#and i feel like it just makes me a drag to be around. which exacerbates all of this

[j-esbian]

genuinely at the point where. i know it’s unfair. but i am angry to the point of distraction whenever i read anything, watch anything, play anything, look at anything, listen to anything. i have so many desires and not the faintest idea how to act on it. any skills i once had have degraded because i don’t have any time to do anything and i get jealous and resentful that there are people who can. or else what is wrong with me that i can’t create great art in my 1-2 hours of free time a day. why am i spending most of my life at work, i still can’t support myself, and there’s people who do less than me for more money, so they have time and energy to do things. the creative drought has gone on so long that the well has been filled in. i can’t even get off from work to refill my meds.

[theblackhate]

Knowledge pt.10

check here for the orther parts!

Summary:

The story begins the same for everyone, on the day of the ceremony, one of the most important for all the kids who take part in it every year, and Michelle will not miss the opportunity to leave behind a faction that she did not feel belonged to her.

On her journey, however, she will encounter someone who will make her initiation feel like hell.

Pairing: Eric Coulter x reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Michelle struggled to piece together the hazy fragments of the previous night while the pain in her head intensified. Her disoriented state made it difficult to grasp the reality of her situation. When she finally dragged herself out of bed and ventured to the cafeteria, the noise and chaos only exacerbated her discomfort.

Her eyes scanned the bustling room for Sunny, hoping for a familiar face amidst the clamor. She found Sunny at a table, surrounded by others she vaguely recognized. As Michelle approached, she prepared herself for the disapproval she anticipated. Instead, Sunny greeted her with a knowing smile, which only deepened Michelle's confusion.

The table’s occupants included Four, who appeared absorbed in a conversation with a girl about something related to the Wall. Bowie, with his tired eyes and somber expression, sat beside him. To Michelle’s surprise, a familiar face she couldn’t quite place joined her at the table.

“Good morning! The sun is shining, and I heard you finally woke up,” the guy said cheerfully, giving Michelle a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t torment her,” Tyson said, taking a seat to her left and offering a polite greeting to his companions. “Rough night, huh? Where did you disappear to after a certain point, darling?”

Michelle was about to respond when Sunny interrupted. “So, you came to the party? I didn’t see you.”

“Yes, that might be my fault, sweetheart,” he said, leaning in closer and throwing an arm around Michelle’s shoulders. “I found our dear friend here trying to sneak away without even stepping foot into the party. Drink water, lots of it. It’ll help with the headache.”

Sunny’s smirk widened as she watched Michelle, who now felt an uncomfortable sense of self-consciousness. The combination of her headache and the attention made her increasingly uneasy. “What?” she croaked, her voice still rough from sleep.

“I wanted to fill you in on what you missed last night,” the guy continued. “We thought you had either hidden away in the dorms or, worse, in the gym. But it seems you had an equally interesting evening.”

At those words, the guy to her right, who had been chewing on his eggs, turned to her. As he realized what Sunny was referring to, he almost choked on his food, unable to suppress his laughter.

Michelle glanced between Sunny and the others, her confusion growing. “What? What’s going on?” she demanded, her voice rising in frustration.

Sunny’s grin was now almost playful. “Oh, just some fun details about the party and your eventful evening,” she said cryptically.

Michelle’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she tried to piece together what had transpired. As the fragments of memory began to surface, she hoped that the information she’d missed could help her make sense of the bewildering situation she found herself in.

Tyson's chuckle only added to Michelle's growing sense of dread. "Well, let’s just say whoever you spent the night with left a mark," he said with a smirk. As Michelle’s confusion deepened, Tyson pointed to a spot on her neck, which seemed to radiate an inexplicable sensitivity. "Your prince charming left a nice hickey here and here."

"And you told me there wasn’t anyone interesting, yet…" Sunny teased, her tone light but her gaze scrutinizing. "Anyway, nice to meet you, Sunny," she added, turning to the two men beside her.

"Tyson."

"Axl," the man who had been with her the night before replied. Michelle’s memory of him began to crystallize, but it was still clouded by the haze of her recollections.

At that moment, her focus shifted from introductions to the sudden awareness of the marks on her neck. Her hands flew to the area, and she tried to piece together what had happened after their intense kissing session. The realization that the previous night had been more real than she had initially thought hit her with an unsettling force. 

She scanned the cafeteria discreetly, hoping to spot the person in question, but he was nowhere to be seen. The tension in her chest tightened.

"Looking for someone?" Four’s voice cut through her thoughts, causing her to jump. The table fell silent, and Michelle’s gaze met his. The intensity in his ocean-blue eyes made her feel as though he was piercing through her defenses, seeing every hidden thought and fear.

Four knew. And he was judging her.

"Uh, I’d say that’s exactly it. Our Michelle is looking for her knight from last night," the girl’s playful comment did little to ease the tension. "Everything okay?"

Four’s penetrating stare felt like an accusation. It was as if he believed she had committed a grave mistake. "I warned you. Now it’s up to you," he said cryptically before standing and leaving the cafeteria with what Michelle assumed was Lauren.

The weight of Four’s words sank in like a crushing wave. Michelle’s heart raced. "What’s he talking about?"

Sunny’s expression shifted to one of concern as the atmosphere in the room grew dense, almost suffocating. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the cafeteria with Four’s departure, leaving Michelle gasping for breath.

"Nothing. He was referring to nothing," Michelle said quickly, trying to mask her worry. She grabbed a serving of scrambled eggs and placed them on her plate, attempting to divert attention. "What did you want to tell me?"

Sunny’s confused and worried expression vanished almost instantly, replaced by a look of keen interest. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, resting on her elbows. “Don’t you notice anyone missing here at the table?”

Michelle looked around, her gaze searching for the missing individuals, but she didn’t spot anyone out of the ordinary. When she turned back to Sunny, the latter rolled her eyes with a hint of impatience. “Tina and Max.”

Michelle glanced around again, realizing with a start that Tina and Max were indeed absent. They weren’t sitting at any of the nearby tables, nor did she recall seeing them in the dorms.

“Are they the ones from last night?” Axl asked, nodding toward Sunny. Sunny confirmed with a nod.

But Michelle’s focus was abruptly shifted when the cafeteria fell silent. The sound of boots confidently marching across the room cut through the low hum of conversation, drawing everyone’s attention.

She turned to see Eric walking in, and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat. Eric Coulter was sporting a black eye and a split lip; his usually neat blonde hair was now disheveled, and dark circles marked his eyes. The sight of him was more intimidating than usual, not in the way that stirred strange sensations within her but in a way that demanded respect and silence.

He exuded a deadly aura.

“Yes, exactly them. Michelle, hey!” Sunny snapped her fingers in front of Michelle’s face, pulling her out of her stunned silence. “That was a spoiler, by the way.”

“What happened?” Michelle asked in a whisper, trying to stay discreet amid the tension in the cafeteria.

“Last night, after you left, your companion started a fight with one of the guys because, apparently, the guy looked at him the wrong way,” Tyson explained, his tone light but serious.

Axl chuckled. “He was completely hammered. You could smell the alcohol on him from a mile away.”

“So basically, after Eric came back, he and Four tried to break up the fight because things were getting out of hand. But Max? Max wasn’t satisfied with just getting beaten up; he lunged at Eric when Eric tried to pull him away, and that led to a full-blown fight between the two,” Sunny continued, her voice low.

“Max didn’t stand a chance. He was knocked out within the first minute, and if it hadn’t been for Eric’s friends holding him back, Max would’ve ended up dead on the Pit floor,” Sunny said, casting a quick glance at Bowie, who still looked troubled. “They ended up kicking Max out of the faction, making him factionless. Tina tried to stay behind, begging the leaders to let him stay, but it was no use.”

“It was entertaining, I’ll admit,” Axl said with a smirk. “But I’ve got to head out. Inspections in twenty minutes.” He gave Tyson a friendly pat on the shoulder and left, his seat now vacant.

Sunny took the opportunity to move closer to Michelle, sliding into the seat Axl had vacated. She rested her head on Michelle’s shoulder, her demeanor a mix of comfort and curiosity.

“So now they’re both factionless,” Tyson said, his gaze shifting from Eric to the two girls. “One thing I’ve learned since I’ve been here, long before Eric arrived, is that you shouldn’t get involved with him.”

Michelle fiddled with her food, her thoughts swirling. She felt a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “I don’t like him.”

“Nobody likes Eric, sweetheart,” Tyson quipped with a hint of humor.

“But you’re his friend,” Michelle said abruptly, her tone carrying an edge of seriousness.

Tyson seemed to consider her words for a moment before responding with a gentle smile. “Nobody is friends with Eric. We tolerate each other. He’s useful to have around and not stupid—he’s just hotheaded and a lot worse in many ways. His company can be pleasant, but no one considers him a true friend,” he said, glancing over at Eric. “No one has any real relationships with him. Not even Mia. That girl has been chasing after him since she arrived. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day we find her at the bottom of the chasm.”

Michelle followed Tyson’s gaze, observing Eric with a new sense of wariness. The faint bruises on his face only added to his intimidating presence.

“I don’t understand,” Sunny said, shaking her head as she looked at Tyson. “How does he have all this power? Why?”

Tyson sighed, a subtle hint of something deeper in his expression. “Eric is a soldier, and soldiers are liked by those in power,” he said, his words carrying a weight that Michelle and Sunny couldn’t fully grasp.

The days drifted by, leading up to the second phase of initiation, a module Four had warned would be the toughest. Michelle found herself lost in thought, unable to escape the disquiet that had settled over her.

No matter where she was—whether clutching a photograph of Anne in her dorm, standing on the faction's rooftop in the rain, or working out in the gym at night—Eric's absence was a constant weight on her mind. He hadn’t so much as glanced her way since that night, and perhaps that was for the best. Four and Tyson were right: Eric was dangerous. His cruel game of intimidation and the near-violent incident with Max had shown her just how perilous his influence could be.

Eric’s demeanor had shifted noticeably. The mocking smirks and casual arrogance had faded, replaced by a rigid, authoritarian presence. As the start of the second module approached, he seemed increasingly distant, spending less time within the faction.

Despite her efforts to avoid him, Michelle couldn’t help but search for Eric whenever she had the chance. Sunny, ever observant, noticed Michelle’s growing preoccupation.

One evening, as Michelle prepared to head to the gym, Sunny stopped her at the door.

“Would you tell me if something was bothering you?” Sunny’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. Michelle glanced at her, her concern evident, and nodded, pretending not to notice the full weight of Sunny’s gaze.

The corridors had grown colder with the onset of winter, and Michelle wrapped her jacket tighter around herself. It had been a while since she’d had a moment alone, a chance to lose herself in silence.

Upon reaching the gym doors, Michelle heard the muffled sounds of someone training. Peering inside, she saw Lauren, engrossed in her workout on one of the punching bags. Lauren’s expression hardened as she caught sight of Michelle, and without a word, she turned her back, focusing on a bag on the far side of the room. It was evident that the once-cordial relationship between them had soured.

Confused and feeling uncertain, Michelle decided to focus on her own workout, leaving Lauren to her space. But as Michelle pounded the bag, she felt Lauren’s gaze fixed on her back. The distraction was unwelcome, particularly with the stress of the upcoming initiation, Tyson’s warnings, and Eric’s unsettling behavior weighing heavily on her.

After a few minutes, Lauren cleared her throat. “I know Four warned you, but please be careful with Eric. He’s not someone you want to get involved with.”

Michelle stopped abruptly and turned to face Lauren, her confusion evident. “What do you mean?”

Lauren sighed, rubbing her face in frustration. “Four saw you the other night when Eric was following you. He decided to investigate and told me about it. I just want you to be aware.”

“It was a mistake,” Michelle interjected, her voice firm as she tried to deflect the concern.

“What do you mean?” Lauren asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Michelle hesitated, then admitted, “I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted to understand him better. It’s not like I wanted to get involved with Eric.”

Lauren’s expression softened, though worry remained. “Understanding him isn’t worth risking yourself. Eric’s reputation isn’t just because he’s a jerk or a bully. There’s something darker, more dangerous about him.”

Michelle sighed as she slipped on her jacket, acknowledging that her plans for a workout had been derailed. Instead, she headed towards the roof, where she could be alone with her thoughts. The idea of explaining her actions to Lauren felt too personal, too intimate. She wasn’t ready to share the details of what had happened, even though Lauren’s support was unwavering.

Despite her intent to be alone, Lauren was not easily deterred. She grabbed her belongings and followed Michelle up to the rooftop. "If you know, why did you do it?" Lauren’s voice carried a mixture of concern and frustration.

Michelle hesitated, struggling with her thoughts. Eric had made the first move, but if she were honest, the alcohol had played its part, blurring her judgment and amplifying the electric charge between them. But acknowledging that felt like making excuses.

When Michelle remained silent, Lauren grabbed her wrist, only to have Michelle shrug her off. “Michelle… it’s for your own good.”

“I already said it was a mistake,” Michelle retorted, her voice sharp as she leaned against the rooftop railing. “It won’t happen again.”

Lauren’s expression softened, and she stepped back slightly but remained nearby. “I hope so. You have potential; it would be a shame to waste it on someone like him.” They fell into a contemplative silence, gazing out at the city and the distant outlines of the other factions, savoring the quiet of the night.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Lauren’s question cut through the silence, sending a shiver down Michelle’s spine. The mention of the second phase of initiation triggered a wave of déjà vu. Michelle turned to Lauren with a pained expression.

“For— for the second phase?” Lauren asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty at Michelle’s reaction.

Michelle swallowed hard, her eyes brimming with tears as the weight of her emotions hit her. She took deep breaths, trying to steady herself before responding.

“No, how could I be?” The words felt heavy, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The thought of her last moments with her best friend brought a pang to her heart. She wondered about Anne—where she was now, how she was faring, and what she was doing.

Michelle and Lauren spent the remainder of the night on the rooftop, waiting in silence for the first light of dawn. The conversations and warnings from Four, Lauren, and Tyson felt like pieces of a larger puzzle that Michelle struggled to piece together. She knew she had to stay clear of Eric, despite the dangerous allure he presented. It was clear that her safety was at stake, and she needed to tread carefully.

As dawn broke, all the initiates were summoned to a sterile room. The space was stark and unwelcoming, with chairs lined up against the walls, each one designated for an initiate. Two doors stood at the far end of the room, marking the beginning of what promised to be a grueling day. Michelle took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead, knowing that the challenges of the second phase were about to unfold.

Four entered the room after them, his authoritative presence commanding attention as the initiates settled into their seats. “Welcome to the second module, the mental phase. It’s a departure from the physical trials you’ve faced so far, and it will test you in ways you don’t expect. This is the most exhausting part of the initiation, even though it’s not physical.”

He moved to stand in front of one of the two doors. “We have divided you into two groups to expedite the process.”

At that moment, the door across the room swung open to reveal Eric. “You will confront your deepest fears in the shortest time possible. You will be scored as in the first module, and those who fall below the red line will be eliminated.”

Eric’s gaze swept over the room with an intimidating intensity. “Only a few of you will make it into the faction. Another ten will be excluded. There is no room for error.”

Four positioned himself in front of the remaining door, pulling out two slips of paper from his pocket. He handed one to Eric, who read it aloud.

“Sunny.”

“Marcus,” Eric followed, calling out a boy Michelle recognized as one of the Dauntless-born, who entered the room after the blonde.

An uneasy silence settled over the room as the initiates awaited their turns. Some paced nervously, while others closed their eyes, trying to find calm. Michelle found herself caught between these two reactions, struggling to mask her own anxiety. She glanced at the clock on the wall, willing time to move faster.

Sunny emerged less than ten minutes later, her face etched with a look of near terror. Michelle started to approach her friend, but Sunny walked past her as if she were invisible, exiting the room without a word.

“Angela,” Four called out next.

Michelle’s concern for Sunny deepened, wondering what could have caused her friend to look so haunted. She felt a strong urge to follow her but decided against it, choosing instead to wait for her own turn and to find Sunny later.

After another fifteen minutes, the second door opened, revealing Marcus, who was assisted out by two Dauntless members. He looked as if he had seen a ghost—pale as porcelain, cheeks wet with tears, eyes red and vacant, and hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Connor,” Four called.

The boy rose with encouragement from his friends, and Michelle leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling to calm her nerves.

As time dragged on, Michelle pondered what her own fears might be, how she would confront them, and what she might see. The constant opening and closing of the doors, along with the shifting emotions of the initiates, did little to ease her anxiety.

By now, only a few initiates remained in the room, including Michelle—just one other girl and the remaining five boys, none of whom she knew well.

This time, both doors opened simultaneously, allowing the last two initiates to exit, visibly shaken. Michelle strangely hoped to be called next to end the torturous wait, but her name was not called again.

Two hours had passed since she last moved, her muscles aching from sitting in the hard wooden chair. Michelle glanced at the clock and, within five minutes, saw the door to Eric’s room open once more. This time, the boy who entered did not come out. Michelle looked up as Eric, still focused on the slip of paper in his hand, called her name.

“Michelle.”

Before she could react, he turned back into the room.

With great caution, Michelle stood up and entered the room with slow, deliberate steps, closing the door behind her. The room was stark and clinical, its white walls reminiscent of a laboratory. At the center was an armchair with the same apparatus she had seen during the Aptitude Test.

Eric was hunched over a computer next to the chair. The tension between them was palpable, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Michelle bit the inside of her cheek and moved forward, reluctantly taking a seat in the uncomfortable chair, ready to endure whatever came next.

The silence, usually something Michelle cherished, felt oppressive and unnerving now. She wished for any sound, even an insult, to break the suffocating quiet.

“It’s just like the Aptitude Test,” Eric said coldly, his fingers cold as they connected the wires to her temples, sending a series of small electric shocks through her skin.

He picked up a syringe from the table, giving it a slight shake. “Instead of drinking, we’ll inject the serum this time.” He grasped her wrist to steady her arm, and Michelle had to look away as the needle pierced her skin.

“Fear of needles? Pathetic,” he murmured as he withdrew the needle.

The serum felt cold, almost icy, and left a numbing sensation in her arm. But that feeling quickly faded as Michelle’s vision blurred, her consciousness slipping away under the serum’s effects.

When she opened her eyes again, her heart skipped a beat. She was disoriented, unsure of where she was. Struggling to stand, her legs trembled beneath her.

The room around her was cloaked in darkness so complete that she could barely make out her surroundings. A rustling sound behind her made her jump, and she let out a small scream. Instinctively, she moved backward and bumped into what she assumed was a desk.

Michelle tried to steady her breathing, her heart pounding with fear. The darkness seemed alive, and another noise from a corner of the room made her hyperventilate. There was something, or someone, with her in the room.

Desperate, she began to search the desk, her hands scrambling over every surface until she felt something round and short. She fumbled for a switch, and the flashlight flickered on weakly.

The light revealed an office-like setting, but its weak beam was almost useless. Michelle tried to adjust the switch, but it was no use. “Damn it!” she shouted in frustration.

Stepping out of the office, she found herself in a long, dark corridor. Her heart raced, each echo of her footsteps amplified in the oppressive silence. The corridor stretched out endlessly, and she could feel the weight of her isolation pressing down on her.

She had to move forward, driven by a mix of fear and determination. Each step felt heavier than the last, her anxiety mounting as she tried to make sense of her surroundings and figure out what awaited her next.

Taking a step forward, Michelle heard the rustling noise from behind her again. When she turned around, the sound was still there, more insistent. Panic surged through her, and she began to run down the corridor, the flashlight’s beam dimming with each passing moment.

Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes as she spotted a control panel at the end of the corridor. Desperate to reach it, she sprinted faster, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The rustling noise grew louder, more ominous, as the light from her flashlight flickered and then went out, leaving her in suffocating darkness.

Each footfall felt like a mile as she ran, the control panel seeming to retreat with every step she took. Her heart raced, pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else.

In the pitch black, she extended her hand, feeling her way along the wall. She braced herself for a collision but kept reaching forward, fingers trembling as they searched for the control panel. Just as she felt something brush against her shoulder, the lights flared on, momentarily blinding her.

Michelle collapsed to the floor, curling up into a tight ball, trying to find solace in the fetal position. The harsh, bright lights made her eyes water as she clung to the ground, overwhelmed by the ordeal.

A hand suddenly grabbed her arm, jolting her from her disorientation. She flinched, her body tensing as she was dragged across the cold tile floor. The hand was firm yet gentle, guiding her away from the control panel and the nightmarish rustling sound that still echoed faintly in her mind.

She struggled against the grip, but when she looked up to see her attacker, she was surprised to see the silhouette of her mother. “Mom?”

The woman glanced briefly at her before continuing through what Michelle recognized as the central headquarters of the Candids. Strangely, the place was deserted.

When they reached a door, her mother shoved her inside, making her fall to the ground in front of a group of people. As Michelle looked up to see who they were, she only recognized a few of her mother’s colleagues.

Eric, watching the scene unfold on the screen that showed what was happening inside Michelle's mind, was immediately intrigued to see Jeanine Matthews among the people.

He glanced at Michelle in the chair before turning his attention back to the screen, curious to know if this was some sort of memory and whether it was connected to why Jeanine seemed so interested in her.

A man with red hair, dressed in a suit and tie, nodded to the woman behind him. She took a seat next to a woman Michelle recognized as Jeanine Matthews.

Michelle stood up, carefully adjusting her clothes and surveying the people before her.

“Ellie Black, don’t worry,” the man said, offering her a smile as she approached. “We just need you to answer a few questions for us, okay?”

Her mother glared at her for not responding, and Jeanine stepped in, noticing the young girl’s defensiveness. “Calm down, we don’t want to hurt you. We just need you to tell us everything you know about your father.”

If Eric was intrigued before, now he was thoroughly confused. The way they were speaking to Michelle seemed almost condescending, as if addressing a small child. A sudden realization struck him—this was indeed a memory, likely a traumatic one. The woman he assumed was her mother was able to drag her around effortlessly because, in this memory, Michelle was very young.

Michelle’s demeanor—hugging herself and looking distrustfully at the strangers—reinforced the idea. Even Jeanine appeared different, seeming younger.

“Do you know anything about his disappearance, Ellie?” asked the red-haired man.

Michelle remained silent.

“Answer!” her mother hissed, her face twisted in anger.

Jeanine approached her, gently stroking Michelle’s face with a tender expression. “If you tell us what you know, we might be able to find him. Bring him back to you,” the red-haired man cleared his throat slightly, and Jeanine silenced him with a sharp look. “Please be a good girl, Ellie.”

Michelle’s eyes welled with tears, but she remained silent, not even nodding. Jeanine’s smile faltered, and she stepped back, signaling the two men who moved in to restrain Michelle by her arms.

“No! No! Mom!” Michelle cried out as a third man retrieved a long syringe from a briefcase and injected the transparent liquid into her neck while she struggled desperately.

The onlookers watched impassively, as if waiting for something. Michelle’s discomfort quickly escalated into pain, causing her to sob uncontrollably.

“Another dose,” ordered the red-haired man.

“No... no,” Michelle pleaded through her sobs, but the third man prepared another syringe.

Eric watched as Michelle writhed in pain, restrained by the two men. He was puzzled by the unfolding scene, trying to understand what her fear could be until his gaze fell upon the syringe on the table beside him.

As Michelle’s cries grew more desperate, Eric could see that this wasn’t just a fear simulation—it was a vivid replay of a traumatic memory. He observed her face twisted in anguish, her body trembling uncontrollably as the second dose of the mysterious liquid was administered. The entire scene seemed to revolve around a deep, unresolved fear from her past, one that was being painfully relived.

Eric’s attention shifted back to the screen, trying to discern the details of Michelle’s memory. The sterile office environment, the authoritative figures, and her mother’s plea—all pointed to a significant and distressing event in her childhood. He noted how Michelle’s entire demeanor, her frantic movements, and her pleas were indicative of a child in intense fear.

The red-haired man, standing with an air of cold authority, spoke up again. “Ellie, if you don’t cooperate, this will only get worse. You know how this works.”

Michelle’s body was trembling violently, her tears flowing freely. Her mother’s expression was a mix of frustration and resignation. Jeanine Matthews, observing from a distance, seemed to hold an air of detached concern, as if this was a necessary, albeit uncomfortable, part of a broader plan.

Eric’s thoughts raced. The injections, the coercive techniques, the specific mention of her father’s disappearance—everything was piecing together into a disturbing picture. It was clear that Michelle was reliving a moment of profound fear and helplessness, a memory tied to her father’s unexplained disappearance.

As Michelle’s screams of agony grew softer, a determined look began to form on her tear-streaked face. With a painful effort, she managed to stop her sobbing, focusing all her energy on resisting the injections and the overwhelming fear. Her body shook with the effort, but her eyes were now filled with a steely resolve.

With a sudden burst of strength, Michelle broke free from one of the guards holding her. She staggered away, her legs weak but her willpower fierce. Her mother’s face, once stern and commanding, now reflected confusion and concern. The red-haired man’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by Michelle’s unexpected resistance.

The room’s atmosphere shifted, the oppressive fear momentarily giving way to a glimmer of hope. Michelle’s focus sharpened, and despite the pain from the injections, she managed to grab hold of a nearby object—a metal lamp left on a desk. Using it as an improvised weapon, she swung it at the nearest guard.

The impact wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to create a momentary distraction. The guard staggered back, giving Michelle a precious opportunity to make a break for it. She darted towards the door, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The dimly lit room was now a blur of shadows and uncertainty, but Michelle’s determination guided her steps.

Michelle jolted upright from the chair, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she collapsed into the corner of the room. Eric, initially taken aback by her sudden movement, quickly refocused on the computer, entering the simulation data with a practiced efficiency.

Without turning his gaze, he spoke, his tone carrying a hint of detached admiration. “You took longer than expected, but you’ve set a new record.”

Michelle finally looked up, her eyes meeting Eric’s. What he saw in her gaze shocked him—an icy coldness he had never seen before. It was not the usual apathy he had come to expect from her, but something far more chilling. The intensity in her eyes reminded him of that night, the night when the stakes had been so high.

For a moment, Eric felt a wave of unease wash over him, even tho he masked it. The coldness in Michelle's eyes seemed to strip away any pretense of normalcy, revealing an undercurrent of something darker. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken understanding.

Eric’s eyes flickered briefly over the data on his screen before he turned his full attention back to her. “You’ve done well,” he said, but his voice lacked warmth. “Now, let’s see how you handle the aftermath.”

Michelle, still reeling from the intensity of her simulation struggled to compose herself. The experience had been more than just a test; it had uncovered fears and memories she had long tried to suppress. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart and regain control.

Eric’s eyes remained fixed on her, his expression unreadable. There was a tension in the room, a silent acknowledgment of the personal and emotional boundaries that had been crossed. Despite his coldness, Michelle sensed a faint trace of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a reluctant respect for her perseverance.

Michelle rose slowly, her movements stiff and strained. She left the room without uttering a single word, her silence heavy with unresolved emotions. Eric watched her go, a deep conflict stirring within him. He clenched his fists, the weight of what he had just witnessed pressing down on him.

After a moment, Eric stood up, determination set in his features. He left the room swiftly, his mind racing as he made his way to contact Jeanine Matthews.

[tjodity]

Hey do you wanna rant to me about dsmp gender hcs perhaps ❤️ or disabilities i just need entertainment

sorry this took a while!!

-Tubbo is partially blind in both eyes after his execution. His vision is heavily reduced and very blurry in any part he can actually see. He's also partially deaf. He uses glasses and a walking stick to get about. During his presidency he tries to obscure the fact that he's blind by wearing a partial mask and having Tommy and later Ranboo or Quackity by his side to help prevent him from tripping. Tommy generally lingers very close to him and talks quite loudly, which Tubbo appreciates because it means that he can see/hear Tommy much better than anyone else

-Hannah is a transfem human who is sensitive to the health of the nature around her. She dresses up as a fairy partially as a gender euphoria thing, which is why she fought so hard for the elytra. She's also a lesbian and one of the more confident people in their sexuality on the server, though she doesn't verbalize it often.

-Tommy is transfeminine and nonbinary. They used their very overblown comedic persona and idolize people like Jschlatt because they never felt any connection to her own masculinity and felt wrong for it. They start figuring out their gender after Manberg and fully accept themselves after Bedrock Bros. She's also platoniromantic, meaning her platonic and romantic feelings are kind of twisted together, and asexual. She wants to marry Tubbo. They have bad joint pain and stiffness as well as audio processing issues. They have delusions that can make talking to certain people difficult

-Eret is blind

-Puffy is kind of a woman but really likes fucking with her gender. She tends to create new personas when she does this. She also enjoys being contradictory it gives her gender euphoria. Most of the time she uses she/her and masculine titles (dad, papa, sir, mr, etc) and will dress in a range from masculine to feminine, but sometimes she'll do full drag in a variety of combinations of gender traits because she needs a change. Her feelings for Badboyhalo are gay but so are her feelings for Niki. She's also fat btw that's not a queer hc but it is important to me

-Schlatt has chronic pain and fatigue caused by a heart condition. He usually uses a cane and frequently has to lie down for periods of time between physical activities. He does neither in Manberg and exacerbates his illness with smoking, drinking, and forcing himself to walk around and stand for all hours of the day.

-Nihachu has persisting pain in her shoulder from when she was attacked leaving Manberg. Trauma and intense isolation exacerbated some mental stuff she already had. She experiences auditory hallucinations sometimes, can experience delusions, and has difficulty speaking in a way people around her can fully understand. She's probably bisexual but considers herself a lesbian

-Kind of a mental health headcanon but Technoblade does not hear voices in the sense of a mental health issue. He's sworn himself to service of the God of death (blood) and she just whispers at him sometimes.

[bucknastysbabe]

hiiiii 🖤🧡 is it okay if i request more small dick aegon smut?👀 maybe with a twin sister reader 👀

Um yes of course! Hope you like it🥰

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Small cock truthing Aegon, twin Targ!sis, humiliation, mentions of cucking, insecure baby Aegon, hard feminization, handjobs, prostate stimulation, these two are a Mess

Insecure

They laid in bed together. The twins always found a way to get what they want. Always did. Even when Aegon was married to Helaena and her to Aemond. The elder twin lightly treaded his fingers through her matching waves, eyes closed. They were naked as the day they were born, one after another. Perfect twins. Aegon swore Otto had a hand in keeping the two from being wed. They did exacerbate the worst in each-other.

His cock was stirring but Aegon made no move, yet, at the least. She rolled onto her back, stretching her pale arms. The princess casually asked, “You’ve heard of those famous Yunkish whores right?” Aegon laughed and turned to face her.

“Yes of course, I’ve bedded plenty of them.”

She smirked and poked his chest, a bad sign for Aegon. The blonde purred, “I’ve heard down in Oldtown at those strange pillow houses they get these Yunkish men with massive cocks. I think I want one in King’s Landing, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Aegon scoffed petulantly, “Why would that be fun? It would probably be painful.”

She shrugged, “It would be fun because all I get is your tiny cock and sniveling after two minutes. I want a stud, stretch me out real nice.” Aegon frowned and glared at his twin. He bit out, “If it’s such a problem then why are you still here?” Her own violet eyes watched Aegon begin to shrivel up, arms crossing and him turning away.

She hopped over to his side, hair dragging along his pale skin, “Because I love your sniveling and cocklet contrary to the matter,” she playfully reached between his legs, Aegon yelping and trying to hide himself. He was hard already, she snickered to herself. Aegon grumbled, “I’m sure they have a stud down in Flea Bottom. I’m not in the mood.”

Aegon was never not in the mood. He was bullshitting his twin who knew everything about the idiot. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and cooed, “I know you’re hard, lemme play with it. C’mon stop being a brat.” Aegon tried to cover his rapidly swelling, but still small, cock. His face flushed and he tried to bat the she demon away. The prince’s resolve was quickly crumbling.

Her teeth nibbled at his ear, hand snaking it’s way down his trembling belly. Aegon’s twin hissed, “Sweetling, you know I like to rile you up. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Let me make it up to you, hm? Please little sister, I’m sorry!”

Aegon groaned in pleasure, he knew she knew that he loved that. The male groaned, tossing a vial of discarded oil to his sister. “Good boy,” she purred, slicking her hand up with the scented oil. The elder Targaryen’s eyes rolled up when her palm practically covered his length, three fingers really all was needed. She liked to torture him though, circle her thumb around his purple slit until he cried.

For now the girl kissed and loved on Aegon, hand idly rubbing and pulling. She whispered, “It’s so pretty y’know, just like someone I know.” Aegon’s reply was strangled, “I-I, hah, wonder who.” She laughed airily and nudged a thigh between his own so she could get better access. Splaying him open easily, the elder whining through his nose at the obscene slap of his small cock on his belly.

She grabbed it again, thumb beginning to do the thing he hated loved. Her other soft hand pulled and rolled at his balls, which had the misfortune of being average, making the prince’s prick look even smaller. She rasped, “This is why I like yours better, less work, imagine having to use two hands on a cock.”

Her thumb dug into his slit, sending Aegon’s legs to shaking and eliciting a throaty moan. She breathed, “Ah, that’s the spot huh? Pretty clit so swollen and wet for me.” Aegon cried out, loudly. She continued, “Mhm, yeah my princess is all wet an’ achy. That’s why you’re spread like a slut.” Aegon babbled along, bucking into her hand.

She returned to twisting at his sensitive flesh, entire palm encasing his throbbing prick. It was almost like a cunt. He tried to steady his breathing, chest heaving and mewling like a little kitten now. He went along with her little game, “Oh, big brother, oh I’m so close, lemme come on your hands.” He writhed and twisted, her thumb digging into his other sweet spot below his balls. The girl cooed, “I know honey, feels s’good for you. Such a horny little princess, always needs her clit rubbed and pussy fingered.” She licked up a hot tear, grinning.

Aegon’s voice sure sounded like a girls while he blubbered and mewled out his incoming climax. His creamy thighs were wide open now, fucking onto her thumb, into her hand. All while that raspy voice edged him on, “Mhm, sweet girl, c’mon, let your brother watch.” Aegon was drooling, reaching for a kiss as he cried and convulsed under his twin’s ministrations.

He filled her hand with hot seed, dribbling down and onto his twitchy belly. Aegon half sobbed, “S’that good big brother? Good enough for you?” He still was insecure and his stomach felt weird. The twin pecked his plump lips and stated, “So good. Better than anything in the land. Pretty little thing, let me get you some water. I bet you’re worn out.”

Aegon shook his head, grasping onto her frame. She rolled her eyes, chiding about the mess. He shoved his nose into her neck and mumbled, “I’ll buy a Yunkish stud if you’d like, dear sis.” Her eyes softened as she stared down at him. Shaking her pale strands she replied, “Don’t want one. Obviously the gods blessed me with you. I came watching you squirm and wet my fist. Prettiest sight. Now quit your worrying.”

“…Fine.”

[sergle]

I’m sorry to add to the pile of boob related asks but: where would you say most of the back-pain related to your breasts appears and what does it feel like specifically? I’m starting to wonder if some of my own back problems might potentially be alleviated by a reduction also. I know the bio-mechanics of the issue aren’t going to be exactly the same for both of us but I figured it would be a good starting point for reference. I’m wishing you the best of luck with all of this!

WELL I'm not a chiro or a physical therapist, but my layman's understanding of titty-specific pain is that it's usually ascribed to UPPER back pain. I can attest that my upper back / shoulderblades are a bloodbath. It's hard to describe pain to another person? bc pain changes? from moment to moment? But I'll try. It's like, tired muscles, stiffness, there's sharp pains too, and compression pain. It's also hot- it feels a lot like burning. That's just from the weight of the tits Existing. There's also breast related pain that's from the *bra*, because of the straps being load-bearing, pressure pointing themselves on the shoulders all the damn time. The pressure on the ligaments on your shoulders usually fucks your neck to death. I've had plenty of times where my bra did me in, and I had shoulder/neck pain that kept me from turning my head at all. It can also travel up the back of the neck, to the base of the skull, and makes for some really impressive tension headaches. The neck pain is sharp, pulling, and aggressive. There do be spasms. The upper back pain is ever-present, often dull, and often exacerbated by activity. (folding laundry, doing dishes, leaning over in any way shape or form, what the fuck Ever) The weight from the tits also tends to drag the shoulders forward, and where the shoulders move forward, the rest of the body follows. So we're just talking about The Hunch. So, any pain that can be caused by this type of bad posture that your tits pull you into, while not technically being pain caused by tits- is caused by hunching- which is caused by tits. You feel? Those are the titty specifics. I also *feel* like it takes a toll on my lower back. It's hard to tell exactly, because I have some other issues that have caused really bad lower back pain for me in the past, so pain there could be caused by multiple factors (for me). I think it depends on bra on or bra off, and how you're holding your body's posture, where the tension of the weight gets to you. Also worth mentioning that the body is, obviously, one inter-connected system- and issues in one spot of your spine tend to spread the pain around.

[mandalorianchronicles]

Bruh, I met someone before character x reader was even A Thing that openly admitted to be possessive of characters. She was like, "Oh yeah, I usually hate all of the female characters because I want the guy to be mine." Yeah, everyone has their own headcanons and stuff because that's how things happen. But jfc chill out with the hatred or have the decency to keep it out of the tags. Let me enjoy my ship in peace. I've been a Bo fan since TCW she deserves Good Things. Let her have this. (1/2)

Anon, continued: This is literally fiction and it's not that deep. I also feel like people forget/ignore/refuse to accept that they can just ignore canon? All because the source material does something doesn't mean you have to follow it. It's not Canon or It's Erased From Existence. There's no little trophy for ""winning"". I've been around in fandom a long time and this stuff still gets on my nerves. If you aren't having a good time then leave. No one is holding you here against your will. (2/2)

I merged your posts so I could answer it in one reply.

Yes, everything you said is 100% facts. There are certainly the people out there who are a little out of touch with reality, and this is a big fandom, so we have more than our fair share. I do think that the character x reader fics have exacerbated the issue though, because I feel like I'm seeing a LOT more people citing "jealousy" as their reason for not shipping canon couples. That's all anecdotal, I haven't gone back and counted posts or anything, but I'm definitely seeing a trend.

Westerners tend to get very particular about canon and what does and does not fall into that category. But we are also huge creative contributers to the "fanon" side of things, and I think it's best that we have a balance. For instance, I don't have a lot of good things to say about the sequels (particularly TRoS), but you'll never catch me saying, "that's not canon because George Lucas didn't write it" or because "I didn't like what was written". If I find something I don't like and I feel strongly enough about it, I'll write my own content.

In regards to ships, I think it just projects insecurity to go into the ship tags just to drag a ship. Maybe go generate discourse, like "which ship do you prefer and why?" We have polls now, so that's great. But for someone to take an ask like the one you just gave me, and then use it to list all the reasons you don't like the ship and finish it up by tagging the ship in question is obnoxious. Or they just drop in with a negative original post to hate on a ship. Just make an anti tag. It ain't hard.

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

ok but the real question is was the tsaritsa actually flirting with the darkling in that parlor scene? (éminence grise) or was she simply being passive agressive? is she actually into him? and what does this fic's tsar think about the darkling? there was this bit in chapter 4 that makes me feel feel like the tsar randomly drags the darkling over to drink with him and bitches to him about the state of affairs (and his dysfunctional family) while aleksander is gritting his teeth seething

Ahaha kind of high handedly yeah, she was. He’s such a novelty at social functions that courtiers just generally flock to him. He’s in higher demand for being so scarce and also just generally has a like war hero mystique. I don’t think Tatiana is meaningfully intent on pursuing him or anything at this time but she’s happy to bat at him like a bored cat when he’s around.

I think the dynamic with the Tsar is rather belligerent at the moment, if not full on overtly antagonistic. Just in general, I think the Tsar likes to foist off most responsibility about the minutiae of governance onto others, a pretty large portion of which goes to the Darkling. Despite that, he resents him for running his country for him, and also is often impatient with him for being all business all the time, when he himself is super not. But I think he also is rather insecure about it and quick to feel insulted? As if the Darkling is like trying to make him look bad or be passive aggressive about it. (I mean he probably kind of is, and he’s generally not great at hiding disdain).

For that reason, I think he’s often eager to knock the Darkling down a peg, and to pull rank whenever he feels like it to remind him who’s actually in charge. I think he likes to jerks him around on a whim? He’ll drag his feet on things that seem important to him or just be contrary which can put them in a tough spot because the only thing the Darkling really cares about are military matters 😭😭

So that’s my baseline interpretation of their dynamic. I think things are exacerbated in this fic though because it’s been longer since Alina’s been found and she hasn’t magically solved all of Ravka’s problems.

But all in all, I think the Tsar views him as a self serious stick in the mud, who’s dumb enough to want to do all the work, but at least he gets decent results even if he oversteps and seems to think too highly of himself. He also finds the unaging factor really off putting and weird, so he views him as a freak to boot.

And lolll that’s a fair assessment! I don’t picture him demanding the Darkling’s attention constantly, but I think he does make use of the captive audience when he has something to rant about.

[van-der-linde-worms]

Take Your Cigarette From Its Holder, Burn Your Initials On My Shoulder

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/ Mary Gillis Linton

Fic summary: AU in which Mary is wanted for the murder of her husband and that of her father, and Arthur is a bounty hunter going after her.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Idiots in love, slow burn

~~~~~~

Chapter XII: Indulging In A Pretty Dream

Word count: 7980

Last chapter: Chapter XI

Mary's arm suddenly goes weak and the pan drops onto the floor. The cast iron hits the hard wood with a thud. She sighs and hastily picks it up, putting it over the stove and turning up the heat. The scene feels oddly familiar, she thinks, as she melts a spoonful of lard over the pan.

Her legs are shaking as her shivering hands struggle to bring the pot of water to the stove. She can hear Jamie crying upstairs, she will have to check on him soon.

“A whole damn day at work, and I still have to starve for another hour. What a daughter I have here.” She does not need to turn around to know that it is her father grumbling.

She resists the urge to scream as she skins the potatoes. “Sorry, Daddy. Jamie caught a fever today and I had to take him to—”

“You're talkin' back at me now?” Her father drags the chair across the floor, producing a violent squeak.

She shuts her eyes, “No, sorry Daddy.”

A few minutes of silence passes by. “So, you took the boy to the doctor?” he asks, tone slow and sweet, the edge deadly.

“Yeah,” she replies, stirring the pot.

“Aight,” he takes a large gulp from his flask. “How much was it?”

“3 dollars and 50 cents,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

“What?” he yells from the living room. “I can't hear you from here Mary.”

She swallows. “3 dollars and 50 cents, Daddy.” 

“Didn’t hear you there, say it again,” he says, walking into the kitchen.

“3 dollars and—” she stops upon seeing the look of displeasure on her father's face.

“3 dollars? What kind of physician charges 3 dollars for a cough syrup?”

“—and 50 cents, Daddy.”

Silence fills the room temporarily. She sees his nostrils flare and shuts her eyes, preparing for the upcoming outburst.

“3 dollars and 50 cents? This gotta be a joke,” he strikes the counter with the palm of his hand, making her jump. “You are not lying to me, are you, kid?”

She shakes her head, tears already pooling in her eyes. Don't cry, goddammit, don't cry.

“Jesus, you and your brother really don't know how to do anything 'sides wasting my money,” he exclaims. The broth in the pot boils and quickly overflows. She grabs a cloth to clean the liquid on the edge of the pot.

“Can't even cook like a proper woman,” Daddy grits through his teeth. “I'd have to laugh if anyone's willing to marry you. Should have just sold you to a whorehouse, at least you'd be of some use there.”

She ignores him, tears streaming down her face. “Answer me, should I? Bet Andy Gellard up the road would appreciate it, know he’s been staring at you.” he barks. He roughly grabs the shoulder of her blouse, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He reeks of alcohol far more than he should for having just started.

All she can do is shake her head as he forces her to look him in the eye. She tries to pull away, but he ignores her protest. “Think that Collin boy would like it too. What's his name, Philip? I've seen ya whore yourself out for that boy. You'd like it too if it was him, won't you? What'd your ma say if she knew she birthed a slut?” 

She lets out a sob at the mention of her mother, and she quickly shuts her mouth, preventing herself from making another sound, knowing that it will only exacerbate his anger.

“No, I’m sorry, I’ll-I’ll start earlier next time, I’m sorry.”

Something pungent and smoky fills Arthur's nostrils. The irritating smell alarms him. He shoots his eyes open and sits up. Mary has already gotten out of bed. He finds her standing before the stove, still as a statue, staring at the sizzling pan.

“Mary?” he asks. She seems to ignore him. The smoke floats out and he shoves the pot away before it can catch fire. “What the hell are you doing? It’s ruined now, goddamn it.” he growls, tipping some water in it. He grabs her shoulder and turns her around, noticing her stiffening. She’s teary again, it melts what anger he felt toward her. “Sit down, it’s fine, just burnt is all. It’s nothin’ serious, calm down.” He gently leads her to sit down. He checks on the pot. “What’s wrong?”

“I-it’s nothing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” 

“Jesus, so you burnt something, I burn somethin’ all the time, there ain’t nothin’ to worry about. I know you’re stressed, it’s fine.” he tries to console her. “What’s going on, really?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s nothing. Please stop asking, I don't want to talk about it.” she squeaks out.

“Oh.” he responds. He understands, it must’ve been something bad. She just doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. She falls silent and picks up another pot and quickly puts some water to boil, shying away from Arthur. 

She sits at the far end of the table, the farthest chair from him as he scrubs the pan, swearing under his breath. She takes a breath and forces herself to look normal, wiping her eyes again. Can’t even cook like a proper woman, it’s only a matter of time until he tires of this, all of it. Her lack of willingness, her crying, everything, he would have her out in a few days or so. It’s just inevitable, she’s useless to him like this. Honestly, how is she not useless? There’s really nothing in her that isn’t in any other woman around? There’s someone younger out there. Someone prettier, someone more fun to be around, someone who isn’t loose and fallen, someone worth something. Why would he pick someone like her? 

Why does she even care anyway? It's not like she has any right to tell him who to sleep with. She has no claim over him, and surely she should be glad for his happiness, after he has been so kind to her in the past few months. But why does the thought of him with another woman hurt so badly? Why must she feel so unbearably jealous?

He washes the pan clean and puts it aside, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet to fill them with coffee. She dries the pan and puts it over the heat again, and a new plate of breakfast is ready in a matter of minutes.

She silently lays the single plate down at the table before him. Grabbing the other cup of coffee, she sits down at the end of the table.

She takes a large gulp of coffee, though the liquid is still too hot. He gives her a questioning look. “You ain't eating anything?”

“Not hungry.” she mumbles and takes another gulp. He grimaces. It’s burning hot, he can tell by just a touch. 

“You ain’t been hungry for days, Mary.”

“So what? You eat, ain’t like I’m doing anything worthwhile here.” she mutters.

“Mary please, I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

“Look, I’m just not hungry.” she rests her chin on her hand again. She feels weak, he’s right on that, her stomach aches. Eating feels disgusting, like she’s taking advantage of him, as if it’s theft. She takes another sip of coffee. It’s been the longest time they’ve gone without, he’s clearly getting sick of it. She hopes not to owe him for it.

“Just eat. Please.” he places the plate in front of her and leaves the fork there. She stares down, right above the plate. She shakes her head. He picks a piece and places it on her lips. She reluctantly eats it. He places the fork in her hand and watches her eat. He stands up and quickly places a kiss on her forehead. 

She looks up and gives him a puzzled look. He looks away, apologetic. “Sorry.”

Mary shakes her head. She puts down the fork. “I'm done. You wanna finish this?” he glances down skeptically. 

“Two more bites,” he asks. She huffs and takes them, leaving the plate to him. “Take it.” He sits down. She had barely eaten, but it was something. She grabs the cup and moves out to drink on the porch.

The forest opens up in front of her, broad and wide. What little leaves there are have started to yellow, the lace of early morning frost embellishes the yellowing greens and what flowers hadn’t yet wilted in the face of the impending autumn. The cold wind tears through her clothes to the skin and bone, only eased by the heat of the mug in her hands. There’s nothing out in the world for her other than the hot cup of coffee and Jamie out east somewhere. Nothing more, nothing less. That feller’d be ushering her out the door by next week anyway. 

At least it had been fun, up until the past few days. Immoral, disgusting, lewd, but fun. A pleasure she had not received from any man before. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it, yet the shame crushes her.

He rinses off the plate and places it up to dry. She’s still on the porch, he notices. She’d be fine soon, he knows that. But she looks cold. He grabs a blanket and the pot of coffee, as he steps outside. She notes his presence but doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, He drapes the blanket over her shoulders and tops off her cup. She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head. “What are ya doing?” “You looked cold,” he replies.

“Oh. Okay. Thank you,” she mutters. She keeps her head lowered, staring into her cup. 

He swallows. A sudden nervousness overcomes him as he puts the pot back on the table and returns to sit down next to her. It is hard to read her face, but he can still see the hurt masked underneath her calm expression. He hates seeing her like that, so close, yet so distant, impossible to reach. He wants nothing more than to touch her, to pull her close and give her a fraction of his warmth, but she seems so fragile still, like a porcelain plate that he dares not touch. He is afraid of startling her with the slightest of movement, like how one would hesitate before reaching out for a shy kitten.

He can hear the quiet slurp as she sips on the coffee, and his attention once again returns to her face. Somehow, she looks even more beautiful under the morning light, the soft sunshine casting a golden hue on her skin. He can feel his heartbeat speeding up, pounding at his chest like a fist.

I love you.

“Mary, I—” he quickly seals his lips before he can blurt out the words. She raises her gaze and gives him a bewildered look. She wouldn’t, not now, not in a million years, never.

“Hmm?” She swallows the coffee.

He shakes his head. It would be a silly thing to say. There is no way she would feel the same. Hell, he doubts if she would even want anything to do with him if she wasn't caught up in this mess. At best, telling her his feelings would make her uncomfortable.

“I… I was just wonderin',” he pauses, trying to think of something to say, something reasonable. “I was just thinking if you would wanna get some warmer clothes. I could buy ya some.”

“Oh.” Is he preparing to ask her to leave? She knows it will happen any day, but not so soon. She can't blame him, though. At least he is being sweet enough to care about her being cold.

Her silence is making him all jittery. “So what'd ya say?”

She shakes her head, “Thanks, but I can't burden ya like that.”

“Oh, a'ight then. I can lend ya something though, if you don't mind,” he says, putting his hand over hers. She flinches at the sudden yet light touch and quickly withdraws. “Sorry,” he whispers, and shifts away from her, not wanting to make her uneasy.

Her lips slightly part before she pinches them together again, as usual when she is deep in thought, he has noticed it earlier. “Oh Arthur, it's very sweet of you, but it's not… it's not right if I take your clothes with me when I'm leaving.”

Panic washes over him. Is she planning to leave? He knows she would, there's no way to avoid it, but he didn't expect that day to come so soon. But what reason does he have to ask her to stay?

“I—I can't let you leave, not yet. I—your poster hasn't got taken off yet, there're probably still people going after you. Can't let anything happen,” he says, trying to put on a calm facade. Please, please stay, don't leave so soon.

Oh, so he isn't thinking about making her leave after all. That is certainly a relief. “Oh, I wasn't…well now that you have said it, I guess it's best that I stay for the month.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, relieved. “So, you wanna borrow somethin'? Think a couple of my sweaters might fit ya.” 

She nods, “Thanks.” He gives a quiet hum in response. He lights up a cigarette as she finishes the rest of her coffee, the smoke mixing with the steam from the cup before dissolving into the air above them. The nicotine calms him down, though not entirely. His heart still jumps in his chest. A drop of coffee rolls down her chin and she quickly wipes it off with her sleeve, while he tosses the glowing cigarette butt aside and stomps on it. 

He watches as Mary finishes the last bit of her drink, looking away when she casts him a quick glance. He will never get tired of looking at her. Her dark hair is a few shades lighter in the sun, a gorgeous shade of brown that suits her just perfectly. Her brows frame her deep brown eyes almost perfectly. He can't help but be amazed by how long her eyelashes are, he can even see their tiny shadows just under her eyes. He should draw her again some time later. God knows if he can keep looking at her like that for anything longer than another month. But who is he kidding, really? A beauty like that can’t be captured with a pencil so easily. 

She swallows the last drop of coffee and sets down the mug, letting the blanket slip off her shoulders. She folds it up upon her lap and looks up to find him staring at her with his mouth half open, a trail of drool dripping down the corner of his mouth, all the way to his chin. She raises an eyebrow, “Arthur?”

He doesn't seem to be able to hear her. She reaches out and lifts his jaw shut. That movement finally brings him back to reality, and his eyes quickly refocus. 

“Arthur, you're drooling,” she giggles, pointing at her chin. He quickly cleans his jaw with the corner of his neckerchief. You desperate fool, he scolds himself. At least it made her laugh, though her smile faded within seconds. Her face returns to its calm state and her gaze drifts back to the forest. 

“I’ll… I’ll go get one for you.” he stands up, she follows him into the house. It’s easy to find the one, it’s shrunken and dark green, it’d fit her okay. The elbows have been worn thin, but it was okay enough. It looks far too big when looking down at her on the ground. He hands it to her. “Here.”

“Thank you.” she looks it over and pulls it on. She had noticed his other sweater was in much worse shape. He could use another one, especially with how cold it’s getting. His sweater’s warm, but still way too big on her. 

“It’s a little big on ya.”

“I can see that, it’s fine though, gives some room.” she waves her arms up. 

“So, um, you planning anything today?” he asks. She shrugs. 

“Think I’m gonna knit something. I don’t feel like doing much else, I’m sorry. How about you then, Arthur?”

“Think I'll head to the post, got a letter for 'sea. You got anything you wanna send Jamie?”

She shakes her head. “ He hasn’t written me back just yet. Oh, by the way, you mind helping me do something else?” she asks, walking into the bedroom.

“Sure, what is it?” He sits down at the table again. She comes out with a key and opens the drawer, taking out his moneybox, which is technically theirs now. She opens the heavy metal case and takes out a small velvet box. 

“You mind helping me sell these?” she asks, handing Arthur the box. He opens it and finds a pair of pearl earrings. They must be quite expensive, he thinks, pearls this size aren't common around here.

“You sure? Why?” “I know we ain’t doing well financially and, well they ain’t something we need.”

“Oh I can’t be takin’ money from a lady. ‘n we’re fine, trust me.”

“Arthur, please, it’d make me feel better.”

“C’mon, I can’t do that, these must be worth a lot.”

“Please, do as you’re told for once in your life Morgan, take ‘em.” she shoves the box into his hands.

Arthur sighs. “If you insist, but I’ll pay ya back when I get the money, I swear.”

“That ain’t a loan, you’ve done a lot for me anyway.”

“ ‘m still gonna give it back.”

“No you ain’t. ‘sides, it’s in both of our best interest you get the mortgage paid off.”

“You can’t stop me from payin’ ya back, I can’t be takin’ money from ya Mary.”

“Get over yourself, Arthur, just do it for me.”

“Fine then, if you insist.” he flips it open and shut and shoves it in his pocket.

“Thank you. And remember to grab the socks on your way out.” she reminds him, as she sits down. He grabs the bag and walks out. Saddling Bo, his thoughts wander. It-it doesn’t feel right to take her money! He notices her staring at him through the window, he can swear he saw a small smile tugging at the corner of her lip before she turned away. Maybe it wasn’t wrong, she had insisted after all and- god, he’d do anything to see her smile again. He must be insane. At least with Dutch, he asked for it, he would tell Arthur exactly what he wanted and he’d run off and do it. She wouldn’t even have to ask, he’d do anything for her. It wouldn’t hurt to have more money this month, he’s running a few dollars short again. Nothing really different from before her.

Oh, he should probably go cut down Ryder too. He’s been up there for days. Maybe on his way back, if he happens to remember. He isn’t even sure if he feels like it. The feller has family and they’d like him back though. Mrs. Ryder hadn’t really been looking for him. Apparently she heard about the incident in Strawberry from somebody and she wasn’t happy to hear about it. 

Yeah, he should go give that bastard another visit, if he bothers to. Hard if. 

****

“Aight, think I'll head to bed now,” he announces, getting up from his chair. He glances at Mary and sees her hand weaving through a tangle of gray and blue yarn. “Don't stay up too late workin' yourself.”

She nods. She continues to work on her new project as Arthur settles down in bed. She has got Arthur's measurements from his shirts earlier that day. She is hoping to make Arthur a sweater for the winter, it would make a good parting gift, she thinks, or a Christmas gift, if she will be staying through the winter. She is hoping that it will be a Christmas gift though; the weather has been crazy this year, it'll be much better to have a roof above her head to shield her from the cold rain. She doesn't know whether Arthur would be tolerating her for so long though. She shakes her head in an attempt to repel the thoughts. It's no use thinking about it, she has no say in this matter anyway.

A yawn escapes her mouth. Guess she should go to bed right about now. Leaving the yarn on the table, she makes her way to the bedroom. She decides to undress for the night; sleeping with her outer clothes on hasn't been real comfortable, and Arthur seems to be already asleep. Lazily, she unbuttons her blouse and quickly discards the rest of her clothing, folding them up to be laid on the nightstand.

She swiftly slips under the covers. To her surprise, Arthur's arms quickly reach out and pull her into an embrace. Oh, so he is still awake. Alright, she won't mind some cuddling before bed. It feels nice being held by him, his strong arms firm around her waist and shoulders, his warm chest pressed right against hers. But then he leans in to kiss her on the lips, and it isn't simply a quick peck. She lets out a shaky breath. She isn't quite prepared to do it again, not yet, at least. Yet, refusing him feels wrong. He has already done so much for her, it won't be right for her to deny him this. 

It won't take too long, hopefully, she can deal with this. Having made up her mind, her hands trail up to his collar.

Unexpected by her, he pulls away as soon as she undoes his first button.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He seems to be rather shocked by her response.

“Huh?” She pauses, he's not trying to…well? “Oh, I just thought you wanted to…” she trails off. 

He just stares at her for a few moments before replying, “Just wanna kiss ya, that's it.”

“Oh, oh. Alright then.”

“You can say no if you don't want me to do something, y'know? You're stiff as a rock just then,” he points out.

“Hm, okay,” she says awkwardly. “Goodnight then.”

He lays a quick kiss on her forehead, “Goodnight.”

Mary lies back down on her bed and closes her eyes. The night is silent and calm, with their breath being the only sound in the room. Yet neither of them seems to be able to fall asleep. She tosses and turns around the bed, trying to get into a more comfortable position.

He opens his eyes, and sees her staring at the ceiling. 

“Still thinking about it?” he asks, turning to lie on his side, looking at her.

She remains silent, but gives a small nod in response. He sighs.

“You really don't have to mind what Ryder said, I told ya, he's an idiot.”

“I can't help it, y'know that,” she mumbles. “And it's not just what he said.”

“What is it then?”

“I can't care less about what that feller thinks, I just… it reminded me of what my Daddy used to say.”

“What'd he say?” he regrets it as soon as he blurts out the words. “Sorry, ain't right for me to ask.”

“S'okay. All kinds of mean things, don't think I'll have to explain much to ya.”

He hums in response. He knows how cruel one's own father can be all too well, but it is hard to imagine that anyone can have the heart to be cruel to her. Their childhoods are real similar, in a way: a mother who died too soon, a father who didn't die soon enough. At least he met Dutch and Hosea; it wasn't an easy life, but it was definitely better than what she went through. He can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to raise an infant as a teenager. Then she married that asshole of a husband, then the murders, then the running. She didn't deserve such a cruel fate, no, she deserves to be loved, to be cherished and to be happy.

Arthur wants nothing more than to be the man who'd make her happy for the rest of her life.

“Mary?”

“Yeah?”

“If we weren't… you weren't… well.” A thousand words flood his mind, but they all stop right behind his lips. “If I weren't, me, but the handsomest, best guy in this world, I would… I think I would just ask you to marry me right now.”

He stops, anticipating a reply. Panic quickly consumes his entire body as the silence fills his ears. Arthur knows he ain't a smart man, but that has to be the stupidest shit he has ever said in his life. It wasn't exactly a confession, but he is almost certain that she will find it ridiculous. 

“Oh, oh, thank you Arthur, didn't… wasn't expecting to hear something so sweet from ya.” 

He exhales in relief. It wasn't the rejection that he was expecting, thank god. “Well, I'm just sayin' the truth.”

“You flatterer,” she laughs, lightly elbowing him in the abdomen. “Goodnight.”

“'night,” he says, once again closing his eyes.

****

“Yer a good girl,” he pats the side of Boadicea's neck soothingly. The clothesline had snapped at some point and Mary's dark blue skirt had caught on a branch, spooking the horse. He dismounts and calmly removes the saddle and brindle, eyeing the clothes on the ground. The knot had always been shitty, it was inevitable, really. He grabs the end of the rope and ties it up again. They’re still all wet. She must’ve washed them just a while ago. He throws them back on the line.

Finding the last sock on the ground, he reaches for it. A whine breaks the silence. His hand freezes. 

“Arthur… Arthur, fuck,” he hears her again, panting. The covers shift and the bedframe groans under her. He hears the same sounds he heard back at the cabin through the open window. It’s been far too long since he’s heard her moan like that. His other hand trails down to his thigh. 

Arthur glances inside, but turns his head before he can see a thing. It wouldn’t be right. She whines his name again. He exhales and hastily walks off, trying to force his mind back to-to, uh, whatever the hell he was doing.

He bites his tongue and furrows his brow as he walks back. What the hell had she done to him? He’s hard already, it took next to nothing. 

It’d be so easy to go in. She’d already be ready for him there, wet and excited. He could take her so easily. He wonders if he could make her beg again.

He shouldn’t be thinking of that, like that. She isn’t quite right yet, who knows how much it might set her back again. There has to be a reason why she is only pleasuring herself when he is gone. He settles down to wait, lighting a cigarette in an attempt to distract himself from his own arousal. 

The sounds quiet and he hears her get up. Arthur stands up and moves to open the door. He grabs the meat and steps inside. She seems to spook a bit.

“H-hey, I wasn’t expecting you back this soon!” she greets, her voice still quivering. He notices the flush on her face and her frazzled state, she quickly moves to rinse her hands. Her voice seems to be a tad higher and breathier than usual. He can almost taste her in the air.

“Oh, er, yeah, I caught a good sized rabbit,” he replies, averting his eyes. The bed is unmade, again. 

“That’s nice, no more squirrel for us, right?” she laughs. 

“You’ll never forget about that one, will ya?” 

“If we’re gonna be pretendin’ to be married, what kind of wife would that make me if I didn’t remind you of stuff?” “Shut up,” he chuckles. “Mind helping me out with this then?” “Sure.” 

He must’ve heard her, she notices his state, his awkwardness and general demeanor. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but she can only hope he didn’t spot his shirt on the bed. She quickly tosses it into the laundry pile.

Arthur pulls back the wax paper and sprinkles salt and spices on the meat. She kneels to light the stove. 

“How are ya doin’ then?”

“Fine, I guess,” she responds. “Better than a few days ago at the very least.”

“Really? ‘m just concerned is all.” “Hm, well, guess I still ain’t really myself yet.” she shrugs and closes the hatch. “Can’t really shake the feeling.” “Ain’t really something to be ashamed of. We all got needs.” 

“I- I know, but, it’s not normal, women ain’t supposed to want it like that.”

“That ain’t true, I’ve been with plenty of girls like ya, all of ‘em wanted it. It’s natural, I guess.” She falls silent for a moment. 

“It’s different, being with men, no matter what ya do you’ll feel bad about it, you’re always disappointing someone,” she says, pulling out a cutting board from the cabinet.

“Who then?”

“Hm, well, I don't know. Think it started when I was a girl. You know my father, he wasn’t always too kind to me or anybody else for that matter. He was always protective, when he came home at least, didn’t like me talking to any men. He-he well, he called me every word in the book. Didn’t much care if there were ladies visiting-” she bites her tongue. 

“And then there was my husband. I think he only married me to keep his affairs covered up. He was a good man, for the most part and I understand why he did that, but it, it still hurt, I can assure you that. He used to call me all sorts of things if I tried to initiate.”

He scrunches his nose upon hearing the last sentence. “Your own husband? Jesus, I'm so sorry.”

She shrugs. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the sound of her chopping carrots. He breaks the silence, “Well, I say ol' Barry was an idiot. Your pa, too. Ya really don't need to mind the bullshit they said.”

“It's not just them. I-I don't know, honestly. It's just what I grew up hearing.”

He watches her bring the pot to a boil before adding in the vegetables. “Me, I never found

anything wrong with women seeking pleasure, but I guess some people think differently. But people can be wrong, y'know.”

“I suppose,” she says, adding a sprinkle of salt to the water. He continues as he cuts the meat apart, “Just because everyone tells ya it's wrong doesn't mean it is— but if yer still uncomfortable with the whole deal we can stop. ”

She sighs, he isn’t quite sure what to make of the response. 

They quickly get dinner done together, sitting down to eat soon enough. She seems a bit lighter, less saddened for sure.

She steps off to rinse the dishes as he finishes. He’s so… understanding, it’s insanity. She picks up her spoon and cleans it off, catching him in the reflection. He’s done with it, she notices and quickly grabs his dishes before he can. 

He’s right though. It’s not like anyone would ever know. He’d be a moron to tell anyone he fucked the mariticidal murderer, ain’t like it’s bragworthy anyway. 

“You need any help with those?” “No, thanks. You just sit down.” Arthur sits to light the fireplace. The house was growing cold anyway. Mary places the utensils up to dry. Her eyes drift to him again, bending over to light the kinding. His thighs part, she turns to stare at him. What’s the point of refraining now, she’d be gone at some point. It’d be foolish, wouldn’t it? She wonders. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind it. 

Her father's words be damned, he's long dead anyway. This Arthur Morgan is way too pretty for her to keep her hands off him.

She watches him sit down on the old armchair, as she places the last one up to dry.

Suddenly her hands are on his shoulders, her lips on his neck and she loops around, sitting on his lap. She pulls him close and hungrily kisses him, as she adjusts herself to straddle him. Arthur pulls away from her. 

“Mary… what the hell are you doing?” 

“I really missed this, Arthur, please.”

“You sure, you really don’t have to-” “Shut up, ‘n let me.” she whispers in his ear. 

“Yes ma’am.” he replies. She chuckles and pulls him closer by his bandana. His hands move to her hips, he pulls her closer. The swell of her hips feel natural in his hands, like they belong there. 

“Put your hands back.” she demands. His hands return. She leans in and kisses him again, pulling the fabric from his neck. She wraps it around his eyes, effectively blindfolding him. 

“C’mon, Mary, lemme see you.” Arthur whines. Mary laughs again and cups his cheek, before pinching it. 

“I don’t think so.” she strips off his shirt. His pants and boots follow suit. Mary straddles him again and slowly peels off his union suit. She somewhat loosely ties it around his wrists. “My, ain’t you a pretty boy?” She steps back to admire her work, ruffling his hair. She kisses him again and nips his lip, making him gasp. Her lips gently trail down his jaw. Each nip draws a groan from him. “You heard me, didn’t you?”

“Heard what?” he asks, just in case.

“Me, taking care of myself. I know I heard you, right outside, by the window.”

“I did. You ain’t quiet.” he remarks. She chuckles and bites him again.

“Wasn’t trying to be. Why didn’t you join me then?” she asks, her hand teasingly rubs his thigh, painfully close to his member. 

“Didn’t feel right, I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Arthur drawls. That’s… awfully polite of him. Huh. 

“Wouldn’t mind you crawling into bed next time. You’re my favorite toy y’know.” she trails down his chest and shoves apart his thighs, kneeling between them. Her hand finds his balls, she trails down to his muscular thighs. Arthur whines, as she drags her tongue up to his crotch. His cock twitches.

“You just gotta goddamn tease me woman.” he growls. She laughs again and moves up, placing her lips on his stomach, tantalizingly gently. Mary glances up at his face, it’s contorted in some desperate grimace. Her light touch leaves his skin tingling. 

“Like you ain’t enjoying this.” she scoffs. “Are ya, pretty boy?”

“Please just touch me Mary,” Arthur begs. 

“Fine then, since you asked so nicely.” She kisses up his shaft, her tongue sweeps up the pearly bead of precome, lazily stimulating him. He sighs, she dips down and takes him in her mouth. He’s a tad salty, she licks him again, before once again sucking him in. Arthur groans. Mary pushes herself down and hears his grunts intensify. She pulls away, finding him too hard to resist in the moment. It’s been so long.

She hastily discards her clothing, stripping down to her chemise, before remounting his lap. He whimpers, feeling her slickness at his tip.

“P-please just fuck me Mary,” his voice breaks at the last word. “I've—ugh—I've been such a good boy, please.” 

“Have ya?” she teases, quite pleased by his desperation. She can see the redness on his cheeks, even under the dim light from the fireplace. 

“Yes, yes ma'am,” he pants.

“Call me that again,” she instructs. Despite not being able to see her smirk, he can sense the smugness in her tone, and somehow, it seems to make him even harder.

“Ma'am, please,” he begs again.

She gives him a gentle kiss on the lips, “Now that's a good boy.” 

He lets out a sharp moan as she finally sinks down on him. She takes her time, allowing herself to accommodate his girth again. Impatient, he squirms underneath her, only to be stopped by her hand pressing down on his shoulders.

“Did I say you can move?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” her hand moves to his throat, she pushes him against the chair. 

“You’ve been so good for me so far, you should know better sweetheart.” she slowly rises with a hiss. Her hand tightens around his throat. His already lust-clouded head feels even dizzier as she cuts off his air supply. She sinks down on him and leans against his chest, he lets out another groan. She finds her pace and bites his neck, leaving a new bruise for him to find in the morning. Her movements speed up as she starts to groan. “How’d ya get so pretty? God, you fill me up so perfectly,” she whispers into his neck. She loosens her grip and allows him a full breath, before continuing to squeeze. “You like that?”

“Yes ma’am,” he grunts. “Please don’t stop-” his pants crack into a moan. She stops and his breathing slows. 

“You came, didn't you?” She asks, slow and dangerous, shifting up to let him fall out. His seed drips out of her in a steady stream, there’s far more than usually.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” he breathes out. She dips her fingers inside of herself and pulls out his cum, inspecting the fluids on her fingers. She glances up at his flushed face and stuffs her fingers in his mouth. 

“Lick ‘em clean, boy, and don’t think we're done here. I still got plans for you,” she growls. His tongue shyly flickers between her fingers, lapping up his own semen. She pushes her hand in his hair and pulls him closer to shove the digits deeper. Mary pulls her fingers out of him and checks them over, finding them clean. She lets out a resounding hmph and shoves him down to sit on the floor. He gasps as she adjusts his head to lay on the seat, his back pressed against the body of the chair. She swings a leg over the armrest and lowers herself closer to his face.

The air feels more humid, her arousal is hanging heavy in the air. A drop falls onto his lips. She lowers herself and leans against the headrest. She glances down and pulls away from his nostrils. His tongue dips inside her, he hungrily laps at her, her taste speeding him on. She’s looser this time, having been gaped open just moments ago. He moans, beckoning her to push herself down. She chuckles and places more weight on him. He explores her cunt and sucks in her clitoris. She whines and pulls up.

“Easy!” she hisses, tugging at his hair. Arthur corrects himself and swirls his tongue around it. She lets out a shuddering moan and lowers herself again. Her sweet tanginess mixes with his saltiness, it leaks onto his face. He penetrates her again, drawing out his cum again. “You’re being such a good boy for me again, Arthur,” she murmurs, her grip on his hair easing into strokes. He feels himself hardening again, the pressure in his cock mounting again. She grinds down on him and whines. Arthur moans and struggles, attempting to free his hands to pull her down. “Come on, you know better, boy, don’t even try,” she croons, stroking his hair. He relaxes under her and lets out a pitiful whine. Her pants intensify and he suckles on his harder. A string of profanities escape her mouth, she allows herself to squeeze his head between her thighs. He feels her relax and she moves away. She catches her breath as she guides him to return to the seat. “Good job,” she ruffles his hair again. She looks him over and takes his cock in her hand again.

“Still ain’t done, are ya?” he asks. Mary chuckles and places a kiss on his cheek. 

“Nope. And I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to cum, sweetheart. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry ma’am.”

“That’s my sweet boy,” she croons again, straddling him. Mary leans to kiss him. “Wasn’t that easy? You can do better, can’t you?”

“I can, I’ll be better, ma’am,” she slips him back into her and sinks down on his cock. Arthur lets out a moan as she gasps. Almost involuntarily, he thrusts into her, once again protruding through her slick entrance. She chuckles breathlessly, amused by his desperation. 

“Good,” she pants as she moves herself up and down his shaft. He wants nothing more than to see her, to watch her mouth open in pleasure as she engulfs the entirety of him in her wetness, yet he can hardly see anything through the cloth that she has blindfolded him with. But his lack of vision only intensifies his pleasure as she rides him, making every single strand of his muscles weak and puddy.

“Oh Arthur, my Arthur,” she whispers into his ear. “You're being awfully good tonight.”

He lets out a grunt as a jolt of heat once again blooms from his groin upon being claimed as hers. It spreads all the way to his spine, making him shudder. She gently bites his earlobe and he has to bite down on his lip, hard, in order to stop himself from coming. She lets out a soft sigh and lets her pace speed up. 

“You cummin' yet?” he asks, his voice hoarse and breathy.

She gives him a rewarding peck on the lips, “Close. You're doing a good job darling.”

He thrusts into her in response. She doesn't stop him this time, only chuckles and dips down to nibble on the skin of his throat. He lets out another groan. “Careful there, sweetheart.”

“Hah, please, Mary,” he whines, thrusting into her again. He bites himself again and pauses for a moment.

“J-just a bit longer, Arthur,” she mumbles, burying her face into his neck. She pauses, her whine muffled by his skin. “Do it, you deserve it now A-Arthur.”

“Ya sure?” he asks, voice quivering as he holds back.

“Yeah, y-yeah,” she whimpers, holding his shoulders for anchorage. “G-give it to me darlin'.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. Another squeeze of her thighs and his orgasm is already washing over him, rendering him motionless. Every inch of his muscle tenses up as his cock twitches, filling her with his seed. Determined, he gives her a few more thrusts as he comes, finally pushing her over the edge. 

She lets out a loud, harsh moan as she climaxes, her grip around his shoulders tightening. They stay joined for a few moments after their orgasms, catching their breath and regaining their strength. He silently enjoys the feeling of her smooth skin against his. The sensation of her warm softness only seems more intense with his vision deprived. Oh, how he loves this perfect body of hers, though it isn't the only thing that he so dearly loves. Should he tell her that? He desperately wishes to, but it doesn't sound like the right choice to make, god knows how she will react to this. 

She gives him a rewarding kiss on the forehead as she lets him slide out of her, interrupting his thoughts. He lets his head fall back and emits a heavy sigh as she removes herself from his lap. The surrounding air suddenly feels a lot colder, despite the cackling flames in the fireplace.

She pulls her chemise on and unties him. Arthur pulls the blindfold off and stretches out his arms again. 

“ ‘m thinkin’ I’ll go to bed, you wanna come along with me?” he asks, redressing in his union suit.

“You go ahead,” she places a kiss on his forehead. “I gotta do some knitting anyway.”

“C’mon, you can do it in the mornin’ can’t you?” Arthur takes her hand.

“Don’t take that tone with me mister, I’ll be in soon. Sleep well.”

“Goddamn it, fine.” he playfully rolls his eyes in an attempt to hide his disappointment at not getting to cuddle with her. She giggles and ruffles his hair.

“Good boy.” she ushers him off. Mary pulls the little basket out from under the chair, taking the knitting needles in her hands. He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls out his journal. A collection of rough and delicate lines comprise her portrait, his pencil dragging along the rough paper, another one of her. His pencil rests on her jawline and he smears away an errand line with his thumb. He works down her shoulder, forming her braid. It must’ve been the tenth one this week. 

I love her, yet I’m a fool for it. I’m sure she likes me well enough, or at least I’m foolish enough to think so. Mary, she’s one of the best women I’ve known, she seems to lodge herself more and more into my life by the day, though it’ll only make it hurt more when she’s gone.

If only we could have something more. She’d despise me if she truly knew me, though it’s a pretty dream. Brings something Dutch said to mind, don’t remember quite how he worded it. Something about loving someone for what they can do. I don’t think it’s like that. Or maybe it is. I hope not.

I don’t think it’d change if she didn’t fuck me, I suppose I wouldn’t mind if she did nothing at all anyway. A ♡ M

Mary sets down the large tube she’s been working on and glances back at him. He had already gone to bed, she can tell by the light. She carefully stows it back in the basket and leans back, looking back at him under the covers. He stirs. Mary leans on her hand, watching him in the room. It’s a damn shame it’d never be… well, anything. Arthur’s a good man, despite everything. He deserves better than any of this, this little shack, this sad lifestyle. He should be married by now, not playing house with a lunatic rat he picked out of a different hovel. Hell, she should still be married and not doing whatever this is. Mary sighs wearily and leans back on the chair. Such messy lives we lead. 

What’s the point of abstaining when it’ll end anyway? They’d go their separate lives. It’d only be a wild fantasy in a while, the months spent at Arthur Morgan's house, indulging in a man who seemed to enjoy every moment as much as she did. Someone as experimental, as curious, as depraved, someone like no one else.

If he’d only ask for her hand she’d gladly give it , even if it was only to keep him between her legs for years to come. He’s far more endearing than most men that came knocking to court her anyway, someone she’d rather have had for a husband than Mr. Linton. Doesn’t hurt that he’s pretty either. 

She stands up and blows out the light, leaving the hot coals and starts to illuminate the house. She strips down and very carefully lays by him, trying not to wake him. As she lifts the blanket and slips herself under it, he pulls her in. 

“You were just waiting, weren’t you?” she lets out a soft hum, resting her chin on his head. He rests his head by her chest.

“Maybe. Couldn’t really sleep without you,” Arthur mumbles. He hears her heartbeat spike for a second, a hopeful sign to his weary mind.

“You better get some sleep, Arthur, ain’t good to stay up too late. Sleep tight.” each soft word reverberates through his core.

“G’night…”

[millennialdemon]

Upon finishing Cleopatra: Queen of Sex, I am left with one simple, rather frustrating question to have at the end of any movie: What was the point?

I can’t help but compare it to Belladonna of Sadness, the film following this one in the Animerama trilogy, and lament Cleopatra’s apparent lack of purpose or narrative vision. Because while Belladonna of Sadness is quite a troubling movie to me personally – I simply cannot call it feminist, and I find it harder and harder to not just admit it is really, very misogynistic despite Eichii Yamamoto’s attempts to grapple with feminist ideas therein – I cannot say it wasn’t trying to impart a meaning, or even that it didn’t succeed in doing so. It was very squarely, definitely, about something. I came away from Belladonna of Sadness shocked, sad, and sympathetic – even if that sympathy was and is still conflicted.

On the other hand, Cleopatra: Queen of Sex left me puzzled and somewhat disgusted, and I don’t even think it was on purpose. And yes, I’m a 28 year-old harpy woman feminist whatever, of course I took umbrage with a 70s cinemax porno anime movie, what did I expect? But that really didn’t even turn out to be my main complaint. In fact, that didn’t even make it into the Top 3 problems I have with this movie, which are as follows:

3. Cleopatra, kind of like Jeanne now that I think about, didn’t actually have much agency and just sort of reacted to the story unfolding around her, despite being the main character. This is exacerbated by having her actions be controlled by another, much more wicked older woman throughout who is doing all of the planning for her.

2. The time-travel framing narrative was completely nonsensical, unnecessary, and went ignored for the vast majority of the movie.

and 1. The ending of the framing time-travel narrative is in complete opposition with the preceding 1 hour and 40 minutes of the story.

Now, I said that the time-travel framing narrative went ignored in the majority of the movie, but that isn’t technically true. If you must know, the time-travellers passively sitting inside of the brains of the ancient people – and a leopard – did contribute One thing to the story throughout: raunchy, absurdist humour. The man inside of Cleopatra’s pet leopard seemingly kept his consciousness somehow, since he was a perverse dunce that facilitated bestiality jokes, just as he did before he got stuck inside the body of an ancient leopard. What a blessing. Thank you Tezuka, for showing me various images of a wacky cartoon leopard trying to have sex with human women.

The other time-travellers ended up in the bodies of humans, a roman slave and a young woman who was a close friend of Cleopatra’s. They, for some unexplained reason, were not consciously controlling the bodies they are inside of, nor were they able to investigate anything despite that being the main conceit of this journey. The roman slave is able to craft explosives and, ridiculously, a handgun, but he has no idea how he knows how to do these things or why he is compelled to. He says vaguely, “someone in my heart is telling me how to do this” and “I made this on impulse, I have no idea how it works”. The young woman does not feel any similar impulse or have access to hidden future knowledge – she may as well have never been possessed at all. Her life goes on exactly as we would assume it would had she not been.

All of the things these three characters do, whether they had been possessed by time-travellers who do nothing anyway or not, could have simply not been done at all and nothing in the story would be very different. History would have played out the same way regardless if the roman slave won his coliseum battle by shooting his opponent with a handgun, and other similar absurdities. Cleopatra steals that handgun afterwards and threatens to kill Calpurnia with it for stealing away Caesar, but Calpurnia convinces her otherwise by showing her that Caesar doesn’t love her, so Cleopatra doesn’t even end up using the gun to change the outcome of history. And need I even explain how whether or not the leopard wants to hump various women doesn’t matter at all, beyond facilitating crude humour, the same way the imagery of a roman slave holding a glock facilitates absurdist humour in this movie?

And it was still not necessary to include them even for the sake of just facilitating humour. There are tons of elements in this movie that are purposely “out of time and place” for the sake of absurdity. All the montages of fine art parodies from around the world, the scene of the various famous statues that have Caesar’s likeness forced onto them after he becomes emperor, Caesar’s assassination playing out like a Japanese stage play. Caesar literally returns to Rome with Cleopatra in a red sports car. This movie never claimed to be aiming for any sort of historical accuracy – we even got a disclaimer about that right off the hop! – we didn’t need any reason for the roman slave to be able to craft a gun, or for the leopard to be horned out of his mind, or the girl to do… nothing…

Functionally the only thing the time-travel framing narrative did was render this movie meaningless in the end. The reason the time-travellers went to the past was to figure out why an alien race on an alien planet called Pasateli, which Earth is trying to conquer, have named their plans for rebellion against Earth “The Cleopatra Plan”. They watch the real Cleopatra’s life unfold in ancient Egypt, and return to the future saying that they now understand what the “The Cleopatra Plan” might be.

The aliens of Pasateli have been sending beautiful women to Earth to seduce the earth men and then, when they are vulnerable, kill them. Upon discovering this, earth launches missiles to Pasateli to destroy it, and the movie ends.

But Cleopatra was not a conniving, wicked woman trying to destroy mankind – this movie does not present her as such. She was being guided and pressured by Apollodoria, and even so, she resisted her demands and fell in love with both of the Roman leaders she had been tasked with assassinating. For an hour and 40 minutes we watch this story about this poor woman who cannot bear to kill the men she loves, not even for her beloved Egypt. Even when Caesar betrays her love, she does not plot revenge or kill him where he lay – she runs away in sorrow. And after Antony dies in his battle against Octavian, helped by Apollodoria’s meddling and poisoning, Cleopatra tries to run away and live in solitude, saying she wants to go back to the way she was before and live a normal life. But Octavian chases her down, helped by the vengeful Apollodoria, and Cleopatra dies when her desperate final attempt to assimilate with the Romans for the sake of survival fails against Octavian, who is immune to her charms because he is gay. (And by the way, in this mess of a story, what is that supposed to mean?)

Similarly, the Egyptians of the movie were clear victims, analogous with the aliens of Pasateli whom Earth was trying to conquer. After Cleopatra committed suicide, faced with being captured and executed by Octavian and having no choice but to do so, the young Egyptian woman one of the time-travellers ended up inside of screamed and cried and begged for the Romans to leave Egypt. That is how the story that takes place in ancient Egypt ends, with an Egyptian woman begging for the conquerors to leave them alone. And then we hard cut to the future and the time-travellers just glibly say, Oh, the Pasateli are trying to destroy us by seducing our men, just like Cleopatra did! Even though in this story, she didn’t.

It is awful. It is insanely misogynistic. It is weirdly conspiratorially racist and brings to mind the bogus “great replacement” theory that neo-nazis insist is definitely real and happening (it isn’t). It makes no sense.

I could try to spin it differently, and try to make a bold claim that this movie is actually about how humans never learn anything from history. How else can you justify none of the time-travellers, particularly the woman who had resided inside of the mourning Egyptian, not pausing and asking: Wait, are we the baddies? Are we the Roman conquerors that drove the titular Cleopatra to desperate measures and an early demise? Are we the villains incapable of witnessing and understanding the violence we are perpetuating even when it is staring us directly in the face?

But that’s a hard sell and one I cannot actually endorse, because this movie did nothing to earn that interpretation beyond have bafflingly bad writing that forces you try to make sense of it. And because there is a comedy scene wherein Egyptian women band together and plot to exhaust the Roman soldiers in Antony’s army with sex prior to his battle with Octavian’s army, ensuring he loses. And it works.

So was this time-travel framing narrative worth witnessing for the sake of laughing at the horrendously rotoscoped anime heads atop live-action actors in a kitschy sci-fi lab? Not in my opinion, no, even though I do love to see animators experiment and I do love feeling like I’m going insane sometimes. And while I can appreciate the artistry of this movie – and there is a lot of it to enjoy! – I have a big problem when a story like this is so contradictory. And no, it being an experimental adult movie from the 70’s doesn’t absolve it of having bad, confusing writing and being dissatisfying.

4/10 for some compelling visuals and a lot of experimental animation that kept things fresh, but it was majorly dragged down by a story that was a little too careless to just be dumb entertainment.

[achtung-attitude]

Her mother, bleeding. All-Kill’s apparent resurrection. The Stand floating at his side, an ugly parody of her friend’s Stand. Her friend who is now gone forever. Feeling more fear than ever before, these images race through Shizuka’s mind, her panic making her insensible.

After everything they had gone through, it wasn’t enough to defeat All-Kill. She falls suddenly, tripping over rubble and collapsing into the wreckage. With that impact, something slips.

“Oh no…! No…!” she thinks, but she can’t stop ACHTUNG BABY’s malfunction. The rubble and ground around her turn invisible, as if a sphere of matter has disappeared. “ No no no…! He’ll find me like this…! Oh no no no no…!”

She tries to rein her ability in, but fails. Her failure exacerbates her stress, expanding the invisibility bubble. She scrambles to run through the wreckage. The bubble follows her through, leaving a trail right to her.

Shizuka trips again and falls face first on the driveway. To any observer, there is only the sound of loose gravel being displaced. Softly groaning, she looks up to see…

“Kilo…” she whispers.

He lies on his stomach, face turned to the side. Still invisible, she crawls over to kneel at his side. Slowly, the invisibility recedes and she reappears, silent beside his unmoving form. 

“I’m sorry…” Shizuka whispers. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this… If you’d never met me…” She falls quiet, and stays that way for a while. 

Run… says a familiar voice. Shizuka raises her head sharply. “Who said that?” she says.

The voice answers, Run. You don’t stand a chance…

“J… Jotaro…? Where are you…?”

You heard him, a different, but equally familiar, voice cries. You’re in no condition to fight! Just run!

“Big bro… H-how am I hearing you-?!”

Jotaro’s voice speaks again. Good grief. You’ll never beat him like this…

Her shoulders slump, bowing her head so deep that her chin touches her collar. “You’re right… What am I supposed to do…? There’s no hope… Do I just give up…?”

That isn’t what we meant, sweetheart.

Shizuka shivers. “Daddy…” she whispers.

You can’t give up, but you have to run for now! I didn’t raise you to be weak, but in your condition, you can’t win! You have to retreat and calm… Calm your mind! 

The voice, which calls out from inside her head, begins to change. Joseph’s warm tones sharpen, becoming more harsh, yet more feminine. Just like before, it’s unmistakably familiar. “Mom…?” Shizuka mutters.

Only with a clear mind can you put an end to this bastard! Run now, then win later!

The technicolor girl is motionless, until finally, she pulls a smile. The voice, which at first seemed to be T’onga’s, is in fact, her own. “Oh, I see… It’s not really you guys… It’s just me, talking to myself…”

You heard ‘em, girl… Just run.  

Shizuka blinks, gazing at her friend’s body. Hearing his voice in her head. She rubs her eyes roughly. “Yeah… Yeah! That’s it! I can do it! I already… Have everything I need!”

A clattering of debris comes from the destroyed mansion. All-Kill approaches. Shizuka snaps out of her daze and stands, sparing a final look at Kilo’s body before she sprints down the driveway. “This is it…” she declares, “The strength of the Joestar family… the strength of my mother… and the strength of my friends! This is my foundation!”

A moment later, All-Kill emerges from the wreckage. As casually as he’s able, he makes his way down the driveway. Spotting the deceased Kilo, he pauses by the body and looks down at it. “Thanks for the Stand.”

BANG!!!

A bullet flies at All-Kill from behind. LONELY BOY thrashes the air surrounding its user, freezing it in mid-air. All-Kill regards it with mild surprise.

BANG!!! BANG BANG BANG!!!

More shots ring out, but each bullet is frozen without coming near their target. The man in black turns, sauntering over Kilo’s body, to the source of the shots: the bushes near the mansion’s side passage.

LONELY BOY pulls the foliage aside to allow All-Kill to peer inside. He is met by Jerome’s shaking hands, the barrel of the pistol pointed at him. But the man in black simply turns his back on him. “Get off my property,” he commands, “You’re not worth dealing with.” With that, he walks away. Jerome's hands continue to shake as he grips the pistol.

[the-gay-prometheus]

I just wanna like. Add on to this.

I experience chronic pain and I have, in fact, "gotten used to it." I put that in quotation marks because it's not really the full truth.

The full truth is, yes, I experience the pain constantly. It's always there. I know it's always there. But I can't always really feel it, because at the end of the day, it has become my body's new normal, and for me, I've been sort of forced to just 'ignore' it. In some ways, I'm grateful for being able to 'ignore' it. Being able to 'ignore' it means I'm still able to do things and that I'm not just constantly writhing around in agony all the time, which is pretty nice. But I'm not grateful for being able to 'ignore' it because the only reason I'm able to 'ignore' it in the first place is because my family didn't believe it was ever real and constantly forced me to do things I didn't feel I was able to do. It was either learn to adapt and shut down the part of my brain that was telling me "HEY. HEY THIS HURTS. HEY. HELLO. IT HURTS. HELLO?? IT FUCKING HURTS." - or it was be forcibly dragged by my arm out of bed and down the stairs without regard to the extra harm that was causing. It was either learn to adapt or be told by everyone around me that I was nothing more than a dramatic little parasite.

That's not a good thing. I know it's not a good thing. I wish I could've learned to adapt just by the will to do so instead of being forced to learn through fear. And, in some ways, even if I could've learned just by the will to do so, would it have actually been good for me? Because regardless, even though now when I'm able to do things people treat me less like I'm little more than a leech and more like a person - but that also means that when I can't keep forcing the pain down and it all comes flooding back, I get believed even less and suddenly I'm definitely just 'lying to get out of doing things' and suddenly I'm worse than a leech.

Here's what I've learned about chronic pain after having it for... Honestly I don't know how many years at this point:

1. No matter how good you get at 'ignoring' it, you'll never be able to 'ignore' it forever

2. No matter how well you think you can handle it, it will get worse, and you'll no longer know how to handle it.

3. When it does get worse, if you feel the need to adapt to it, you will. But you still won't be able to 'ignore' it forever, and it will get worse again. The cycle will continue.

4. As the cycle continues, your pain tolerance will increase. This is a bad thing, because it means when you are badly injured, you'll hardly even know it.

5. The best thing you can do is listen to your body. Listen well. If something even vaguely hurts more than usual, notice that, and try not to do anything that will exacerbate it. You'll only make things worse for yourself.

6. This world is not designed for people with chronic pain (or any disability for that matter). No matter what route you take, things will always be harder for you.

7. Let yourself experience the pain and try to stay within your boundaries and you'll not only likely miss out on a lot, but you'll also experience a lot of hatred from people who don't understand - you'll probably even experience contempt from people who do understand but still feel the need to push themselves (because they will be jealous and frustrated that they didn't feel they had the opportunity to do the same). You'll probably struggle financially, you'll probably struggle to support yourself or others, but at least maybe the pain won't get too much worse.

8. Try to adapt to the pain and the cycle begins. You may be able to do more in the short run, maybe you'll even be able to support yourself or others for a time, but in the long run you might end up destroying yourself.

9. When the cycle begins, the moment you let that adaptation break or the moment it gets worse, very few people will believe you. Very few people will be on your side. You might have a job, but you're going to lose it. You might have finally gotten the admiration of your parents, but you're going to lose it. Accomodations will be something you will fight hard to get, and that fight will end up amounting to nothing a good portion of the time.

10. If people can't see your pain, it doesn't exist to them. Even if you don't think you need it, a mobility aid can open up a whole new world of possibilities for you. Not only might it actually help ease your pain and make getting around and doing things at least a little easier, but it's something people can physically see. Ever since I started using my cane I've had a lot more people open to believing me about my pain/disabilities.

Point is, chronic pain fucking sucks, and honestly, to me at least, the pain itself is the least awful part about it. The most awful part is the people that refuse to acknowledge that it exists in the first place. So if somebody tells you they have chronic pain - I don't care if they're doing hard manual labor or if they're bedridden - you believe them first, and when they tell you what accommodations they need, if you're able to provide them, you provide them. Don't make this worse for us than it already is. Don't keep forcing people into The Cycle™.

I think the biggest misconception abled people have about disabled people's pain is that it feels like normal pain everyone has felt before, and that you can get used to it and grow a tolerance like normal pain.

ITS NOT LIKE THAT

Here's an example, when I was 12 I got a daith piercing in my ear, It was the worst pain I had ever felt. I felt like someone was trying to crush my skull.

Then I became disabled, And that became the worst pain I ever felt. My joints felt like they were literally on fire almost constantly for over 3 years. It NEVER felt less painful.

Last year I had to get my daith repierced, it felt like a tiny pinch.

The constant chronic pain I feel has increased my tolerance for normal pain, but you cannot increase tolerance for chronic pain. It is always excruciating at worst, very uncomfortable at best, the pain never hurts less. You just learn how to accept it and strengthen your mind enough to think past the pain. YOU CANNOT GET USED TO CHRONIC PAIN. That's why we can't "push through it", or "toughen up". It's not normal pain, your brain is literally confused and forces you to feel pain because it thinks you're extremely injured.

Imagine burning your arm on something reeaaally hot, now imagine the burning sensation you feel is inside your muscles and joints and not on the surface on your skin, now imagine feeling that 24/7 and you can't get rid of it. That's what I'm dealing with man. Do you abled people get it now??

[polandspringz]

tried writing about it in two diaries but im gen z and cant resist making a spectacle of myself by posting online or vague posting or whatever i just dont feel satisfied until i yell my thoughts into the void of the internet even though i know its not a void

been very frustrated lately. my irl friend pool has grown smaller since graduating high school, which is normal. i never had a big group of friends to begin with, and so the core group stuck, but it got smaller and smaller as we all went different paths. one of them is basically MIA in another state with a whole new life, so i dont even know if i should count that. one of my friends is no longer an irl friend as theyve been moving around since graduation and i only ever talk to them online, and every time they announce to me that theyre coming back to my state, its followed by a "oh well im actually visiting a DIFFERENT friend so idk if i have time to visit YOU" and its like why are you even telling me to begin with

and i didnt make many irl friends in college. the curse of community college + pandemic lockdown + transfer student to 4 year school meant nothing was permanent. no one was going to last in community college because we're all trying to go our separate ways anyway. the lockdown isolated me to the point i turned to dating sims so severely i started having weird delusions about reality. at least that was somewhat comforting. then transferring into a 4 yr school for the last 2 yrs of my degree meant i really didnt fit in anywhere. orientation put me with all teenage freshmen, who then all got close by having to take a freshman seminar class together. everyone in my major knew each other already. and everyone lived close to the school while i was a commuter. i made friends in my club but again everyone lives so far from me despite being in the same state. its hard to make plans with the one friend i did get out of college bc she cant drive and lives basically 2 hrs away.

my work doesnt put me with a lot of young ppl. my internship was all middle aged women, and my current job has been so trigger happy about firing people i cant get close enough to people/ the commute makes it impossible to hang out with anyone.

so the few friends i did have left im dependent on. but theres been problems there too. 2 of them are basically MIA. and all of them i just feel the friendships have become so one sided. for my entire life im always the planner, the one reaching out, making the plans and itinerary. and if im not the one doing it, nothing happens. i do not see people for months, for years. and its been a pattern my whole life but its become more and more exacerbated by my friend pool shrinking.

im just. im tired of seeing months of my own discord messages at attempts for conversation with no replies in between. im tired of reaching out to someone and them ignoring me, even if they have a good reason (mental health, deleted social media, etc.) because then I'm left wondering how to even keep up the relationship. when i decide to take the risk and not be the one to make plans, every falls apart. conversations dies. it feels no one actually wants to hang out around me. and (using this word again) its been exacerbating feelings ive been having about weirdness in my friendships, of wondering if people even LIKE me anymore.

I keep feeling like this one scene in A Silent Voice (timestamped) where Shoya keeps trying to make plans but is sort of just satisfying himself by dragging everyone around with him

idk im just getting frustrated. but theres no way for me to convey this people without sounding like a bitch or a horrible person. i just feel selfish, but im tired of putting all the work into my relationships. im tired of indecisiveness and then just getting silence for months on end. im tired of staring back at my own messages and then hating myself for just talking too much and being annoying. one-sidedness is my biggest pet peeve, and probably really a trigger, because it was what led to my bff in ms/hs falling out bc i felt like i was the one always making the plans or messaging and they were ignoring me. so to feel it happen again and again with my other friendships just. its so upsetting

and its also frustrating bc then i really have no one to share my interests with. bc my family doesnt really share the same things. like yes i watch anime and tv shows with my family, but when it comes to like. my interest in musicals, dance, singing, etc. i dont have anyone irl for that. my attempts to get friends into it gets me pushed away. and then i feel selfish anger which makes me hate myself, but i get these annoying "transactional" thoughts of like "well i get into x for you, so you should make sacrifices and watch y for me". but its frustrating bc i genuinely try out things i dont normally would like to try and build a bridge with my friends in hopes theyll try out something i like. and do it without making fun of it. idk i probably sound like a selfish or like a baby being like "I just want someone to watch a musical or smth with me" but to me friendship isn't necessarily transactional, but you try new things you may not like to make each other happy. and my brain rationalizes it as transactional as i try to make the bridge happen but im the only one crossing it ever. so i just keep building bridges and bridges and bridges and following after people but they never cross back over to my side

ive been feeling worse and worse since this summer, and 90% of it is likely my job stress just affecting all my other relationships. but ive been hyper sensitive (i hate that word so maybe hyper aware is better) of little comments. little things that just rub me the wrong way. change an interaction from 1 little thing to an "oh. I guess im bothering you after all" big thing. "Well I'm doing this for you" --> oh so you didn't want to do the thing we both agreed to do that I was actually only doing to make YOU happy. (again, i view relationships of transactional but that doesn't mean i LIKE them to feel that way).

ive made posts about this before i think but psychoanalyzing myself here- i like KNOW 90% of my problems with friendships stem from ym bullying and being taken advantage of / just trying to be accepted as a kid. i used to give away my snacks/lunch to people to try and get them to like me. and thats why gift giving has unfortunately become my love language. to the point where i freak out if i cant give someone a gift because its the only way i know how to calm my brain being like "check the box, i gave them smth so they have to like me at least another two months or smth" and the bullying def added to this bc i used to have to deal with my entire class not speaking to me for entire days which is why i panic when IM the only one reaching out and getting silence back

but at the same time i know im a hypocrite. i see a friend message about smth and i dont really care about it so i dont respond. or i dont want to watch smth. and so then i feel like i shouldnt be keeping tally in my head bc im just as guilty. and i shouldnt keeo tally to begin with bc thats still transactional. but its hard to ignore the feeling like the tally is still uneven

idk im just. upset. frustrated. tired. really im just lonely. the past few months i feel like the ppl i do still talk to have been growing distant and starting to dislike me more and more. i feel resentment from them, and its scaring me, because i feel like im losing the few people i have left.

and at the risk of the ppl im vague posting about reading this and connecting the dots by giving identifying conversations- like idk ive just felt so stressed when im with ppl. simple things like. oh no the playlist played more of my songs than theirs. oh im bad at parking the car. oh i did this. oh i did x. oh they made a joke about me having too many ideas. every time smth happens i just. shut down now. im just tired bc i feel such resentment and im trying not to cry when i do hang out with people but i just feel like no one likes spending time with me anymore and im tired of putting so much energy into keeping relationships alive but if i dont then they crumble. i feel like no one likes ME anymore or that they never did and I'm just a bitch and that feeling of "everyone secretly hates you" coming back full force.

all this to say im probably very depressed, but thats not going to solve anything knowing the obvious. im just tired. im tired and its exacerbated by the christmas shopping season bc im forced to face my own thoughts as i have to buy them a gift or else i dont have an excuse or reason for them to stay with me for another few months.

anyway im going to bed

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

When life disappoints you, lose yourself in an aquarium to remind yourself that the world isn't such a bad place

Aquariums can be nice to look at, especially when you want something simple that still gives you a much needed change of scenery. I haven’t been to one since I was young and probably not able to really appreciate them the same way grown adult me would. I mean, it’s nothing groundbreaking, just really cool to look at, and that’s good enough for me. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating something just because it looks nice and not something you’d see every day - I guess that’s the main appeal of aquariums.

For me, I think the main appeal is just seeing all the different creatures, the colors, and just watching them swim around. It may not look like much, but I find it kinda fun. In a child’s imagination, an aquarium is like another world, and I was that kid who imagined herself living in there. Funny to think that as an adult, I sometimes find myself doing the same and it’s just as fun.

This trip was kinda something we put together last minute, which seems to be the thing when I meet up with the Epiphany. Simply put, we needed something that was chill while somewhat engaging enough to get ourselves out of a rut and take our mind off things. I’d say the aquarium did its job.

I’ve been feeling out of whack after spending a week stuck in bed knocked out by a virus. It started with a cold that made me use my inhaler more than usual, which is not a good sign. After a few days, I went to see a doctor, who told me that I wasn’t having an exacerbation, so that’s a relief. However, because I have asthma, they prescribed me an antiviral to reduce the risk of complications. Had it not for that, then it’s just the usual bed rest and drink lots of fluids.

By the time I saw the doctor, some of my symptoms had resolved itself, aside from the coughing and occasional shortness of breath. The medicine, on the other hand, that’s what really knocked me out. They warned me about the side effects and how that should not keep me from taking it. Yeah, it was bad, but I pulled through. I figured that I was better off feeling terrible now than pay for it later if, worst case scenario, I wind up in the hospital. Sometimes you just have to drag yourself through it.

One side effect I noticed right away was the persistent bitter taste in my mouth that made a lot of things taste bad, like water. Then came the upset stomach, which made matters worse. Tea helped for a bit, but when that became too bitter I put together a drink that was basically honey, hot water, and oat milk and lived off that. I was told to try to stay hydrated, which I think really helped a lot when I was unable to eat, bit it wasn’t easy.

Ugh, that was awful, though nothing compared to the headaches that came on later. That, and the brain fog in general from being sick just killed me. I tried taking something for the headaches, but that didn’t help, so I tried to sleep through it. As someone who is somehow incapable of taking naps, that was kinda tricky even though I was exhausted, though I managed to get a tiny bit of sleep here and there.

So I was basically flat out on my back for a week because of that damn medicine. But so did many other people who took it and made a full recovery. I’m not 100% yet, but I feel a lot better, so there’s that. Yeah, I can see why some people stop taking it after a couple days, but that’s not a good thing. Well, at least the ordeal’s over. Getting sick is not fun at all.

On the bright side, I managed to make some good progress on some of my knits before the brain fog and exhaustion overtook me. First was my basic raglan cardigan, which I’ve been putting on the backburner to focus on finishing my kompeito cardi, which came out amazing. I’ve managed to get one wear out of my kompeito - or confetti, as my family calls it - before getting sick and got a lot of compliments about it. After having mixed feelings about my cabled cardigan that’s a size too small, I’m glad to have another finished project that I feel really proud of.

As for the basic raglan, I finished one sleeve and got started on the other one. I figured that since I had one done already, why not just start the other one? Hopefully that’ll sort of combat second sleeve syndrome, as well as give me a better idea of how long I want the body to be. I think on the picture it looks kinda cropped, and I’m not sure if I want that. At least I know for sure that I have plenty of yarn to add extra length - maybe an inch at the most. At least with the body it’s just mindless stockinette, which I’ll save for days when I want to turn my brain off and just knit.

My main WIP is the long awaited and hyped Blissful Cardigan. It’s a saddle shoulder v-neck cardigan that’s really popular and has been on my to-knit list for a long time. I’ve never done saddle shoulder before, which is one reason why I kept putting it off. Along with trying out a different construction, it’s also my first venture into mohair. So far, I’ve been liking the result, though sometimes I have to be careful to make sure I’m holding both yarns together since it’s easy to accidentally miss the mohair, especially if I’m knitting somewhere that’s kinda dark.

Knitting with two yarns held together isn’t a huge learning curve, my main concern was not knowing how I’d like the mohair. The brand for both the yarns are very popular - for good reason - and I’m glad to say that it is not scratchy at all. I actually have no idea what my sensitivity level to wool is, but since I don’t like high necks like turtlenecks, I’m assuming that I wouldn’t do well with yarn that’s really scratchy.

I’m only on the sleeve increases part of the yoke, which thankfully doesn’t require as much math as the first part of the yoke since you just knit even on the purl side. The first part, the set up, has you doing increases on the purl side, something I don’t do often, and I’m still eeeh on make 1 right purls. They’re just so fiddly to work with, but I’ll deal.

I like that the yoke is engaging and that the pattern has clearly written out the rows for each size in a separate chart so you can keep track of everything. I find that I’m not a fan of at the same time instructions because it’s easy to get lost and mess up your numbers, so that’s a plus for me with this pattern. Also, it’s fun learning a new construction and seeing how it all comes together.

Then comes my third WIP, which will have to take top priority since it’s a gift knit. It’s a the Hibernate v-neck pullover for my mom, something she always wanted in her wardrobe. I had her feel the mohair and merino combination of my Blissful before settling on the same yarns and she liked it too, saying that she wanted something kinda fancy. Mohair really does add a level of luxury to knits and now I’m afraid of falling into a potentially dangerous rabbit hole. Of course, I wanted one of my own, and there happened to be a big sale, so I got the yarns for both of us.

The base color my mom chose was unicorn purple, a soft and pretty light purple, paired with marzipan, a very light grayish beige. It’s cool to see how using a different color mohair adds something to the merino without looking too marled. For my own sweater - which I won’t be working on for a while - I went for marzipan as my merino base and cream for my mohair because I could use more neutrals in my wardrobe.

Since my mom is a size smaller than me, I hope that I’ll get it done a bit faster. I’m at the beginning of the yoke, which is a compound raglan. The first part of the yoke, like the Blissful, involves raglan increases on the purl side. Thankfully, there wasn’t as much of that and it looks like all the purls will be knit even rows from now on. Like with the Blissful, the Hibernate also puts detailed charts for the raglan increases. Stuff like that takes a lot of time and effort to add, so I really appreciate both designers doing that.

And like me, the Epiphany also got sick and were knocked out by the same virus and medicine. Laufey got hit first, followed by Jewel, then Fionna, Jiangyi. Meiying, Landry, and Hongxia. Yang and Della only managed to avoid it because they were out - more on that later.

Since Meiying, Jewel, and Fionna were also in the high risk category of developing serious complications, they were also given the medicine, which they all complained about too. Well, misery loves company, so at least we were able to let off some steam complaining in our group chat about the side effects, especially about that persistent bitter taste. Again, better off to feel like shit now and have that go away than have it bite us back in the ass later. At least we all know now that the medicine did work or else we wouldn’t be up to going out today.

While everyone was sick, Della was summoned back home for what will probably the last time. After the dissolution of the Eagle Stellarons, things have been going downhill over there. The political instability has gone bad to worse with the possibility of war down the line as the former Stellarons are willing to destroy everything just to maintain their status. Yikes, this is why people like Della are willing to put their lives on the line to stop them from abusing their power.

Knocking down a corrupt and powerful faction will always have devastating consequences, sort of a last resort kind of thing when all other possibilities of reform is just impossible. Yang said although the Stellarons act like they rose from a noble cause, the truth is that they have always been self-serving from the very start. In other words, under their rule, if you have money and status, you can get away with anything while the common folk have to pay the price for your whims.

Some individuals, like Della, are in a difficult position because of their families. There’s this inside joke about the members of the Epiphany surviving at least 30 attempts on their lives - 30 being a super low estimate on purpose considering that most people wouldn’t even have 5 murder attempts in their lifetime. Thanks to her father, Della sidestepped at least 15 assassination attempts this year. She said if it wasn’t so fucking serious, it would actually be funny in an incompetent way.

Like, seriously, who do these people think they are? This guy’s daughter rightfully criticizes the government and he brings out the snipers because he won’t accept that he’s complicit in many crimes. Della always had a difficult relationship with him, especially after he made it clear that he would rather have her dead than accept that she was struggling with severe mental health issues. When he found out that she was gonna testify, he flat out said in court that he was gonna get her killed. Still, some people chose to ignore that, even after the murder attempts began. Not surprisingly, they would say that she brought it on herself - anything to excuse the former Stellarons of any wrongdoing even though they’re boldly committing crimes in broad daylight for all to see.

She’s long accepted that her father’s a lost cause, and his failed attempts at assassination makes him more of a joke than a serious threat. Seriously, how desperate can someone get? To think this ultra powerful commander is soooo threatened by his daughter because she’s willing to call him out on his bullshit that he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s trying to put a bullet in her head. Despite the real danger he poses on her life, Della sees him as nothing but a pathetic coward who throws a temper tantrum when things don’t go his way.

Her mother, on the other hand, is her main source of disappointment. Yang was hoping that she’d stay true to her word and commit to the fight the whole way. However, she, like many of her colleagues, ended up backing out once shit really hit the fan. Just as he feared, a lot of them cared more about protecting their standing with the former Stellarons than looking out for the civilians whose lives are now in upheaval due to the growing instability. Damn, that is a letdown, especially after so many of them preached about how important it is to look out for the common folk.

Yang says the most frustrating thing about Clio is how she seems to only care about the issues when it’s convenient for her. The main reason why she finally decided to testify against the Stellarons was because she feared for her daughter’s life. She knew that if Della stuck with the Stellarons, there was no doubt that she was going to be killed, and she did not want that for her daughter, who she felt deserved so much better. But when it came to doing the actual dirty work, meaning putting her former subordinates on the spot and publicly denouncing them while doing everything in her power to undo the damage they did, she suddenly decided that she would rather stay in their good graces than become their next target of ire.

While Yang says there’s no doubt that Clio values Della’s life, once she realized what she will lose by turning against the Stellarons - prestige, influence, respect, all that good stuff that comes from being a commander - she was unable to let go, to accept that the things she fought for are no longer hers. And Della’s not the only one disappointed in her, so are the civilians who thought Clio was by their side, which makes it worse. To fill their hearts with empty promises that will never be followed through, to deceive those close to you into believing that they’ll always be by your side when you need them - nothing is more cruel than dangling hope on a thin thread just out of reach, only to snip it away moments before you can catch it.

And on top of that, Della’s citizenship has finally been revoked, something she knew was gonna happen eventually. She was actually surprised that it took them that long to finally get around to doing so. Like Sara, Della has long severed her ties with her homeland once shit started going down, and she has no desire to return, if ever. While she’s cautiously optimistic that the people will rise up against the former Stellarons, there’s just too many painful memories for her over there. In the few times she’s returned since traveling with the Epiphany, so much has changed because of the ongoing tension that it was no longer the place she remembered.

It sounds like a lot, but Della says she’s kinda over it. She still hopes to help the civilians any way she can, especially with rumors of war looming on the horizon. She hopes it doesn’t go down that route, though situations like these are always unpredictable. Yang reassures her to put her faith in the people, to listen to their voices, and support them when they need it - that’s what it means to be an ally. She’s done her part, now she just needs to keep her word and follow through on what she says, even if it means making her an enemy of her former colleagues. That was a price she was well aware of paying when she stepped up in court and she will never forget that.

I admire her for staying true to her word. I can’t imagine it being easy in her position, risking everything to ensure that other people will have a future to look forward to. Admitting that you were wrong for being a member of a faction that served to oppress and control the general population, playing a major role in spreading their lies and turning a blind eye to the injustice around you. To open your eyes to the world around you and being brave enough to say, “This is unacceptable, I need to do something about it.” She didn’t do all of this to become a hero, she did it because she needed to do the right thing.

After the week we’ve all had, going to the aquarium was the perfect remedy to clear our minds. Sometimes you just need to lose yourself to fish swimming in the water, maybe even imagine yourself as one of them. It won’t solve your problems, but it’s nice to have a bit of an escape to help you break out of a rut before running back into the swing of things.

Read on AO3

[project-sour-grapes]

Effort, again

Throughout my life, whenever I have switched modes from one career to another, I've gotten excited for the first few days. But then when I sit down to do work on the 3rd or 4th day, it very quickly becomes humdrum and I start to dream of other possibilities.

Part of my cowering away from the path of medicine is that the stress that I expect is going to (and already has) exacerbate old psychosomatic health issues. However, all of the other paths also have stress.

What popped into my head a few minutes ago at 6:30am was how much "belief" plays into things. "Whether you think you can or you can't, you are correct," and all of that. I think of the Huberman Lab podcast and related science podcasts, where folks will come on and talk about sleep, sugar, exercise, and so on, and they may say contradicting things, but any person who follows one of those ways of living will swear by it. Veganism, keto, paleo, 6.5 hours of sleep, 9 hours of sleep--all of that. Dr. Ellen Langer was on Rich Roll's podcast earlier this year, and she talked about how changing clocks on people to convince them that they got more or less sleep than they actually did can cause them to feel more or less fatigued. If a person got 8 hours of sleep, but the experimenters changed the clock to convince them they only got 5, then they reported feeling more tired, and vice versa.

Lately, I've been feeling more tired, more stupid, and more disenfranchised--and more angry because of it. The idea of age is really getting to me now that I'm 3 decades old, and I'm doing things in my life more slowly and with less vigor. I'm kind of settling into a humdrum life. It's partly my realization and anger about society leaving me holding the bag (where I am putting a lot into other people but getting little in return emotionally and materially). It's also partly a passive decision to languish. However, I have to ask myself, to what extent is this all just belief?

Whenever I try to be a hard charger (A+ student, know-it-all, always helping others, scrupulous in all areas of life), I have fun at first, but then I hit a wall 4-6 weeks in. That tracks right now, because I did start to hit this wall 6 weeks into the fall semester. Is it the loneliness of being at the top of the mountain? Why do I always lose steam like clockwork? How do I keep going?

Other folks seem to have things that keep them going: relationships, social outings, Adderall, being a dick to strangers to let off steam. I seem to find out around the 6 week mark of every school semester that I absolutely do not like my life, so I burn out, drag my feet, and start to half-ass homework and exams. Can I use "belief" to overcome this? Likewise with the immediate sludge that I run into when trying on career changes for size, do I need to change my mindset in order to get past the 3-day hurdle? The reason that the obstacle comes on more slowly for school work is probably because there is more structure to school. If you zone out and just do what the teacher asks you to do, then you get a weekly reward (an A or your classmates thinking you're smart or something). When the timeline is related to a career, which is more freeform (especially freelancing or creating your own business), then the weight of decision making and the void of the future come on much more quickly. At least with school, I can kind of dissociate into the prescribed structure.

Back to belief, how might I be able to use that for life's obstacles? Heck, I need to sleep early tonight and basically wake up at 12:30am to go volunteer at an ultramarathon at 2:00am. I've struggled with insomnia since middle school. Can belief help me with that? (Probably, yeah.)

When I think of work and medicine, I think of the stress I have experienced and will experience in healthcare. My most recent stressor has been my boss struggling to give me the benefit of the doubt. He and I have had frequent (mild) arguments and conflicts about my work and how I approach it lately. Yesterday, he said that he wanted me to use this particular, proprietary, statistical imaging software to turn my data into graphs for publication. However, I have never used that software and have no interest. I am also way better at making graphs in Python and Matplotlib (and the graphics look so much fucking cooler, thanks to Matplotlib and Seaborn). I was trying to politely advocate for using Python, but he got mad that I was "arguing" with him. That caused me some stupid psychomatic health issues later in the day as I was churning through the conversation in my head, because apparently I'm so fucking delicate. (What a pussy am I?) Anyway, this is really his mistake, because of a few reasons. First, I have a decade of experience with Python and no experience with his statistical software. Second, the graphics from Matplotlib and Seaborn are cool as hell and intuitive, and he already expressed how much he likes them. Third, I saw the graphics that the proprietary software spits out for the first time yesterday, and they're so sterile and lifeless that it makes me gag. Fourth, if you're going to hire an engineer with 12 years of Python experience, don't be surprised when they want to engineer things in Python instead of click around some ugly statistical software to make even uglier graphs. It's like if I had a lifetime of acrylic painting experience (which I do) and I said, "Let's do this painting in acrylic. It will be world-class if we do it this way." And my boss said, "No, please use crayon. Everybody in this industry uses crayon." The thing is he is a smart guy and I like him, but that makes it worse, because I don't know where the FUCK this is coming from? Anyway, so later, I had some pretty stellar psychosomatic fucking symptoms. While I know that that is my body trying to tell me something, how do I not be held hostage by it? This is where my thoughts around belief come in.

This isn't just about belief in a "believe in yourself" way or in believing in success despite the odds. It's moreso about who a person believes themself to be. It really gets back to the identity question. There are plenty of statements I believe about myself and that make up pieces of my identity. "I am a person who struggles with insomnia." "I am not as smart as my boss." "Strangers do (or don't) tend to like me." Stuff like that. If I have all of these contentious beliefs or beliefs that lead to social jostling (e.g. "I am not as smart as my boss, but that feels threatening to me, so my boss's criticism feels painful and causes us to argue"). Instead, if I adopt a totally different belief, maybe that will solve the problem. If I come at each of these problems from a different foundation of belief, then maybe the problems will be largely solved. For example, if I approach my work environment with thinking I'm not as smart as my boss, then I'll be seeking to prove something and may be more likely to get into disagreements in a less than charitable manner or to approach my work with less confidence than I should, leading to worse work. However, if I approach work with, "I am just as smart as my boss. He knows things that I don't and vice versa." Then, that kind of confidence will bleed into my work and the conversations that we have. If I believe that I'm not good enough, then I'll always be socially elbowing other people. If I do believe that I'm good enough, then I'll just be there doing my thing and spending energy on good work. I don't know if I'm expressing this in a way that makes sense. The more that I believe that I'm good at what I do and am getting better and that there are no limitations, then I don't even need to participate in or care about the rest. It satisfies "show, don't tell."

[writteninscarlet]

❥ ;; @overclocks

send ❥ to give my muse a kiss on the forehead! ;; accepting

She was going to blame her mood on being tired. Which wasn’t exactly fair or accurate - everyone felt tired on a very regular basis yet not everyone felt so down and lonely as she was feeling now. But perhaps feeling tired was exacerbating the situation. Feeling tired meant she didn’t have all the energy required to push away some of the darker thoughts, the sickly bittersweet ones - the thoughts and nostalgia that only brought about sadness.

Wanda wasn’t sure what had brought on such feelings. Sometimes there were just bad days. She’d talked about that in therapy before. There wasn’t a ‘cure’ because bad days were simply bad days. It wasn’t due to a disorder or an imbalance, it was how life ran. And so she knew the feelings would pass. Overall, Wanda was doing so much better now than she had before. She had her own shop, and with the Last Door she was helping so many people. She had a life as the Scarlet Witch and as Wanda Maximoff.

But sometimes she felt a little disconnected. No longer living in the city meant she wasn’t so close to her friends and family. Her life was moving on, she should have expected the same from others.

Lost in thought, she vaguely registered Tony being nearby. His presence made sense. She had been feeling lost and down and sought comfort with the familiar. She was not being the best house guest, she was aware. Curled up on a seat, looking out the window with a frown - and even a cold cup of tea at the table by her side! Dreadful manners! She was aware Tony was near, but too lost in thought to do anything about it.

Until she felt a gentle kiss on her forehead. The warmth to her temple was sweet and welcome. It was pleasant, comforting, and familiar. It wasn’t over powering, but still more than enough to drag her from her thoughts and back to the present.

Blinking, she tilted her head to look up at Tony with eyes as wide as they had been when she first joined the Avengers, as wide as they had been even when she first began to work alongside Tony. It took a split second, but she smiled a wonderful smile up at him - before manners caught up with her and she turned away sheepishly.

“Sorry. I came over here to see you and I’ve just been sat like this the whole time. I didn’t mean to bring things down. I’m not really sure what came over me.” Except she wanted comfort, and so here she was. She gave a tiny, still sheepish laugh before looking at him once again. “You make me happy, Tony, just by being around. It’s quite an amazing gift.” The kiss was small, but it had brought her back. And her words were sincere, just talking to him was helping. Any worries already seemed already smaller. Really, an amazing gift.

[grifpaw]

so this is an interesting comment and i have some thoughts on this; i don't actually think editing and CGI are inherently an issue here! for starters, red vs. blue has always utilized video editing. church's "ghost" form was edited in, of course, and there were plenty of visual gags just in blood gulch chronicles that wouldn't be possible without the use of video editing, like lopez's disembodied head, church and tex's gravestones, grif "establishing a perimeter" around sarge, and lots more that i'm not gonna list right now.

as for CGI, they started using it back in season 8, and that's about where, in my opinion, the storytelling in rvb started to become the best it's ever been. i have nothing but praise for monty oum's work on rvb, and i think the use of animation in seasons 8-10 only improved what was already a fantastic series. the project freelancer saga couldn't have done a lot of the things it did without the use of CGI, and because the writing was top-notch, it worked. did the models look janky sometimes? yes. did i love it? also yes.

that being said, there's a discussion to be had about the over-reliance on these techniques. when is it too much? when does it become detrimental to the quality of the show? this is somewhat subjective, but here's what my own opinion boils down to: the quality of the writing shouldn't suffer just because they can include flashy visuals and fight scenes, because that's not enough! as an example, there were some action sequences in the chorus trilogy that, in my opinion, dragged out for a long time with little additional benefit. they looked cool, yes, but for the amount of time that was spent on them, they just didn't do very much. i'll explain what i mean.

first, let's look at the fight against the tex drones at the end of season 10. not only did it look dope as fuck, but it had a lot of great moments for the main cast's characterization, had plenty of rvb's typical humor mixed in, and fit into the story in a way that really tugged at my emotions... now i wanna compare this to the final carolina vs. sharkface fight in season 13. i don't wanna say it's bad, but first of all, i don't really care about sharkface as a character, even though the plot seems to want me to. and second of all, what does this sequence do for the characters i do care about? i'm not complaining about getting to watch carolina beat some guy up, but from a writing perspective, this only serves to slow carolina down a little... as far as i can tell, it does nothing for carolina's character development, and i didn't give a fuck when sharkface died. so, idk?

i, like many others, enjoyed the chorus trilogy. but it's also where i start to see a few CGI sequences that don't do much besides looking kinda cool, and that's really what it boils down to for me. i will say right now that i fucking love animation, but there's a point where it overshadows the biggest selling points for the series, which are its strong characterization, dialogue, humor, and, of course, plot.

so to close things off, i do think reliance on editing and CGI can become a problem, but it's in tandem with everything else. these things can make the series better, but they can also make the series worse. when the writing falls off, the overuse of CGI feels pointless and only serves to exacerbate that issue. similarly, the freedom offered by CGI and video editing can cause the writing to suffer (and i will be incredibly clear: the writing has always been what carries the series, not the visuals). when the CGI/editing complement the machinima and writing instead of overshadowing or replacing them altogether, that's when the series is the best it can be.

(also, everything i just said is my opinion only, and it's okay if others disagree. peace out)

now i know people like to say red vs. blue sucks or whatever but i would be lying if i said i didn't think it was a fantastically written series that changed how i approach dialogue and humor on a fundamental level. also, i have the deepest respect for machinima as an art form.