significantly more difficult environment and a significantly more ruthless government to resist. it is genuinely nothing more than asking for a harder job. i'm not sure if you've done any on the ground organizing but i can tell you from personal experience, no fucking thanks.

the fact of the matter is that your immediate environment is truly fuckin important and that importance is wildly understated. many leftists ideate revolution instead of resistance, which means they often ignore that the context in which your resistance takes place matters. leftists are so focused on long term change that they sometimes miss the trees for the forest. it’s hard to organize tired, scared, angry, untrusting people. it’s easier to organize people that have gotten a chance to breathe and can imagine something more than survival. that is why activism is about mutual aid, caring for each other, and creating breathing room. it does not matter how many trees you have if every single one of them is sickly and could be knocked over by a strong wind. maintenance and care are not optional.

Right now, Zionism is collapsing. The war is creating an enormous economic and PR burden on Israel, and on the US empire. A Harris win does a lot of real material work to prop up that failing system.

I also agree that zionism is collapsing and the world is turning against israel. that is happening. no president can stop or change that. a harris victory does not prop up the zionist lobby and more or less than trump, and conflating them is the same electoral politics you've decried. the alliance with Israel is a policy of the whole entire US Government, and the zionist lobby is immensely wealthy. both harris and trump will continue to fund weapons shipments and military aid. it is impossible to achieve any kind of meaningful victory regarding palestinian liberation through voting. I still want the pressure on harris in every single way possible up to and past the election. and i want her in office because it WILL be easier to break her and the democrats than break the GOP when we fall over the tipping point and it becomes political suicide to support genocide.

it is context and impact, not one right answer. there is no one right answer. (white supremacy culture). i encourage you to take an ecosystemic view. resiliency is in redundancy and diversity. we need a lot of different people doing the same thing differently than each other as well as doing lot of fully different things from each other for the same reason that we don't rely on just butterflies for pollination; it's bees, wasps, mosquitos, moths, bats, large and small fauna, on and on and on. the people fighting to put harris in the white house are doing important work. so are the protestors fighting for palestinian liberation. we need both tactics and more right now, not just one singular Big Plan for everybody to get behind.

whoever you vote for, i think you should also explore means of sabotaging property owned by zionist elected officials, lobbyists, and ceos of weapons manufacturing companies or similar direct action. that's what abandoning electoral politics means. voting becomes a matter of ruthless pragmatism because everything important should come afterward.

[proshippy-fox]

hi there! I'm not really knowledgeable on fandom culture and rules and i can't get a clear definition of what proshipping means for the life of me. sometimes i see an explanation that makes me think "oh ok that just sounds like how any rational person ought to engage with media/fandom" and then i see an explanation that makes me think it's kinda unhinged. so! i came across your blog and thought i might ask for what it means to you if you have the time and energy for it? my vague understanding of it is that it's like, yall don't reject anything with fandom/media, like, even the "problematic" stuff. does a proshipper mean you have to accept everything and engage with everything with an open mind, or do yall set your own boundaries on what you don't like and prefer not to engage with, without forcing that boundary on others? i took a brief spin over the most recent posts on your blog here and i've gathered that proshipping means yall don't want to like, mandate the media/fandom that everyone experiences bc one specific person doesn't like it/thinks it's immoral.

my stance on fandom and media is usually, there are things i don't like, and i set my own boundaries on what i wish to engage/not engage with. And like, i've definitely read some weird stuff, and I've decided that those just aren't meant for me. As long as something doesn't actively promote/cause harm to anyone in real life, I don't really care what people choose to do with their own media experiences. Which, that kinda sounds like some descriptions of proshipping that i've heard? But again, even just trying to google the definition never gives me a clear answer.

Anyways, answer this on your own time, I'm in no rush to get an answer I'm just curious. Thank you!

heya! being proship is generally "whatever fictional media or tropes that someone is into is not an indicator of their morality and character," at least to me.

I use the label because personally, and logically, it doesn't make sense to cherry pick tropes and say stuff like "violence is often glorified in fiction (especially video games) but it DOES NOT cause real life violence, while sexual violence or other things deemed illegal and immoral in real life being glorified (or even just depicted at all) in fiction DOES cause real life harm." the average person knows that immoral and/or illegal things are, well, immoral and/or illegal, and does not let depictions and enjoyment of such scenarios within a fictional setting affect their real life views.

and about boundaries I believe you would be correct in that most proshippers set their own boundaries and do not enforce it on others, not that proshippers have to accept and engage with any type of media. everyone has their own squicks and triggers, after all

I do agree that they are something you enforce on yourself, especially online. it is pretty rude to insist someone stop posting because it makes you personally. blocking and muting are the most common way to avoid content, which is also why tagging correctly is a big thing. (and especially recently, with the way tumblr tags work. "cw inc3st" will get past your filters if you only have "cw incest" filtered. I assume most of that problem comes from tiktok and maybe twitter, unfortunately)

the community is pretty big and, as with all sizable communities, things get confusing and mixed up.

anyway, I tend to talk a lot, but I hope this helped. thanks for sending an ask!

[cilantroodon]

orchid & sage for the get to know me asks pls!

oh yeehaw!

orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

I don't believe in perfection in anything, but Come On! Feel the Illinoise! (Sufjan Stevens) is an ideal song to me, South Side (Moby) is also really well timed(?), Bodys (Car Seat Headrest) is so well done in every aspect that I wrote an essay on it last year❗, I consider a lot of Orville Peck songs as-close-to-perfect-as-possible, including but definitely not limited to Drive Me, Crazy and Turn to Hate, Frontier Psychiatrist (The Avalanches) is perfectly designed to cause me pain 👍, and this is a very cold take by now, but Bohemian Rhapsody is very good. <3 Sorry that this is a long list instead of one song but I love music and talking about it!! My cross to bear this summer was knowing and listening to a lot of Harrison coded songs but knowing that you probably wouldn't enjoy them because of the tism. Meanwhile I have the kind of tism that makes me love listening to new and jarring sounds teehee!!

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

oh poetry always! I'm a big believer that all mediums of art are equally valuable, and I try to be audience to a variety of forms and use them creatively, but poetry is usually the most affecting to me. I think that's because I think in words! not just in the sense of my inner monologue, but when I see something I instantly think of it in terms of its description, etc. and when I hear people speak I process it by first turning it into written words that I can "read" in my head, if that makes sense. so poetry is closest to reality for me, and almost all other art gets filtered into a poem for my mind to absorb it. example of what I mean by this: here is how I currently am experiencing the room I'm in: great wobbling yellow-white beaming and the vague insect whir of manmade light. a flat smoothness like balsa wood, wide plastic surface disinfected -- then beginning again its dry erase degradation (more dries than is erased). footnote: wouldn't you love to be a table? the accumulation of stains and scratches from work and purpose left to pile up without oils or bacteria mandating a bath? you need a bath. slight drowning feeling of chapstick and forehead grease. slight hunger inside, the sort that feels round. the sort like a painting of a calm ocean. cold knees. great growling squeal of a bus out the open window. thamp of dumpster overturned. humans talk like hyenas at play. bark and yap and yowl. almost full moon but it can't be seen -- only the parallel glowing sphere of campus streetlight. the sound of a whole floor of lights on, only for me. curtain closed. human dogs outside. sound of typing. sound of hunger like a cape. [I need to go eat so ending this to have a walnut <3] how I would describe the room if asked: It's got pink walls and one big table in the middle, with hand sanitizer and my stuff on it. There's a dry erase board and an open window with the curtains closed. [but the way I feel it has to be something more like a poem at first.]

anywho if someone actually reads this much nonsense from me then hi ^_^ and thanks Rachel for the ask! I can't believe I missed your birthday woe is me 😞 but you saying your top two mediums are poetry followed by music from this ask game 🤝 me agreeing in general but specifically me using this ask to talk about music and poetry... I love our minds and how they overlap <- normal thing to say (gaslighting you) normal people say this to internet people and it's normal (convincing myself)