#and maybe they recognize themselves in the other and it makes them both really uncomfortable to consider that this other being is like them

[copepods]

i alwys get annoyed when i see fanon depictions of artificer being affectionate with five pebbles because in my mind artificer has complicated feelings towards him that lean towards dislike and they see him more as a weird alien creature-machine who carries a great deal of knowledge and talks to arti for lack of anything better to do, and artificer brings him pearls to stave off crushing hopelessness and loneliness but like i dont think artificer actually likes him. i think theyd find him off-putting and unpleasant. of course that's just headcanon in my mind though which is why its a little funny that alternate depictions annoy me so much. we are all making this shit up

[kpop---scenarios]

Whiplash (2)

Pairing: Felix x Reader x Hyunjin

Genre: Street Racing, Gang, Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 4k

Taglist: @sheala--marie @kayleefriedchicken @chartrucewhore @cookiesnmilfx

Part One |

“I'm never drinking again.” You groan, rubbing your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to sooth your throbbing head. The only thing you remembered about last night was dancing with that guy and then everything goes blank. You take a deep breath in and out before your eyes shoot open. You sniff harder, smelling something delicious, wondering who was in your apartment. And then it hit you, you weren't even home. You looked around, recognizing Hyunjin's room immediately. You crawl out of his bed, your feet shuffling out the door and down the hallway, towards the delicious smell. As you get closer you can hear Felix and Hyunjin talking.

“Food always gets her up. Just wait.” Felix laughed. He knew you so well.

“This smells so good.” You groan, sitting down at the island as you watch the two make pancakes, bacon and eggs.

“I told you.” Felix says, glancing at Hyunjin.

“Good morning.” Hyunjin says, smiling at you as he slides a plate in front of you.

“Morning.” You smile, picking up your fork, ready to dig in. But you couldn't. You looked up at the two men, who were staring at you smirking.

“Do I have something on my face?” you ask, wiping your face off. Neither of them reply, they just keep cooking, glancing at you and smirking.

You take a few bites of your food, trying to ignore those two but flashes of last night keep playing in your head.

“Did I.. “ you pause. “Did I do something last night?” You ask.

Hyunjin and Felix look at each other and then back at you. “Okay, what!?” You yell.

“Maybe I need to get off too.. cause of you two!” Felix says, his voice deep, his eyes on you.

“The things I wanna do to the two of you are not platonic.” Hyunjin says.

Your fork drops as you gasp. Your hands cover your mouth as you stare at them both, your eyes wide. The memories come flooding back to you like a tidal wave and you want to actually fucking die.

“That.. I, um. Wow. Okay so I was drunk. Like really drunk. My sincerest apologies. I'm gonna go.” You mumble. You slip out of the chair quicker than you realized, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your purse and heading out the door. You could not believe you had said all that. you were gonna be embarrassed for the rest of your life. Once you had walked a couple blocks you called a cab so you could properly grieve and call Seulgi so she could talk you off the ledge.

“You said what!?” She gasps.

“Yeah.. drunk me has no sense of boundaries apparently.” You sigh.

“So what are you gonna do?” She asks.

“I'm going to handle it like a mature adult.” You declare. “And pretend it never happened.” You can hear Selgui sigh on the other end of the phone.

Once you're home, you collapse in your bed, closing your eyes while your brain replays the things you said to Hyunjin and Felix the night before. Drunk you really liked to speak your sober thoughts apparently. As embarrassed as you were, you were feeling more anxious than anything. Based on their reactions this morning you knew your friendship wasn't ruined with them, but you couldn't help but feel guilty for saying those things. What if you had made them uncomfortable? What if they started distancing themselves from you? You were a ball of stress and you weren't sure how, or if you could make things better.

You spent the rest of the day in bed, ignoring any phone call and text that made your phone ring. You just wanted to wallow in your self pity for a little bit longer before facing anyone. Part of you knew it wasn't a very big deal, but the other part was mad because you had done so well to keep yourself in a platonic place with them. Finally a few hours later, and after you couldn't stand listening to the beeps and ringing of your phone anymore, you looked at it. All the messages from Felix and Hyunjin, not to mention the phone calls from them as well as from Chan, Changbin and Han begging you to come over for homemade pizza night. you decided to text Han back, letting him know that you'll be right there. You didn't wait for a reply, not that you needed to, but you got dressed and headed over to face the music.

Walking into the house, it's unusually quiet. Where were those rowdy boys? All you could hear was the low humming that was coming from the kitchen. You followed the sound, finding Felix in the kitchen, rolling out dough.

“Hey.” You smile, sitting at the island that you left in a rush only a few hours before.

“Hey you.” He grins, looking up for a second before focusing back on his dough. “The others had to run out for a bit, but we'll let the dough rise and then make the pizzas.” He tells you. You nod your head, feeling too nervous to say anything.

“Can I get you a cocktail?” He asks.

“Oh god, please.” You smile. You knew you shouldn't, but what more could you say to him? Felix quickly whips you up something delicious and you drink it far too quickly.

“Good thing I made extra.” He chuckles, filling your cup again. This time you sip on it as he works on more dough. “What's up? Why do you seem all weird?” He asks.

“What?” You question. You were acting weird, you were quiet and distant.

“Is it because of last night?” He asks, not looking up at you.

“Yeah.” You sigh. “I don't want things to be weird with the three of us.”

“Why would things be weird?” He asks, now looking at you.

“Because of what.. I, you know, said.” You mutter. Felix laughs.

“Maybe I want you to use me non platonically.” He smirks, looking up at you.

Your stomach drops. You stare at him, your mouth hanging open. “I'm.. what?” You ask. But before Felix can reply, you both hear the front door open. You turn your head to look at the entryway, and in walks Hyunjin with a smile plastered on his face.

“There's my girl.” He says, grabbing your chin. “What's going on?” He asks, looking between your shocked face and Felix.

“I think I'm dreaming.” You say, turning back to look at Felix who continues to smirk at you. You pinch your cheek, just to see, but you're not. This is real life.

“Pizza!” You can hear Changbin yell, as the rest of the boys come into the kitchen. They all hug you before standing around the island, Felix giving everyone their dough, and placing all the topping options, cheese and sauce in the middle. The rest of the night you could barely focus, Felix's words replaying in your head.

“Maybe I want you to use me non platonically.”

Was he interested in you? Was he joking? You wanted to ask him, but you didn't want to do it in front of everyone, so you left it. Later that night, as you were trying to sleep in your bed, you fell asleep to the thought of using him non platonically.

Over the next few days, you didn't see much of anyone. They said they had a lot of things going on, and you didn't question it. Sometimes they were very suspicious but you figured they were just being guys. With nothing to do, you made plans with Seulgi and a few other friends for a girls night. But of course, the night that you had plans was the night that the guys wanted to do something.

“How?” You laugh at one of the girls. “How do you manage to score four dudes in one singular night?” You ask. “I can barely get one.”

Everyone at the table laughs at your comment to Lisa. This is what you needed, a fun night out with some girls, and a guy named Mike who had tagged along. It was a good way to get your mind off of things. You took a shot from one of the bottles on the table, beginning to feel tipsy as you eat a little bit of food. You look at Seulgi who is looking at you with a weird look on her face.

“What?” You ask. Her eyes dart over to the left, you look over and see Felix and Hyunjin sitting at a table with two girls you didn't recognize. Your heart sank as you stared at the girls smiling while they're talking. You glance over at the boys, but they don't look like they're enjoying themselves as much as the girls are.

They must have felt your stare, or maybe you stared for too long, but they looked over, directly at you, and seemed shocked to see you. You gave them a slight smile and wave before turning back to your other friends. You tried to ignore them, but you could feel their eyes burning into the side of your head as you spoke, your group drunkenly trying to figure out what to do after dinner.

“Do you guys wanna go to the club?” Mike asks, looking at you. You shrug your shoulders. “I wouldn't say no to dancing there.” You smile, glancing at Felix and Hyunjin, who are now walking over to you.

“Are you guys going to the club?” Hyunjin asks, looking at you. You nod your head, your heart beating quicker. They could do nothing and your heart flutters with butterflies in your stomach.

“We'll see you there.” Felix smiles, walking out of the restaurant with the two girls and Hyunjin. You shake your head, trying to get the thought of them out of your head.

The moment you get to the club, you, Seulgi and Mike head straight for the bar. The three of you take a few shots before heading out to the dance floor, leaving Mike to sit there. You always loved dancing with girlfriends, because you never had to worry about unwanted touching. The two of you danced by yourself for a bit, until Mike decided to join you, and for some reason he had decided he wanted to dance with you. His hands grabbed your hips to pull you in close to him, but you really didn't want to. Seugli had disappeared on you, leaving you to fight him off on your own. He turns you around to face him, his hands roaming your body. You push him away, but he grabs your wrist, holding it tightly.

“I just wanna dance with you.” Mike grits through his teeth. You can see the anger bubbling up through his body.

“I don't want to dance with you. I'm sorry.” You say, trying to free your wrist from his grip.

“One dance. That's all I want. You can't tease me and then not give me what I want.” He scoffs.

“Excuse me?” You yell, pulling your wrist from his grip. “I never fucking teased you. I said no, so fucking listen.” You turn to walk away from him but he grabs you again, holding you even tighter, trying to pull you off the dance floor. You fight him with all you had but he just holds on tighter, pulling you away. Until you halt, you look up and see Hyunjin standing in front of Mike, he's angry. Your wrist is released, Felix now holding onto Mike's hand, twisting his wrist hard, causing Mike to fall to his knees.

“Don't you know what no means?” Felix asks, his voice scary as he glares at Mike. You turn and run to Hyunjin, he wraps his arms around you as he continues to stare at Mike. Felix leans down, whispering into Mike's ear. “You touch her again, I'll fucking kill you. Got it?”

Luckily you don't hear him as you nuzzle into Hyunjin's chest. Until you realize that they had dates, and they needed to get back to them. You felt guilty, it seemed like you were always getting into situations that they needed to save you from and that wasn't fair. You backed away from Hyunjin, looking sad and guilty.

“You guys have dates. They're probably looking for you.” You say, looking up at them both. “Thank you for helping me, and I'm sorry you have to keep saving me.” You whisper.

Felix and Hyunjin look at each other before looking back at you. “Don't apologize.” Hyunjin smiles.

“We'd go to war for you, baby.” Felix winks before he and Hyunjin leave to find the girls they were with. Finally Seulgi comes back, explaining she was waiting in the longest line for the bathroom.

“What happened!? Why are you crying?” She asks.

“Mike.” You sniffle. “He wanted to dance and I didn't. He got really aggressive.” Seulgi looks guilty as she listens to you.

“I'm so sorry.” She whispers, pulling you in for a hug.

“Luckily Hyunjin and Felix saved me.” You chuckle. “I don't know where Mike went off too.”

“Fuck Mike, he's banned from the group now.” She says. “Where did Felix and Hyunjin go?” She asks.

“I sent them back with their dates.” You say. She nods her head.

“What do you wanna do?” She asks. “Stay or go?”

“I'm gonna go. But you stay. Honestly, I just need some air. I'm gonna walk home. I promise I'll be fine. I'll call you when I'm home.” You say, giving a slight smile. She hugs you tightly, and watches you walk out of the club.

You really didn't want to call a cab but you did. You weren't dumb, you knew something bad could happen if you walked. You didn't want to bother any of the boys. You stood outside the club, waiting for your cab and you were annoyed, you felt like you only attracted men who didn't have good intentions and you didn't know why. You just wanted someone.. maybe two men who loved you with everything they had, like you felt for them. Honestly you just wanted Hyunjin and Felix and you didn't know how much longer you could fight off these feelings. It felt like they were bubbling up to your chest now and it was only a matter of them before they made your head explode.

You paid your fare and headed inside your apartment. You turned on your shower to the hottest that you could handle to scrub off the feeling of Mike's hands on your body. You couldn't help thinking about what could have happened to you had Felix and Hyunjin not been there for you. As you finish in the shower, you come out and check your phone seeing an email you'd been waiting for. A few weeks ago you had interviewed for a receptionist job at an elite law office. You nervously opened the email, screaming and dropping your phone in excitement as you jumped around your room. You got the job and you were so happy to not be living off of your savings anymore. You pick up your phone, reading the rest of the email, seeing you still had a few days before you were starting, you were so happy you completely forgot about what had happened that night. You fell asleep quickly, feeling like everything was going to be okay.

The next morning you woke up, in a great mood and ready for the day. You looked at your phone, seeing a message from Felix.

[9:58am From Felix] Morning, Can I take you to lunch today? I need to talk to you.

A knot immediately formed in your stomach. This was going to be bad. He's going to end the friendship or something. He was probably tired of you and your shit. You didn't want to go, but you needed to know. Your anxiety wouldn't let you not know and you wouldn't be able to function.

[10:09am To Felix] That doesn't sound good. Let me know when and where.

[10:11am From Felix] Same restaurant as last night. Meet you there at 11:30am]

You don't reply. You can't. You can feel the lump in your throat getting bigger. You tried your best to get ready, to make yourself look decent but you were on the verge of tears and you couldn't control it. The thought of losing one of your best friends was devastating.

You sit at the table, your fingers interlaced as you wait for Felix. Your head is down as you try to breathe through the anxiety. You hear the door open, your head shoots up and you see Felix and Hyunjin walk in. There are no smiles, no happy greetings and you knew this was going to be bad. The two men sit down, across from you, staring at you.

“Did you order?” Felix asks, looking at the menu.

“I can't eat right now.” You whisper. Fuck. Your tears were going to start spilling right away.

“Neither can I.” He sighs, closing the menu. “Look, the reason I asked you to lunch and that Hyunjin joined too is that we really need to talk to you about something.” He says.

The tears fall as you look at them. They're now staring at you confused.

“Why are you crying?” Hyunjin asks, reaching over to wipe your tears.

“I don't want to lose you guys.” You cry. They look at each other before looking back at you.

“Why are you losing us?” Felix asks.

“Isn't that what this is? You're ending the friendship?” You ask.

Felix laughs. “I guess in a sense.” He says. He reaches over and grabs your hands. “This isn't about ending anything. More so taking it to the next level.”

You stare at him. “next level? Like ultimate best friends?’ you ask.

They both laugh, and then stone faces as they take a deep breath. “I'm falling in love with you.” Felix admits.

“What?” You whisper.

“And I'm falling in love with you.” Hyunjin admits. “And we don't know what to do.”

“We don't want to ruin things if you don't feel the same but neither of us could hold it in any longer.” Felix says.

Suddenly the tears flow, you take your hands back to cover your face as you sob. Neither of them say a word as you cry. Until Felix's phone rings.

“Yeah Chan?” He answers. “Fuck. Now? Shit okay, we're on our way.” He says. He looks at Hyunjin who immediately knows what's going on.

“We gotta go. But we're having a party tonight. Please come and we can talk.” Felix tells you as they both stand up and walk out the door.

You're in shock. That's not at all how you thought that conversation was going to go.

They are both falling in love with you. And you're already in love with them both. What do you do? Do you choose one and leave one heartbroken, while also leaving yourself heartbroken. Did you date both? Could you date both? Would they be okay with that? You stand up and head home, your mind swirling with thoughts on what to do. You couldn't believe it.

Later that night you got yourself ready for the party, you were very confident on what you were going to do. And you hoped they didn't ask you to choose because you wouldn't be able to. You wanted to give dating both of them both a try. If the three of you put in the effort, you were sure that you guys could do it.

You walk through the door of the party, seeing the house was filled with people. Changbin and Han run up to you, engulfing you in hugs before Han demands another beer chugging rematch.

“We will, later.” You laugh. “Do you know where Felix and Hyunjin are?” You ask.

“I think in the kitchen.” He tells you, going over to say hi to someone else. You make your way to the kitchen, seeing Felix standing there talking to someone. You take a deep breath, and head straight for him. He smiles as he sees you walk up to him. You press up against his chest, sliding your hand on the back of his head, pulling his head down closer to you. He stares into your eyes as you move your face closer and closer, until your lips touch his. As soon as your lips touch, he takes control. He spins you around, pinning you against the fridge as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Felix breaks the kiss, stepping away from you with a grin on his face. You look past him seeing Hyunjin standing there. You motion him to come to you with your finger. He walks towards you, and you move past Felix, grabbing onto Hyunjin's collar and pulling him down. His lips touch yours and he quickly slides his tongue into your mouth, hardening the kiss.

He pulls away from you, grinning at you and Felix. You guide Hyunjin to stand next to Felix and you clear your throat as you look at both of them.

“I can't choose, and I won't choose. I'm falling hard for you both and I want you both. If you're okay with that then I'm all in, but if you're not then it won't work.” You tell them.

“I'm in.” Hyunjin smiles.

“I'm all in.” Felix says. You were so fucking happy in this moment. You kissed them both before grabbing some celebratory shots. The three of you take a few shots before you drag them both to the living room to dance. You feel as though you're in heaven, grinding your ass into Felix and Hyunjin grinds in front of you. Your happiness is short lived, as the front door busts open and in walks eight men, one of which you recognize. The music shuts off as Chan, Changbin, Jeogin, Minho, Han, Felix and Hyunjin stand in front of the intruders.

“What the hell are you doing here Hongjoong?” Chan yells. The man just laughs.

“What? You thought you could start doing illegal mods on cars and I wouldn't fucking find out?” He yells.

What was going on?

“Is business slow?” Chan asks. “Maybe if you were better at your job, you wouldn't lose so many clients.” He says, fake pouting. Hongjoong turns red as anger consumes him.

“Me and you. A race now, the winner keeps doing mods, and the loser closes up shop.” He yells. Everyone begins cheering but you feel confused. You'd heard about street racing, but you had no idea that they were involved in it. You look at Felix and Hyunjin, who look guilty.

“Y/N.” You hear from across the room. You look over and a familiar man walks over to you. You squint your eyes as he comes closer, and then it hits you. It was San. You had a mini fling with him years ago and ended on good terms and as friends.

“San! Oh my god.” You laugh, running up to him, wrapping your arms around him. “So good to see you.” You laugh, letting go of the large man. Hyunjin and Felix are on each side of you, glaring at their enemy.

“Get your hands off of her.” Felix snaps, pulling you back, and closer to him.

“We used to hook up.” San winks. You roll your eyes.

“If you can even call it that.” You laugh.

“It was good to see you, Y/N.” He says, winking at you before walking towards his group. You turn to Hyunjin and Felix, a stern look on your face.

“Street racing?” You gasp.

“Y/N.. listen.” Hyunjin starts.

“How long?” You ask. “How long have you guys been doing this shit and why didn't you tell me?”

“Since before we met.” Felix says. “It's not that we didn't want to tell you.”

“We just wanted to protect you.” Hyunjin says. “We're involved with a lot of dangerous people. We just want to keep you safe.”

“Hyunjin, Felix. Let's go.” Chan yells. The crowd disperses, heading out to wherever the race is going to be.

“Go to one of our rooms.” Felix says. “We'll be back in a bit.”

You scoff at the handsome man. “Absolutely not.” You deadpan.

“I'm coming with you.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for inquiring after a blog that got deleted?

This happened several months ago and my friends have told me that I wasn't in the wrong, but my stupid anxiety keeps bringing it up and saying actually they only told me that because they like me. Maybe the judgement of strangers will finally get my brain to put it to rest. Repliers, please use she/her pronouns only for me, I don't like being called by they/them.

I'm keeping this vague to respect the privacy of the others involved; if you somehow recognize the situation, please do not give further details. Feel free to ask for clarification if something is confusing, but I will not be providing additional information like what fandom it was as I believe that would just risk revealing who was involved, and I can't think of any additional info that would affect someone's judgement of what I did. I would like judgement of what I did without risking violating anyone else involved's privacy. Also, sorry this is so long. It's the ADHD. I hate it too.

I'm relating the dms involved as closely as I can, but they won't be word-for-word.

I follow several roleplay blogs in the same fandom. One day I noticed one that I particularly liked seemed to have been deleted. I wasn't sure if they'd made a goodbye post I didn't see before deleting or something, so I made a post asking if anyone knew if something had happened with their mod, as it seemed to come out of nowhere to me. No one ever interacted with this post, but I have no way of knowing if people saw it.

I messaged a blog that I had seen interact with them a lot asking something like "hey, do you know if something happened with [blog]'s mod? I noticed they had deleted and was wondering if something happened." They replied with the single word "no" and I thanked them and apologized for bothering them. This one word was the only thing they ever said to me. I took this to mean that they didn't know if anything had happened, but didn't try to investigate further. I was vaguely concerned that they seemed to have suddenly disappeared without anyone knowing, but it wasn't my place to try and dig things up.

A couple days later I was scrolling back through a different blog and I noticed an old post they'd reblogged from the person who deleted's sideblog, and the sideblog had also been deleted. I sent a dm asking something like "Hey, I noticed [blog] and [sideblog] were both deleted, and was wondering if you knew if the mod was alright" and received a response just saying that no one wanted to make what happened public, least of all the mod. I thanked them for responding, apologized for prying, and said I hoped things were alright, then deleted my post asking if anyone knew what had happened, so that people couldn't stumble on it, get curious, and try and pry themselves.

Very shortly after, I received an anonymous ask scolding me for prying into the mod's business when they wanted things kept quiet and continuing after being told no. I posted the anon and explained that I hadn't meant to pry - just was wondering if things were okay - and that I must have misinterpreted that first "no", apologized if I'd made anyone uncomfortable, and made it clear I would absolutely not ask further. That was the end of it, at least as far as I know.

I think I might be the asshole because: I didn't know the mod, we'd never talked beyond their answering some of my asks, but I asked people about them anyways. I was genuinely wondering if they were okay and was careful not to ask what happened, but I know I can have trouble finding the line between normal and nosy, and maybe messaging two people was too far, even if the first person seemed to not know anything.

I think I might not be the asshole because: I wasn't asking for details on what happened, I was just wondering if they were okay or if I'd missed a goodbye post, and backed off immediately after being told it was private. I don't think it's really my fault that I misinterpreted the first person saying "no" to me asking if they knew if something had happened, since I thought they were literally answering my question.

Again, please do not try to figure out who was involved in this if you think you recognize it; I just want my brain to stop turning this damn situation over and over and maybe having strangers judge it will do that.

So. AITA for asking after someone who deleted their roleplay blog?

What are these acronyms?

[topazadine]

Defeating Protracted Writer's Block

Sometimes we get a little stuck on a few words; that's normal. Sometimes we just don't feel like doing anything today and would rather roll around on the ground pretending to be a slug or perhaps a snail. Also normal. Very normal.

However, what do you do if your writer's block has gone on for days, weeks, months, years?? Well, you've got to make a plan to defeat the Block. Here are some suggestions I have developed.

Resist the urge to start something new.

Sit with the discomfort.

Give yourself grace.

Assess your overall life circumstances.

Read outside of your comfort zone.

Try a new hobby or activity.

Start over completely (in a new document).

Cannibalize the piece.

And at the end, I'll share some action points to sum up.

As always, I am not the end-all be-all of writing advice, maybe I'm wrong, maybe you have other suggestions, take what you like and leave the rest. Let's go.

Resist the urge to start something new.

I have discussed in another post why you should not have a million WIPs, with citations as to why having a million WIPs is not conducive to good writing processes, so I will not belabor the point.

Basically, the brain really only focuses on one thing at a time. The more projects you have going, the more scattered your focus is, and the less likely you will be to finish any of them.

I get that you might be bored with your WIP, but if you start a new project, you are exponentially less likely to actually finish it. Maybe you've given up on it totally, and that's fine, but if you did intend to get it done, then stick with it.

Any ideas you have can be set aside for later exploration; write them down and you can be assured that they're not going anywhere.

Sit with the discomfort.

One of the best things I have learned over my life, both in writing and overall, is to be okay being uncomfortable. This mostly comes to me regarding getting feedback on my work, but it also refers to being okay with having writer's block.

There's a skill that comes from knowing when you need to push through a bit of writer's block (which is typically just being unmotivated) and when you need to sit back on your heels and breathe. If you have thrown all your tools at the writer's block, such as turning off your phone or using Stimuwrite, and you're still stuck, then you need to accept that right now is not for writing.

Personally, I always get very anxious when I have writer's block. What if I just give up on the story completely? What if I'm just a bad writer and my inspiration has run out? What if I'll never be able to write anything ever again?

Then I remind myself that I have been writing since I was 7 and I have always come back to it, no matter how bad things have gotten in my life. Experience has shown that even if I take a break, I am almost certainly going to return to it because it's my longest-held and most well-developed skill.

In many cases, just acknowledging that I'm more anxious about the future of my craft rather than this particular story is enough to get me to calm down, and by releasing that mental finger-trap, I start to feel inspired again.

Accept and acknowledge the writer's block. Recognize that it's there. Don't avoid it. Simply let it be there for the moment.

Give yourself grace.

Creatives can be really hard on themselves, especially in a world that is constantly pushing us to develop content as soon as possible. We think that if we don't put out a story every week, no one will care about us anymore and we'll be forgotten. Algorithms have started to infest our brains and change our self-image into a "content creator" instead of a writer, artist, musician, and so on.

But these algos were not created by creative people. They were developed by tech bros who do not understand the process of producing something unique.

Downtime is part of being creative, just like rest days are part of being an athlete. Your brain needs time to decompress, relax, and mull over story ideas. No one would force a marathon runner to set out on another cross-country trek just days after completing their last one because their muscles would explode.

If you don't have a looming deadline, relax. Be gentle to yourself. Let yourself loll around and pretend to be a snail. Freeing your mind of that anxiety can, paradoxically, make you want to work again.

Assess your overall life circumstances.

In addition to my controversial beliefs about not starting a million WIPs, I also do not ascribe to the myth of the martyr artist. I covered that in more detail at the link, but basically, being depressed and stressed out does not actually make you more creative, no matter what you think. Not only does that post explain the science behind it, but it shows you some examples of my own writing done during different stages of bipolar disorder: manic, depressed, and stable.

I don't care what any starving artists say. As someone with a severe mental illness, I can confidently tell you that being unstable is not good for creativity. Your brain is under stress, and it doesn't have the metabolism necessary to produce great work.

But this does not just stand for having a severe mental illness like bipolar disorder; it can also refer to just overall shitty life circumstances, like being stuck in a bad job or having toxic people around you.

Sometimes a dip in productivity can actually be the sign you need that there's something awry elsewhere, something you may not even noticed was wrong. As such, when you're feeling The Block, sit down and think about your life circumstances. Are you happy? Are you financially stable? Are the people around you supportive and kind? Are you getting enough food to eat? Do you have regular healthcare?

Of course, sometimes you will face protracted life circumstances that are inconducive to creative activity, and there is nothing you can do about it. I'm not saying that if you're in a bad place, you should just stop writing - not at all. We'd be missing half the literary canon if that were the case.

But. If you are facing challenges, and you're feeling blocked, and you have the means to take care of those things, by all means do. Take care of your life stuff. The writing can wait. You as a person are much more important than what you produce. You deserve to be happy and healthy and well taken care of.

If you are facing challenges, and feeling blocked, and you can't take care of those things, then please give yourself grace. Be kind to yourself. Take it slow. Do just as much as you can and no more. Ask for grace from others if you need to. Again, you as a person are always, always more important than what you produce.

Read outside of your comfort zone.

In addition to writing The Eirenic Verses, I am a freelance SEO writer who mostly writes stuff about real estate and personal injury. You'd be surprised at how much inspiration I get from the boring stuff that I have to write for work! I'm serious - these obnoxiously dry statistics and such have helped me immensely in my creative fiction.

For example, there's a scene in one of the upcoming books where the MC falls down a cliff. I would not have even considered including that if it weren't for writing personal injury articles about construction accidents. I also got inspiration for the main theme of book 8 in the series, Perseity, after writing about real estate probate. I'm serious!

Sometimes, nonfiction like that can kickstart your creative process more than fiction because you won't just be copying the themes or ideas included in whatever you're currently reading. I recommend that you read fiction for things like dialogue, interesting words to use, and so on, but nonfiction for the actual story ideas. After all, life is frequently stranger than fiction. You never know what you'll find in there.

Try a new hobby or activity.

We, of course, use our brains to write, and our brains are always eager for new inputs. The more that you expose yourself to interesting things, whether that's going on a short daytrip or trying out a new skill, the more neurogenesis that occurs and the more metabolic activity going on up there. And we want neurogenesis and good metabolic activity.

If you're really struggling to write, step away from the computer and do something new. It could be anything, but at the bare minimum, it must make you feel like an idiot who does not know what they are doing. It must make you have to try new movements, or apply old knowledge in new ways, or go to somewhere you've never been before and don't know the layout of. This shakes you out of your old patterns of behavior and forces you to shift your understandings of how things work, which can give you new perspectives on your work.

Start over completely (in a new document).

I will only touch on this briefly because I don't use it, but I know other people have had success with it. Basically, you begin all the way over again, writing it as you would have from the beginning. Not copying and pasting, but typing it all over again.

Sometimes (or so I have been told), this helps you recognize where things are going wrong and workshop solutions as you go along. Many also use this for editing when they are done, as it helps you catch typos you wouldn't have noticed otherwise.

Cannibalize the piece.

If you are really stuck, fed-up, angry, and don't think you can bear to go on, then don't! Unless you've already promised this work to someone or you're doing this for pay, there's no rule that you have to finish everything you start.

But no writing is ever wasted. There is likely the seeds of something good in there that you can recycle. It may be really good phrases, ideas, characters, locations, dialogue, whatever. But there is something good in every single piece, no matter how down you are feeling about it right now.

I've given up on a ton of pieces, but I often find echoes of them in later works, even if I never copy-pasted anything. That's because it was still practice - I was still learning and growing as a writer. The only way to improve is to keep going forward, but that does not mean you have to beat a dead horse. Chop it up and feed it to your next piece so you have the strength to continue.

Action points for beating protracted writer's block

Don't start a new WIP unless you have completely given up on this one. If you get story ideas for something else, write them down but don't start them. Allow yourself to have writer's block: unless you have a deadline, the writing will still be there. Recognize that much of writer's block is about anxiety about your skills rather than a true creative stop. Remove the "content creator" curse that tells you that you must be working 24/7. Consider downtime to be part of the creative process, just like athletes need to rest. Remind yourself of how many other times you have have writer's block and the fact that you were able to get over it that time too. Assess your overall life circumstances and consider whether your writer's block is a symptom of something bigger. Prioritize self-care rather than attempting to be a martyr for your art. Read something you wouldn't usually in order to broaden your horizons. Consider reading nonfiction for story ideas and fiction for specific craft inspiration. Do a new hobby, especially one that is completely out of your comfort zone. Rewrite the entire piece in a new document. Take pieces from the old work and start something new if you have fully declared it dead.

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'll consider purchasing my gay fantasy romance, 9 Years Yearning. This coming-of-age story features two young soldiers in a world lightly inspired by the Mongolian steppes, infused with poetry magic and literary mythology.

[cielkissrr]

cherry coke (theres blood between my knees) | a dazaku fic

❥ note: thank you to lxlimdka for betaing!! read tags :)

AO3 LINK

relationship: akutagawa ryuunosuke x osamu dazai

tags: underage, rape/noncon, trans male character, dissociation, bpd, dead dove

2.9k words + smut

Nothing in Akutagawa’s life pointed to him making it past 14. Or hell, even 12. 

He had lost everything. His home, his family–aside from his sister–and any hope for the future. And with Dazai, it felt like he kept losing. 

Osamu Dazai was known for being intelligent. He was smart in his escapes and attacks. But behind all the show-off tricks and silly facade of a dumb kid he put on, he was horrible. Manipulative and abusive were the only two words that would come to mind when Akutagawa thought of the man. 

But in that, how could he not be enamored?

Even though he was so young, Aku couldn’t not recognize the patterns. Dazai was mostly abusive both physically and mentally, yes, but there were also times when Dazai lifted him up. Putting out a hand for him or tending to his injuries, even when the man was the reason he was on the ground and battered in the first place. 

Dazai never held back either. Cruel words and hard punches beat down both the kid’s body and mind. Starvation and dehydration until Aku was passing out from how painful it was wasn't uncommon either. 

But he always, always came back to him. 

No matter how much Dazai would lock him out of the building and tell him to fend for himself, screaming at him to go the fuck away, or even push him so far to purposefully make the kid attempt to end his life, Akutagawa just kept coming back. 

And it was pissing Dazai off. 

They were in the basement today and Dazai had just sent the others upstairs after explaining the mission. Everyone was given a role to play, a job to do. To make themselves useful. All except Akutagawa. 

He stood by the man's side and had his hands to his chest, fidgeting with them slightly. Not loud enough to make Dazai mad, he couldn't make him mad. 

“What do I do, sir?” He asked with slight hope in his voice. It was childish and in the way, a teacher’s pet would jump at any opportunity to help said teacher. But really, how was that any different from what this was? 

Dazai hummed and turned to the kid. He put a hand to his chin and tapped while looking Akutagawa over. His eyes made the boy feel uncomfortable, how they trailed over his body as if they were pulling the clothes up and off and examining places he hadn't yet. 

Suddenly, Dazai nodded and placed his hand on the kid’s hair. His hand was cold but Akutagawa still had to hold back from nuzzling it and pushing into the touch. Nobody else was allowed to touch him, Dazai made that a rule, so anything he got felt nice. 

Even from someone like Dazai. 

The man’s thin fingers laced into the boy’s dirty hair and buried themselves under knots and choppy locks. Aku only stared at his mentor with wide, confused eyes. At any moment, he knew something would happen. He was scared, but this was nice. The touch of another human was nice. 

That was until Dazai pulled. 

It was rough and Aku swore he heard a few strands snap through his loud gasp. Dazai leaned into his face and tilted his head to the side gently. “You want to help? You expect me to give you, you, a job? You're useless in almost all our missions, you know that right?” He wasn't even yelling, but the low tone was frightening enough on its own, Dazai knew that. 

“You provide nothing with that useless ability of yours.” 

There it was. 

Akutagawa could only nod and blink back oncoming tears. It was true, through all their training and work together, that Akutagawa wasn't anywhere near close to the other members in terms of usefulness. So, he nods. He nods in agreement because it's true and he knows that’s what Dazai wants. 

Dazai stares blankly–almost like he's bored. Maybe bored of Akutagawa, which made the boy wince. Then, after a few moments, Dazai breaks out into a smile. 

It looked almost painful from how it pulled unnaturally at the corners of the man's mouth, and Aku’s brain was quick to label it as scary. “However, on this mission, you may come in handy.” 

The boy couldn't hold back how his eyes widened and his back straightened a bit. He was useful! Dazai had something for him to do here! Dazai needed him, just as he needed Dazai! 

The man hummed and closed his scary smile into one that looked like a healed over slit in his face in the grotesque shape of a smile. 

“Yeah, you'll be useful.” 

Before Aku could even react, the man let go of his hair and turned him around, pulling the boy close to press against his back. A large hand quickly grabbed his throat and titled his head up. He used another hand to tuck one of his side pieces back, then leaned into the boy’s ear. A monotonous whisper then came from him and sent a shiver up Akutagawa’s spine. 

“We’ll let the target use your body.” 

Akutagawa’s breath hitched and he felt like screaming. The target was a big man, probably 4 if not 5 times Akutagawa’s weight. And from what Dazai had told everyone, he was known to be violent. Surely that’d follow into the bedroom–if the man had even gotten some. 

Would his built-up tension be taken out on Akutagawa’s already frail body?

Dazai grabbed the younger’s hip and ground his own forward, forcing Aku to feel the growing erection in his pants. Akutagawa wished he knew what Dazai was getting from this. 

“Does that sound good, Aku? We can get you banged up by the guy while we aim for his head through a window.” His mentor continued to whisper into his ear. “Maybe we should wait a little while so everyone can see your first real job.” 

Akutagawa didn't know whether to agree or disagree. He had to be helpful and Dazai wouldn't take a no, but was it stupid for him to be scared? 

He knew of the things Mori had made Dazai do, and he saw how dark it got here. Everyone had done jobs they regret, that was part of being in the mafia. Maybe this was just a necessary task, one to keep him with a roof over his head and protection from the outside. 

Dazai trailed the hand on his hip down to the boy’s crotch and grabbed at it violently. 

“I’ll even let them see your little secret. It's the only thing that makes you useful for us in this job, anyway.” 

He was then forced down to the ground. The hand around his throat went to his nape and he pushed his head down violently, making it collide painfully with the cold flooring and would’ve undoubtedly broken his nose if he had faced forward. 

The touch on his cunt was now grabbing bruisingly at his hip and yanking him up into a lewd doggy pose. An intruding thigh made its way between his legs and forced itself up against his crotch, making Akutagawa whine. 

“Look, you're already a whore. I haven't taken your pants off yet, and you're already wet and whining,” Dazai moved his thigh back for a moment before ramming it up against the boy’s cunt again. Akutagawa moaned when it touched his clit despite it being somewhat painful. Dazai sneered. 

“How fucking pathetic.” 

 The man used both hands to tug the boy’s pants and underwear down to his knees. And just as he expected, Akutagawa was wet. He leaned forward and used two fingers to spread his cunt open, taking note of how the slick was almost dripping from relatively nothing. 

“You’ve never been so obedient, Aku. Is this all it takes for you to listen to me? You're lucky I'm not some gross old perv.” Two fingers were shoved into him roughly and he couldn't help but lurch forward and bite his lip to hold back a moan. 

Dazai had touched him before, of course he had. One bad job was all it took for him to start taking advantage of Aku sexually. But it wasn't like he would fight it, at least not after a few times. Quick fingerings or shoving objects up the boy’s cunt was stress relief for the older, and it was Akutagawa’s obligation to provide it. 

But that was as far as they had gone. Blowjobs, fingering, sometimes rubbing against each other. Never true sex. 

So that's why the sound of a zipper made Aku’s eyes go wide. 

Once Dazai’s pants were unzipped, he pulled himself out quickly. He thrusted the fingers a few more times before pulling them out and wrapping them around his cock. The sound was subtle, but the wet slide filled Akutagawa’s ears next to the man’s intruding voice. 

“He won't be gentle with you, you know that. An old, reclusive man like him. I'm sure he hasn’t gotten anything since before you were even born.” 

The two-tone-haired boy whined and nodded. Not even in agreement, because he knew already. Dazai had warned him of the same thing many times before kicking him out. 

The streets are full of perverts who would wreck you. They'd kill you and shoot bullets into you just for another hole to fuck. Don't you get that? 

He knew the old guy would have no guilt over giving him the same telltale fate Dazai warned him about. Maybe that's the point Dazai was trying to prove. 

Dazai squeezed his hip hard, which would undoubtedly leave reminding bruises along the curve of the bone, but Akutagawa didn't mind. This was practice, practice for how to be useful. Useful for the mission, the mafia, and most of all– 

Useful for Dazai. 

Aku felt the blunt head of the man’s dick on his cunt, and he gasped when it ran through his folds gently. Dazai gathered some of his slick and rubbed his tip against the boy’s clit, enjoying how the younger throbbed for him already. 

And the wetness made it all too easy for him to drag back up slowly and give Akutagawa the hope that he would be gentle before plunging himself all the way in with no warning. 

“Ahh- Dazai, sir! Stop-” Akutagawa’s head was smashed down into the cold cement. Pain shot through his face and cunt, which were both caused by the man now pounding into him. It was hot and overwhelming, and though he got in a few words before, his mind now became clouded. 

It hurt. Rough thrusts and the splitting feeling between his legs made him feel the need to scream but he wasn't able to get it out. It hurt, but Dazai didn't care. 

Even if Aku could scream, Dazai would break his jaw before even letting him get another word out. 

The older one leaned over him and let out heavy pants–like a beast, Aku thought. Usually Dazai was quiet when they touched each other, but now, he was borderline growling and drilling his hips into Akutagawa like he was some desperate animal. 

As another sharp, fire-hot pain shot through him, Aku wondered if this was somehow more enjoyable for Dazai. Could something that caused Akus body and mind so much pain really be this enjoyable for his mentor? 

Dazai huffed and leaned down to the boy's ear, letting his hot breath surround and drown Aku’s mind. 

“You gotta learn to take it.” He growled yet his tone was flat. “Our target won't have fun with someone who dares to say no to even his own savior.” 

Savior. Was that what Akutagawa saw Dazai as? A savior? 

The boy’s mind clouded over with a fuzzy feeling, one he was all too familiar with during beatings and abuse from Dazai. It made the world feel less scary, simply because it took him out of it mentally. As his muscles relaxed and he went limp, Akutagawa thought to himself. 

Savior wasn't the perfect word, but he did owe Dazai, right? 

Wet slaps filled the previously still room and were loud to the point that the remaining present conscious of Aku’s wondered if people could hear them. Surely not, but Dazai wouldn't stop even if they could. 

And nobody would help him, so what’s it matter? 

Dazai leaned back up and grabbed both the boy’s hips. He began moving him back and forth to meet in the middle and take more of his cock, practically fucking Akutagawa onto it like some toy. The blooming bruises ached and staggering breaths pushed harshly at Aku's lungs as he tried to adjust to the new pace. 

“He won't- fuck, he won't hold back,  you know,” Dazai said through a groan. Was it a warning or a tease? Aku couldn't tell, too far gone with a clouded brain forced by shock and pain. Dazai repeated it over and over, he wouldn't hold back, like it was ingrained into his own brain and the only thing he could think of. 

The rough thrusts rubbed the boy against the floor and he could feel little pricks into his chest from either broken glass or dirt. It all just added to the painful sensation, only dulled down by dissociation. 

Suddenly a hand was in his hair and yanked him up, making him arch and lean his head back onto Dazai’s chest. He didn't take note of how easily he was lifted off the floor, it would only make Aku vomit. 

Dazai looked down at the boy’s empty eyes and smiled that scarily sadistic grin again. A hand traveled around Aku’s throat and squeezed subtly. 

“You think you can take him, Aku? You're already out of it from me, and I'm being gentle.” Akutagawa did not respond, only wincing when the hand started to squeeze tighter. Dazai stared at him and admired how the pale face grew to a light pink as he kept restricting his air. 

Another hand traveled down to the boy’s ass and a sharp smack landed on it. Aku again only winced while his mentor groaned loudly at how he squeezed around him at the slap. 

“You'd probably like it if he were brutal though, hmm?” He squeezed again, tighter, and a choked sound came from the boy's mouth. Black spots slowly started to cloud his vision, drowning out the image of the older. 

Akutagawa wanted to scream his answer. Through the fog in his brain he wanted to scream out a rejection or rebuttal to the claim. He didn't want any of this. If this was gentle, he wasn't sure his body could handle the cruelty of whatever the target would have in store for him. 

Dazai’s thrusts started to lose their rhythm, getting sloppy and in turn making Dazai lose his grip on Akutagawa’s throat. The boy gasped loudly and swallowed down air desperately to refill his drained lungs. 

When Aku looked up, Dazai was no longer smiling. His face was…unreadable, honestly. The boy could tell he was enjoying himself, but some dark blankness was mostly what he showed. Aku wondered for a second if he was remembering his own experiences like this. 

Before he could dwell on the thought and worry for Dazai, his thrusts slowed and Aku felt spurts of cum start to fill him. His mentor threw his head back–out of pleasure, or to avoid Aku seeing him like that, the boy couldn't decide–and panted heavily. 

A few subtle thrusts and deep breaths later, Dazai started to pull out. Aku cringed at the sound of something wet falling to the floor. 

“Look at that, it seems like I was too rough.” Two fingers ran through the boy’s cunt and he tensed. Then, those same two fingers were brought to his mouth. Looking at them, he saw a mix of off-white and red before it was shoved into his mouth. Without hesitance, he started to clean them with his tongue. 

Dazai smiled and scoffed. Akutagawa wasn't sure what was amusing about this, or really what was pleasurable. It took a lot for Dazai to feel satisfied with Aku, usually taking a few rounds of Aku rubbing against him to get the man to cum even once. 

Once they were deemed clean enough, the fingers were yanked out and Dazai whipped the spit against the boy's face before pushing him away harshy. Due to exhaustion, Aku fell to the floor with a thud. 

He watched the man reach into his coat pocket and bring out tissues–had Dazai planned to do this from the start? –and wipe his cock clean. Then said tissues were thrown in his direction. 

“Clean yourself off and meet me back in my office,” Dazai said coldly while tucking himself into his pants again. Aku wordlessly grabbed the tissues and attempted to clean himself, though they were all used and soiled so it didn't really do the job. 

Dazai started up the stairs before pausing. Without turning, he hummed. 

“Oh and Aku, the job?” 

The boy perked up at the mention and turned with wide eyes. Even after this, there was some sparkle of hope and joy at being reminded he had one now–a job. 

“I was joking.” Dazai delivered flatly. Akutagawa’s face fell. Joking? This was a joke? 

“But sir i thought-” He started, hating the begging tone in his voice already. 

Dazai chuckled and it made the boy’s blood run cold. 

“What, are you gonna beg to let our target use you?” The man turned and made a disgusted face down at the boy, whose eyes started to brim with tears. Dazai scoffed and turned back around.

“He wouldn't even want you anyway.” 

[epiclamer]

...I would like to humbly ask...for...'Bait'...Part7?

Because like bro I just discovered u and I'm reading it and the it just ends like 😭😭

Welcome to the shitshow <3

@badblondebisexualboy @annablogsposts @vernilliom @those-damn-snippets

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Bait Pt. 7

Waking up felt like torture all over again. Their body ached and shivered, which only jostled their wounds and caused them more pain. The freezing air made their fingers pulse with a dull numbness and overall everything just hurt.

Hero wished they had dreamt it all, that Supervillain, Villain and their lone Henchman were all some delusional, feverish nightmare. But opening their eyes to come face to face with their capturer assured them it was all real.

Fortunately, or unfortunately—Hero wasn’t really sure—the only one left in the room besides themselves was the villain. Supervillain and their henchman must've left while they were out.

Thank god.

They were sure that another second spent with that monster would've lead to their death.

"You're up."

Dragging Hero from their own waking thoughts was enough to make their head throb with a terrible headache. One that promised to stick around for at least the rest of the day. They would've groaned or swore if it wasn't their torturer making the statement.

The hero decided their best bet in their situation, for the both of them, would be to simply not respond. Villain never seemed to have a problem with one-sided conversations before anyways.

Why would it matter now?

Shakily, the villain rose to their feet from where they had been previously crouched down on the ground. Huddled around an open first aid kit with the materials all splayed out around the floor like a work of modern art. "I was worried you wouldn't."

The villain looked uncomfortable. Like they wanted to do something with their fidgeting hands, but felt like it wasn't their place. Maybe they felt bad about torturing the hero...

Maybe.

Hero coughed up a laugh, head hitting the pole they were still tied to. "D-Didn't lose that much blood did I?"

At the villain's silence, Hero's shoulders drooped. Lightening the mood clearly wasn't working, but why? It used to work before, what had changed in the villain's demeanour?

After all, Hero was still just their captive. Their bait. Torture was to be expected all in all, they shouldn't have been that surprised.

"Hah, thought I-I would've held out longer than that--"

"Forty-five minutes is long. Most can barely last the half of that."

The hero raised an eyebrow, "On average?" Villain glared back slightly, the tiniest hint of relief sought under their hard shell. "I mean, you would know, r-right?" Hero did their best to shrug their shoulders in a placating gesture. "Torture is k-kind of your thing, no?"

Surprisingly, the villain did not take that how Hero had imagined. They pictured a boasting criminal, maybe a slight blush at being recognized for their skill, but this villain looked downright miserable.

"I'm sorry." They both whispered in unison. Neither of them had the strength to hold eye contact with the other. But the villain seemed surprised at the hero's apology.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

Hero had to laugh, they couldn't hold themselves back at that. Prompting a not-so-good sounding rattle from their chest, turning their chuckle into a wheezing cough. "'M guessing I-I didn't help you c-climb the ranks, g-got that to apologize for."

Villains expression changed, annoyance and then back to stone. "Would you stop trying to make this situation better."

The crime-stopper quieted down from their fit. A little hurt from the other's words, but they lent an ear out of respect.

"I fucked up, okay? I would've never had accepted Supervillain's request if I had known that they wanted to hurt you, or anyone else for that matter." They took a deep breath, hands coming to their face in a panic as their eyes started watering and their tone raised. "I never wanted this, I never wanted to hurt you, I never wanted to hand you over to Supervillain."

They stifled a sob, "I just wanted to climb the ranks. When they told me it was just a kidnapping, a hostage without hurt kind of situation, I couldn't have been more eager to jump at the opportunity."

The hero remained silent, watching as the villain poured out all of their stress and unkempt emotions. It was obvious that this breakdown had been impending ever since the Supervillain had even shown up. Hero couldn't imagine the pressure.

"Now, now I am even more fucked than I was in the first place. Because if I keep you here, Supervillain will just keep coming back and I don't want to keep hurting you. But if I let you go..." Villain shuddered, "Supervillain will skin me alive and the heroes will dump my body into a vat of rubbing alcohol."

It was true. The heroes were known to be ruthless to high-class villains, or any villain they could catch and keep hidden from the press. Hero had witnessed firsthand some of the living conditions--if you could earnestly even call that living--and it wasn't pretty.

And if they could talk to Superhero? Explain the situation and beg for the villain's mercy? It would be as bad as volunteering to take their place. Not only that, but would they? Would they actually try and talk to their boss about sparing their kidnapper?

The risk simply wasn't worth it. And after all the torture, all the blindfolds and gags and manhandling. Hero wasn't even convinced they wanted the villain to make it out of this situation.

Some twisted-sadistic part of them hoped they got caught. But as much as their torture wasn't fair, it wouldn't be fair to the villain either.

"I promise," Hero's mind snapped back to attention at the sound of Villain's voice. "I promise, I'll get you out of here."

[whysojiminimnida]

Maknae Line Sipping Things, Pt. 1

Maybe it's tea but more likely it's gonna hit and make us dizzy, knowing these guys. Because it's always something with them, isn't it?

WAIT BEFORE I GO ANY FURTHER PLEASE TO READ THE DISCLAIMER

ARMY is many things to "our boys" - who, by the way, have not been "boys" for nearly a decade, now. Can we just normalize letting grown ass men be, IDK, GROWN ASS MEN?

They DO LOVE US. More than we realize. We are their validation. We are their audience, their personal search engine, their friends in a weird kind of two-sided parasocial relationship (which I guess makes it nearly a social relationship). But we are also their paychecks.

BTS is at a point where none of them need to work. Ever. They could fuck off to Bora Borahae (don't get me started) and spend lavishly for the rest of their days and still leave an enormous inheritance to their pets. They're fine, financially, in a way that most of us will never be. It's a heady experience, I'm told, having fuck-you money, and they have that. And yet they continue to work.

They continue to move their lives within a very tight, very enclosed but entirely too visible bubble. They always will, because their level of fame is that, now. Their lives don't really belong to them - they belong to us. Which is a heavy and often uncomfortable reality for them. So that's my angle going into the whole What The Fuck Is Up With The Maknae Line thing. They are in an unhealthy relationship - with ARMY - and it's changed who they are to each other, over time.

To be fair it's not ARMY's fault, either. If we must lay blame somewhere throw it on the idol system, maybe. They were assigned their roles in the beginning and SO WAS ARMY. It goes both ways.

The hyungs handle it better, overall. They were a few very crucial years older. They were given more responsibility and less, I think, insecurity. Don't get me started on neurodivergency. Or gayness. I'LL PONTIFICATE, IT WILL TURN INTO A DAMN FILIBUSTER, LET'S JUST NOT OKAY.

"But we LOVE THEM," I hear you cry. How can our love be unhealthy? Oh let me count the ways.

I LOVE a good fansite photographer. And Black & White is the best of the best - supportive, great shots, excellent with boundaries. See that? Jungkook recognized and was not upset to see them - because he sees them. A LOT. Here's Jimin taking notice:

He ain't mad. But cameras are as normal to BTS as breathing. Kinda like stylists. They get so used to having them there they don't quite seem real without them. To us, certainly, but maybe also to themselves. And as we've been let in to (almost) every facet of their lives we've become a little entitled. We think we know them - and in many ways we do. We see them cry, laugh, snort, fart, snore, sneeze and cough. We've even managed to be privy to inconvenient wood and bathtub photos - usually dressed, but Namjoon is not here today. "They're so relatable", we sigh. "How are they even real," we swoon. And yet we know they are, because we see them like this:

Little derpcakes, all of 'em. And we go "must protect!"

We protecc, we attacc, we give a boy a snacc, we make up memes about it and feel a little superior to all those fans who don't protect their idols - as well we should, we're the bomb. THE BANGTAN BOMB BITCHES.

And in so doing we have "protected" the maknae line right into eternal teenhood.

I've done it myself. Ask me how old Park Jimin is and I am as likely as not to tell you he's 24. (He's about to turn 27 international. At the end of the year he turns 29, Korean age.)

Again, much of this is marketing and is done deliberately because teen girls spend money. They also write fanfiction, draw and paint fan art, and attend concerts. And some of the fics are amazing, most are porn-adjacent or straight (gayyyy) erotica. Ditto a chunk of the art. But keep in mind that minors produce and consume all manner of media. A Minors DNI warning might as well be a neon sign. And fiction and depiction are SAFE ways for ARMY to explore their own and other sexualities. Put a pretty boy naked in a high school locker room with a tattooed, musclebound alpha quarterback and the metaphorical or literal jizz flings itself into the stratosphere. BUT LORD HELP A GROWN ASS ADULT MAN THAT ACTUALLY GETS A GIRLFRIEND.

Or boyfriend.

Stay tuned for the rest of this mess, probably.

[rarespawnwrites]

Hey, WIP Wednesday is a thing, right?

Maybe I can make it my thing? Let's find out.

Red Hood Steph, anyone?

~

Age 20

One moment, Stephanie Brown slept, sprawled out like a starfish in her underwear on a hotel boxspring mattress. The next, the bed vanished from beneath her and she thumped gracelessly to the floor with a startled yelp.

Her eyes opened to find themselves looking once more through her helmet’s display, and she didn’t need to look to know she was once again in full Red Hood get-up. She could hear the wind and the uncomfortably close pattering of raindrops. She sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling of the now empty, decrepit room, then tilted her head to see the wall to the outside missing. Old scorch marks and a wrecked exterior revealed the location to have been victim to explosive force at some point.

The air was damp. It was raining. It was always raining in Gotham.

Stephanie lay where she’d fallen, unmoving on the dirty floor of what was now an abandoned hotel. “Good morning to you too, universe,” she drawled.

She should get up, figure out the lay of the land of this new Gotham. Hide from whatever version of the bats existed here before the energy spike from the dimension shift lured them over. With her luck, they’d be vampires again. She’d just finished decapitating her evil vampire self.

‘...Five more minutes,’ she decided, and closed her eyes.

Exhaustion pulled her back into a fitful doze and she drifted. The sensation of being exposed kept her jerking back to awareness every few minutes, but her hyper-vigilance frequently kept her in this cycle, so she’d take what she could get.

The uncomfortable half-sleep seemed to drag on for an eternity, and yet it still wasn’t long enough before it was interrupted.

Adrenaline spiked and her eyes shot open just before thuds to her left signaled the impact of feet onto the nearby floor. Two figures stood at the wrecked entrance of the room, the low light giving her minimal details without turning her night vision on. Not worth the glow that would give away her state of consciousness. Both newcomers were capes, though only the shorter one was actually wearing a cape. Stephanie’s armor hid her sudden tension, so she kept her breathing deep and slow.

‘If I stay reeeal still, maybe they won’t see me,’ she thought wryly.

“Is that—” there was a choked-off noise from the taller figure. “Why does he have...?!” The sputtering voice was only vaguely familiar. His outline was too slim to be Damian, but too tall and well-built to be the rich kid. The timbre of his voice was an adult’s, anyway. Not Duke’s, though. One of the extended family?

Oh, wait. If she was picking up on the subtext of this guy’s freak-out correctly, they’d expected the Red Hood to be a guy. That meant gender swap or a sidekick remix.

“Might be an imitator,” another voice suggested, “but no one’s had eyes on Red Hood all night.” That voice she recognized. Teenaged. Wiz kid vibe. Sharp enunciation.

‘Ugh,’ she thought. ‘The rich kid.’ No matter how mixed up or messed up the universe, there he was: the Bat’s third Shadow. She could only see him in her periphery, but it looked like he was fiddling with something in his hands. Probably getting readings off the residual energy in the area.

“Magic transformation?” he theorized. “Time-traveling successor?” His fidgeting paused as he eyed her still form. “Hey, is she dead?”

The other one stepped closer and dropped to a knee, giving her a clearer view of him. Shaggy dark hair; movie star cheekbones; domino; minimal armor on a striped bodysuit. ‘Nightnight or something. Night Knight?’ She hadn’t really interacted with him in the one version of Gotham she’d seen him in. She wasn’t sure he even existed in her home dimension.

“No,” he called out. “She’s breathing. Just unconscious. And my money’s on ‘brainwashed into thinking she’s the real one.’” His hand went to his utility belt.

Bats were predictable. Even a bat Stephanie was only vaguely aware existed. That’s why she was ready when Nightguy came at her with a syringe filled with what she presumed was a sedative so she could be moved to a secure location.

The lenses on her helmet blinked on, startling him while the hand closest to him snapped up and gripped the side of his hand. In the same movement, she twisted to pull herself up and into his space before shoving his neck with her other forearm, using his resistance to get her feet under her. With a slide and a shift, she got a good angle to push his head down and hopped over him, giving him a good kick as she passed to give herself momentum.

“Nice to meet you too, pretty-boy,” she called over her shoulder as she fled. Her voice came out monotone and tinny through the modulation of her helmet, but she liked to think it added personality.

After the last couple months of world-hopping, Stephanie had learned to infer what relationship the bats had with their local Red Hood based on their reception toward a new one showing up. This group had thought there was a possibility she was a magically transformed version of their original. Immediately trying to ensure she stayed unconscious while they moved her… well, that was a pretty blatant hint this world’s Red Hood wasn’t in on like… family dinners or game nights. Whatever the good little boys and girls did when they didn’t have the kind of “troubled history” that put them on the outs with Bruce.

Nah, he was like her. Guilty until proven innocent.

She tried not to take this Nightguy’s approach personally, even if she definitely took it extremely personally.

‘Wow, Bruce raises ONE murderous assassin child, and suddenly every kid with a shady background is a potential villain.’ To be fair, both Damian and Stephanie were, in fact, categorized as villains. And these days, Stephanie could also be categorized as a murderous assassin.It was possible Bruce had a point. But Stephanie was pretty sure it never paid to be fair to a billionaire, much less Bruce Wayne.

Fuck that guy.

[dgcatanisiri]

If I had a nickel for every video game that seems to believe that linking nervous systems between romantic partners written pretty much with the assumption that they're a male player character and female love interest is some kind of ultimate symbol of love and devotion, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice.

Seriously, the asari meld between Shepard and Liara and the hook up to the panzer with V and Panam genuinely feel uncomfortably similar in portrayal, in trying to frame this as this major unifying act that prove how much the player character and one particular romance are "right" for one another, and...

It makes me wonder if this is a blind spot on the basis of these writers being straight white guys, how women don't tend to be in these writer's rooms (saying nothing of queer people or people of color...), because this FEELS like a blind spot on the level of a lack of lived experiences.

I've been over plenty how the meld with Liara is deeply uncomfortable for me on the basis of how it feels more intimate than sex in a lot of ways, and I wouldn't just casually have sex with anyone, let alone someone I'd only recently met like Liara is at the time her romance initiates, and, really, it's much the same with Panam, with being able to consistently refuse her rather aggressive come ones, and yet she still acts with an expectation of V and her ending up together, particularly given that going through her storyline actively unlocks an ending, unlike any other romance option. She can be turned down by V at every opportunity and will still ask if V wants to "try out" the neural link that puts their nervous systems in tandem, and says so in this breathy voice that is an anticipation of having something intimate with V.

So when I think of the meld, when I think of linking nervous systems, not only do I think of these as obvious metaphors for sex (depending on the portrayal, they're not even metaphors...), I see it also as a violation of a realm of privacy where we expect to be completely given that expectation of it being a locked door. There are no ACTUAL thought police (much as the right wing nuts like to claim that 'the woke mob' is coming after them for 'thought crime'), and what happens in the privacy of our own thoughts is something that is left in that private space.

And both cases indicate an idea that sharing this connection of nervous systems, which can also be considered to extend to thoughts, due to that level of connection, as being romantic, rather than a crossing of a boundary, because the cishet white male writers have never had to fight to have spaces be designated as "for them." Everywhere they go, their thoughts and attitudes are presumed to be recognized and that they have the ability to enter those spaces and speak and act freely, something that anyone else has to filter and ask how safe they feel expressing themselves.

So because these writers have never had that experience of having their safety risked should they express a thought that their audience doesn't agree with, they don't realize the value of that privacy of thoughts, and how valuable it is.

I mean, granted, maybe I'm just overthinking everything again (this IS what I do, I'm not kidding when I say that I wish I could just be paid to overthink fiction and talk about it on the internet), but this feels like the core issue of this portrayal being something repeated.

[asherlockstudy]

Hey there, we talked R&L theories in the past, but then I got locked out of my account and was too busy to make a new one until now. I just wanted to say I read your R&L post and the ''WHY THE CHICKEN CROSSED THE ROAD'' theory and yet again I found myself agreeing with you.

(the only thing I disagree with you it's the timeline as I think things started to get real way later than 2013)

Anyway, the way people don't seem to see the hints being dropped in these videos confuses me.

I'm left there wondering whether it's just me having an overactive imagination or if most people watching their videos are just not predisposed to recognize this level of subtlety. I really think that saying things like ''that can't be because R&L wouldn't lie to us'' like fans often do is very naive. Do people really think that they aren't capable of omitting uncomfortable truths to present a certain image that is beneficial to them? Because they definitely are.

I don't want to sound mean, but I think most of viewers aren't clever enough to pick up on recurring patterns and themes. Because there ARE recurring patterns and themes, these videos all look like random attempts at humor until you find out that there is an underlying thread uniting them.

There is NO way that all of the many puzzle pieces (metaphors, creative decisions etc…) would line up so perfectly and so perfectly match the idea we both have discussed before in DMs. It would be too big of a coincidence, and what really convinces me that this is what is actually going on, is that many of these creative choices make no sense UNLESS our at least our general assumption is correct.

People saying ''lol R&L doing things randomly just because it's funny'' and Rhett not liking the comment and ironically saying ''you get us'' is so emblematic of why there IS something deeper going on here, especially seeing how he has liked other comments that at least acknowledged that there is some depth to them (although I don't think that those commenters figured anything out).

Have you seen the happy, sincere reaction of Link when Rhett said that they're tired of asking permission to be themselves? in their '' we're done'' video? that stood out to me. What Rhett said seemed to hit him for a different more and more personal reason than most would think, it seemed like a private, genuine moment between them.

I don't know if an official coming out is what they are trying to head towards, the chicken video (when they resort to using a smart trick, in order to reach the goal when they realize the chicken isn't actually capable of crossing the road because it's too difficult) made me think that maybe THIS is their way they of coming out: outing themselves with their own creative projects and leaving it all up to interpretation. Although I am not ruling out the possibility that this is a soft launch.

The chicken video was genius if you think about it, because with a single concept (and using the chiken imagery as the linchpin), they managed to touch upon a lot of different topics all related to the same issue. The word ''chicken'' is used to describe people who are afraid to take risks, while the crossing of a busy street metaphor is perfect to describe the hardships of attempting to get from point A to point B when there are obstacles standing in between. It also gave them the chance to incorporate the ''how do you like the eggs?'' joke to talk about sex/sexuality in a way that is obvious but subtle at the same time. I would like to get to talk about some of the details in the video because I want to hear your opinions on some things. Anyway, I just wrote to say that no, you're not the only one seeing this :)

Heyyy sorry for the late reply… it’s been a little crazy.

I am always so glad to hear from a person seeing the things I see. I am just as confused about the stubborn insistence of the viewers to not pick up on the countless clues Rhett and Link have left in all those videos. I think, well, I get it to be honest butI don’t think it is that they are not clever enough but they are really not concerning themselves with these things. Let’s be honest, the vast majority of Mythical Beasts are very young or are there for lighthearted brainless content that will ease their mind off of their everyday problems. Most of them do not want to dig deeper and cause unnecessary worries to themselves. Because what is about to happen is going to be shocking for a lot of the viewers, a lot will feel betrayed or like the innocence and the childlike dynamics between these two brothers from another mother will take an unrecoverable blow. So I think they subconsciously suppress all suspicions. I have also noticed this to be part of the American culture; they still tend to have more romantic, beautified views on their celebrities. If someone appears good on screen, then they must be a “soft bean” in their real life as well. I find it funny how often Americans view their favourite celebrities as soft beans too pure for this world, despite the inconvenient fact that very few people are actually that soft and pure. So there is this image of great friends who are great husbands and great fathers. And they don’t want this image to be challenged. They choose to see everything as a meaningless joke or as a coincidence. And then of course there are the plenty ones who are determined to not think much (or at all) whenever they watch R&L content.

Yes, I noticed how disproportionately excited Link was when Rhett said they will stop asking permission to be who they are. It felt like Link had been waiting for a long time for Rhett to make a statement this clear on camera.

Link said something lately that made me lean towards what you think. He said in his spiritual deconstruction update video that the best way to reveal an uncomfortable truth is step by step, slowly slowly until it gets so evident that the recipients have started figuring it out on their own without you spelling out the thing. My theory was that they wanted to condition the viewers into accepting it with their numerous implications and suggestive images and now I think both of these are their intent.

(BTW the reason I believe it all started between late 2013 - early 2015 is because of the Puzzle video and the rest of the Sketchtober videos made in mid/late 2015. I have thorough analyses of these if you are interested. Watching these oldies around the same time as the new videos blew my mind and put everything into perspective. Also the last Christian entry in Link’s journal was one day after the newsical kiss episode was released.)

I will be happy to discuss this more. You said we used to send each other DMs, in your next ask / text please tell me your old username, I am curious hahaha ❤️

[gretchensinister]

@purplebloodedmajesty also gave me the word "space" when I asked for words. I ended up going in a different direction than I expected, but space is mentioned!

This piece is a fragment of what I’m casually calling the “Garnetting AU.” I want to save most of the explanation for the longer fic, so the things to know for this one: 1) it’s shortly post-movie, Jen, Kira, Aughra, some podlings, and SkekGra and UrGoh are currently at the Castle of the Crystal trying to Deal With All That, 2) the Great Conjunction granted SkekGra and UrGoh a fusion form who is both them and a new person. The fates of certain other parties aren’t defined in this fic and there’s a lot of stuff that isn’t addressed that obviously would be in a longer work.

~*~

“I always wanted to travel through space. Do I not find that aimless desire granted, now that I am the farthest from my origin that I have ever been?” UrGoh’s voice rose and fell as he spoke, as if he were trying to make what he said into a song.

“I knew about the wandering through the stars part, but what do you mean about the rest? Why do you sound like that? And we’re not exactly far from our origin, now.” SkekGra turned and froze when he saw the books in UrGoh’s hands.

One was triangular and made out of some glossy material that neither they, nor Rhoga, nor even Aughra had recognized, but had reluctantly opened to some combination of Rhoga’s hands and breath and voice. It held arrays of symbols that Rhoga could almost recognize and sort of interpret if they didn’t think about it too much. Rhoga didn’t like doing that, though, despite their curiosity, so what they did was make plenty of notes for SkekGra and UrGoh to use when they examined the book. SkekGra intimately understood why Rhoga was uncomfortable with the project. Rhoga was young, and new, and wonderful, and they weren’t the author of this book. At least they hoped they weren’t, and they worried that spending too much time with this book would change them from Rhoga into someone else. SkekGra and UrGoh, on another hand, had crossed a thousand trine, and if even Rhoga and the light of the Great Conjunction hadn’t made them other than themselves, then it seemed unlikely that any book possibly could. SkekGra was still suspicious of it, though. Mostly for UrGoh’s sake. Which was, of course, partly why Rhoga was suspicious of it for their own sake.

The other book was the blank volume that UrGoh had decided to use for Rhoga’s notes. Or, wait, was it Rhoga who had decided to use that book for notes, it was just that UrGoh’s choice had totally aligned with Rhoga’s? SkekGra still wasn’t used to remembering Rhoga-time, or even conceptualizing it. That was all right, though. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful to learn. He loved Rhoga just as much as he loved UrGoh. And he loved being Rhoga as much as he’d loved being a young skeksis—maybe even more, even if he couldn’t remember Rhoga’s experiences the way he remembered his own. He thought he’d leave a note to ask Rhoga to write down how they remembered things that SkekGra and UrGoh experienced. Because he really wanted to know what they thought about this.

“That’s—”

“The translation,” UrGoh said. He tilted his head. “The work is almost slower than I can stand. There are complexities that Rhoga has sensed but need an analytic point of view that we don’t share...yet.” He smiled softly. “I wish I could work with them face-to-face. We could work with them. Then again...I have a feeling that between you and Rhoga I wouldn’t get anything done.”

“Rhoga does have a silly tendency to miss you even when they’re happy,” SkekGra said. “I can only imagine what they would be like if they could actually hold you.”

“Well...that all applies to you just as much,” UrGoh said. He paused. “You know...I don’t think Rhoga is in danger from this book...at least not any danger of not being Rhoga. Perhaps the danger is...learning about someone else to miss.”

“Or learning about someone we’re glad is gone—even when he’s not really gone—I—look, what I mean is that all of me came from GraGoh. The Conqueror was already in him.”

“Surely you know by now...that only makes me want to know more?” UrGoh met SkekGra’s eyes. “GraGoh can’t make me love you or Rhoga less, no matter what I find.” He glanced at the more ordinary book. “I want to share this with you.”

SkekGra looked at UrGoh for a long moment. “Well,” he said, “I’ve never said no to anything when you’ve put it like that. And—I can’t forget you were inside GraGoh, too.”

UrGoh motioned SkekGra over to a table where they could sit down. “I haven’t yet figured out if GraGoh or any of the urSkeks would have laughed, been affronted, or even understood the double entendre when you speak of us being inside GraGoh, by the way.”

“Do you expect to?”

UrGoh looked at the urSkek journal thoughtfully. “Yes, I think so.”

“I guess considering all the things we wrote down—all right, what’s—what’s there, so far? And explain it without pauses, won’t you?”

UrGoh looked at SkekGra innocently. “It’s a hard...habit to break.”

SkekGra groaned, and UrGoh reached out and covered his hand with one of his own. “I won’t do it on purpose for this. But I really did get used to thinking and speaking that way...our renewal didn’t undo that.”

“Nothing undone,” SkekGra said. “Ah, fuck it. At least I’ll always know it’s you, talking like that. And my thoughts still race around the place where the nail was. Anyway—so—now—how did GraGoh speak?”

“I don’t know if we can ever know that,” UrGoh said. “The distance between speech and writing...at least this journal was only for GraGoh himself, if the way it was sealed means anything.

“So...the translation is possible because of Rhoga’s...memories, if that’s what they are. Puzzle pieces of the mind...finally fitting together. Their memories link symbol, sound, and meaning. It helps also that we taught each other skeksis and mystic, as both of those share a great deal with the...physical aspects of the urSkek language. Knowing spoken and written ‘Gelfling,’ which is really urSkek-arrival-era Vapran merged with auditory urSkek, also helped. The urSkeks...did not want to keep their way of writing a secret, though I can tell they greatly simplified it in ways that...I doubt were truly necessary.

“What also helps...my memories of how UrAc constructed his chronicles. There was a lingering urSkek sensibility, there.”

“Are you showing off?” SkekGra asked playfully.

“I just want my work to be complete,” UrGoh said.

“Well—you’re making me want to find something I can dig into so I can show off.”

“You were just nervous about this whole project.”

“I—”

“Unless you’re flirting to put off getting to the heart of this…”

“I wasn’t trying to do that, it’s just—” He smiled. “I will always be ridiculous about whatever you do, I guess. Including research. Remember all that prep work to make Lore?”

UrGoh chuckled softly. “I remember...I was the one who accidentally broke your reading glasses...after you made a key breakthrough.”

“My fault for keeping them on. Wanting to see you clear up close.”

“I’m still going to tell you about this translation.”

“Right, right,” SkekGra said, leaning forward, putting his fore elbows on the table, and propping his head in his hands—not neglecting to replace the hand that had been under UrGoh’s with one of his hind ones, of course.

“Cute,” UrGoh said, with a small smile. “Where was I...oh, yes...so, there were many ways that urSkek is still embedded in the languages of Thra. It will take a very long time to go away, if it ever does...if Jen and Kira value connecting to the gelfling of the past in their own language...Aughra hasn’t given them any advice on that but I think she’s ranted to Rhoga about it….

“All this is to say that the structure of urSkek is not nearly as opaque as I first imagined it might be.” He paused. “I imagined the urSkek language littered with inconceivable concepts...relying on shades of meaning too subtle for a mortal mind to distinguish...approaching time in ways I could never comprehend so long as my brain was made of matter. This way of thinking...it helped shield us from GraGoh before the Great Conjunction, and we needed it then. Now, things are different. Even from what little we know...the urSkek are not so incomprehensible. They easily communicated with gelfling. They had opinions on the ways gelfling day-to-day life should be changed and ‘advanced.’ They came from a place with rules, and laws, and customs, and punishments for those who broke them. They have long lives, but each one still has a beginning and an ending...mortals, all. The difficulties in translation instead stem from urSkek senses being very different from ours, and different aesthetics and values. And even so...they were us.”

“So—the way you were almost-singing when you got my attention?”

“My attempt to address what I think are ways of adding emotion and beauty to the text that rely on urSkek senses. Like the figurative and poetic language we use relies on our senses and experiences. I don’t know enough...we, including Rhoga, don’t know enough yet to know the best way to approach that part of the text. So...we may never know if GraGoh was a good writer...but we can know a little about what he thought. About what it was like, for him.”

SkekGra watched UrGoh, who had turned his attention back to the book with the beginning of the translation in it. The urSkek book—GraGoh’s book—rested on the table like any other object. He took a breath, feeling for the hum in his very bones that had steadied him ever since the Great Conjunction, feeling for the shining, pulsing loop of life that was Rhoga in potential, in essence, or both, always present and waiting, just on the other side of a breath, a desire, a choice—especially when he and UrGoh were touching. “I know there’s no reason to be afraid of myself anymore,” he said. “What does GraGoh have to say so far?”

UrGoh smiled, and squeezed the hind hand under his own. Sometimes SkekGra wondered why they hadn’t been fully restored, but when there were moments of such familiarity with UrGoh, he thought he understood. He’d let the light heal him only as much as it could and still leave him UrGoh’s SkekGra.

“‘By the time this record is complete, may it show that my soul is healed and that I may be safely enfolded in the lace of home.’ The word isn’t lace, exactly. I think it’s an idea that I’ll be able to translate better after I see it more. ‘I always wanted to travel through space. Do I not find that aimless desire granted, now that I am the farthest from my origin that I have ever been?’” UrGoh began again. “‘But even traveling into exile felt no different than arriving anywhere else that is connected to our Crystal—like the passing from one room to another, save that we cannot go back. Still—I do feel we are in exile. We lament. I let it flow through me that this seeming-granting of my desire severed me from everything I ever knew.’”

UrGoh paused, and softly hummed an eerie, sad tune for a few seconds. “I don’t know what it should have sounded like,” he said, “but there’s a break in the text that indicates a lament for a still-broken soul. I borrowed the urRu Lament of Repentance. It...helps me understand my translation.

“The text resumes. ‘I do not forget that I am not severed from everything I ever knew. I am with my closest, particular companions. I am still connected with those I held above all else.’ More indications of the lament...I think GraGoh included this when he wrote of something that meant he wasn’t thinking as an urSkek should. ‘This tempers my lament, and makes me feel almost like I have been granted a gift, and not the gift of a duty that will allow all of us, including myself, to correct ourselves. It feels like a gift of honor and joy to be here with my friends. Not everyone felt the way I did, but I had long attempted to imagine what it would be like to leave everything, even the lace, behind. To go beyond our Crystal and discover what existence is like, there.’ I don’t think GraGoh means just the urSkek homeworld crystal, here. There are certain marks that link it to the word I’m translating as ‘lace,’ for now.

“‘I feel that instead of drifting, I am free in a way I could never have conceived within the lace. It overwhelms almost all other feeling, and I suppose I must be patient and careful with my thoughts as I wait for the longing for the lace to return to me, as it must, because after all, I am still urSkek. I know what we are here to do, and the doing will set my thoughts right.’ There are some subtle marks here that are hard for me to interpret, but if I had to guess, they would indicate something about GraGoh not agreeing with the idea that the thoughts he is supposed to correct are actually wrong. ‘For now, the pain waits, and my lament is in an almost unrecognizable key. And I am not the only one. When we disperse—when we are away from those who feel our punishment most keenly, like SoSu—I see that MalVa’s colors approach rapture, and mine probably do as well.’ It’s not ‘see,’ or ‘colors,’ what GraGoh describes here is an urSkek sensory experience.” UrGoh paused and took a deep breath. “‘The world of our exile is astonishing. It is completely unlike homeworld in almost every way, and still I find it beautiful. I didn’t know places like this could exist, and feel so harmonious, while still being entirely wild. Surely there can’t be much work ahead of us to tune this place. I am looking forward to finding out for sure. I imagine passing over every atom of this world, and I thrill at the toil it will be. There are no crystal paths, no memories of others to help me understand what I am seeing more quickly. It will not take endless time to explore one planet, I know, but I feel I have been granted a wonder that is as close to endless as one can be.’ That is as far as I have gotten in the translation,” UrGoh said.

SkekGra lowered his fore hands and wrapped them around UrGoh’s. “There's no point in hesitating to say it, is there? GraGoh sounds like—well, I hear a lot of you, in that.”

“And I hear you,” UrGoh said. “Especially when he’s glad to be in exile with the people he loves.”

“Is love the right word, for urSkeks?”

“I think so...I think that was part of the problem.” UrGoh shook his head. “I can’t help but project everything that tangled up us and the rest of the skeksis and mystics back onto the urSkeks.”

“It makes sense to me. They became us.”

“Still...some of GraGoh’s thoughts remain unfamiliar to me.”

“Conqueror thoughts? I thought I heard a few.”

UrGoh shook his head again. “You showed me the Conqueror. I know what he was like and what happened to every bit of him. I mean...ways of seeing Thra that, truly, neither mystics nor skeksis ever had. Then again...there is so much more to translate.” He met SkekGra’s eyes. “I’m not as fearless as I try to seem...about this translation. But now...we need to know GraGoh. I think I can find him…”

“You found me,” SkekGra said. “And you loved me.”

“It could be a terrible thing...to love GraGoh.”

“Surely only half-terrible, at most,” SkekGra said, giving UrGoh a little smile.

UrGoh turned his hands to cup SkekGra’s and gently press them. “I don’t know what the urSkek homeworld is like,” he said, “but if walking over the ground seemed so wonderful and novel to GraGoh, then I’m glad he had the chance. I’m glad...that stayed.”

“Yes,” SkekGra said. “But you don’t have to act like it’s not uncanny—what we were, what feels like what we could have been, another world, another time—I—I think Rhoga needs to think about this translation. I want to think about this as Rhoga—I need to be Rhoga right now.”

“Breathing as them...knowing their joy as the end,” UrGoh murmured. He left the books on the table and began to walk to SkekGra, who ran up to him before he could take more than two steps.

One embrace. One breath. One being.

“You figure out a triad and suddenly there’s a complicated fourth,” Rhoga said to themselves. “Well, we’ve done that before, too.” They smiled. “Glad I’m less worried about where a book could take me, now. It really didn’t suit me.”

[zenigatakeibu]

' then, what about this one --- ? ' a while later, and they're here at the museum. the niwa's been getting the feeling that certain things were lost on the inspector, but of course, there was never any sort of necessity for a detective to be an art connoisseur. things like traps, extrapolation and practically being able to match any thief in wit if not skill itself... these, by some, could have been considered an exquisite 'art' as well --- but daisuke desperately wanted his mind to be off something like that, maybe just as desperately as he hoped zenigata's could be drawn away from it, if only for a little bit.

here, in places like these, works of art weren't just pricy things. the sculptures weren't just blocks of stone, cast-bronze-bricks. the enormous, impressive portrait in front of them, likewise seemed to express some sort of inexplicable, fantastical 'something else.' within the image, both a boy and man's backs were turned, the two of them dressed in curious historical wear that once upon a time must have been ordinary, their hands delicately held by one another.

daisuke's own gaze drifts over to the inspector's rough palm before he timidly reaches out for it. he quietly steps a little closer; mirroring image's stance, admiring the piece before him with bright eyes and a small smile and flush. ' i ... like this one. i think understand it . ' if nothing else, he hoped he did: the thoughts and feelings of a work of art that were desperate to be expressed, this kindness and this warmth. for both the boy in the painting, as well as the boy outside of it, the sort of greater, larger person that they nevertheless tried to carefully hold in their tender, timid hands---

was infinitely precious.

' thank you again for spending time with me, zeni-san. my dad's always a little busy, so he couldn't make it ... but now i'll get to tell everyone that i got to spend time with a great uncle instead. ' as long as he left out the fact zenigata was a detective to the rest of his family, of course!

⚖️ THE LAGALITH ART MUSEUM: ONE of Azumano’s finest. It had been the victim of a theft once upon a time– the Agate Links, if memory serves… Anonymously donated only to be stolen away not five days later. Zenigata remembers reading about it in the paper. A damn shame, really. 

       A row of pillars stand guard at the entrance, tall and proud and grand as ever, their white marble shining under the crisp winter sun. People crowd around the steps to chat amongst themselves. It’s cold out, though not uncomfortably so. The threat of snow is not so much a threat at all, more an empty promise in the face of an otherwise clear sky. Days like these you could expect to find the local park full, even despite the chill. Tickets tucked away, Zenigata follows the boy inside. Even now he can’t help but wonder if it was a good idea, coming here. People stare as they pass, watching the inspector in awe. They recognize him, he knows they do, but he presses on nonetheless.

       Ink and canvas, clay and bronze… It’s hard to grasp anything beyond the physical. He’s never had much of an eye for art. Being here feels wasted on him, like he doesn’t deserve the view if he doesn’t know how to appreciate it. Endless paintings pass by one after the other… Slowly but steadily they blur. It doesn’t take long for his attention to drift elsewhere. After all, counting exits, guards, cameras– it’s second nature. Doesn’t help that the security here is sorely lacking, either. Lupin could no doubt clear whole exhibits in the time it’d take for the guards to raise their guns. Where was their sense of duty? Of dignity-?!

       – But Daisuke’s voice finds the man just as he’s about to lose himself completely. The world comes back together with a hard blink.

       “Then, what about this one..?”

       .. The portrait is big, much bigger than any thief would know what to do with, and at that Zenigata feels an odd sense of relief wash over him. It isn’t going anywhere, not this one. Not without a fuss. With Daisuke’s hand in his he finally manages to relax.

       ❝ It is nice, isn’t it? ❞ A boy and a man, their hands linked… Father and son, perhaps? His heart squeezes a little at the thought, memories of his own father bubbling up before he can stop them. But there’s comfort in this painting– a comfort he perhaps hadn't known, all those years ago. The sort of comfort he’s taken to providing others these days. Protection. Safety. Both pillar and anchor... A fatherly shoulder to forever lean on. ❝ .. Heh. Y’know, I think I understand it, too.

       ❝ I’m glad I could come out today, kid. Really. I know I'm not always the best company, but... I appreciate you makin' the effort. ❞ A beat as Zenigata offers Daisuke a smile-- ❝ 'Nd for finally giving me a reason to spend some vacation days. Ha! ❞

[onethousandrbirds]

hey! sorry to ask, i'm just curious but i cannot figure it out — what is the one that's suspiciously missing from those bad kink posts? (i tried looking at the notes for clues but lasted about a second before being taken out by the people asking this random person on the internet what kind of sex they're allowed to have. i feel like i'd need... idk a psychology degree to even begin to understand how someone gets there.)

oh, no big. i wrote both of my posts to be both playfully obtuse—you were never going to find clues in the notes b/c i don't think anyone there noticed the same thing i did. also this might be a bit long, so feel free to skip down to the TLDR; under the cut

so in both linked posts that i was responding to the overall thesis is "being pro-kink doesn't mean loving all of them but it does mean recognizing that what consenting adults do together is neither a moral failing or any of your business" and they mention some controversial kinks (ageplay, cnc, incest shipping, fauxcest, petplay, somnophilia, intoxication kinks, and much more¹) as an example of this idea.

because they name kinks that people often find themselves having intense feelings about re: their morality and their ethical performance, i noticed within these lists a lack (technically a lot of lacks since it would be impossible to list off every controversial kink in existence, but that's neither here nor there in this moment). but for example, in posts that gesture towards this overall idea of "pro-kink" or "neutral support of kink" often seem incapable of recognizing that kinks based on bigotry—race play for instance (this will serve as my main example for the rest of this response)—exist as well.

and my observation that i was originally talking around was that perhaps kinks like that one can't be brought up alongside the others (regardless of the baggage they all may carry) because maybe the OP really does think that one is a unique brand of evil or because their knowledge of kink is pretty limited and thus their own perspective of their idea might be limited or because they recognize that to even broach that topic with something that degree of abject would get a theoretical reader to stop listening entirely. but who knows for sure though?

like, that particular kink does make me VERY uncomfortable (for obvious reasons, i hope) and so whenever i see posts like the two linked here that gesture broadly to "scary" kink being okay but somehow never seem to mention ones like this, i get suspicious. and that's not a ding on either of these posts i'm responding to! instead it's me doing a meta thought experiment of sorts. like the posts are right: if you are "pro-kink and pro-weird nasty gay sex" then you do have to accept that there's gonna be something in that classification you will find abject but your disgust doesn't define the morality of those acts. however! it's pretty easy to remember that in the face of kinks that maybe only exist as abstract ideas and that you may have only dealt with in the theoretical space rather than ones that may (or may seem) to effect you on a material level!

which brings me back to the absence of mentioning certain "bad" kinks. i've been in school studying literary analysis for the past 12 years of my life. one of the earliest things they teach you to do is "observe what a text is saying, but also what it is (or can)not." and so when i see posts like the two linked above i can't help but find it interesting (in a completely neutral sense, i swear) when i notice these recurring absences. i also can't help but speculate about them either, but speculation requires active thought which i might not always have the wherewithal for.

(and to digress re: the weird discussion you noticed in the notes: that just sounds like people cosmically missing the point to avoid thinking about the matter at hand.)

so tldr; there isn't a "one" actually. i was just observing that, even in a laissez faire approach to kink, something has to still remain unspeakable or unmentioned—especially when communicating to groups of people who might stop listening entirely if one takes the laissez fair perspective to its logical conclusion in an explicit manner or if one feels that perspective might require them to "accept/like/tolerate" things which may be pretty dang close to sources of harm in their everyday life.

i hope this all made sense/helped

¹ the "and much more" in this post technically covers the wide swath of even more unforgivable/unspeakable kinks but notice: still it cannot/does not/will not name drop them specifically and instead rhetorically relies on you, the reader, to fill in that blank for it

[edoro]

"and in some cases is so dedicated to trying to prove she’s who she THINKS she should be that she doesn’t pay attention to who she actually is and what she actually wants." <- oooh this is interesting. :D I wonder, if she had a character creation screen that made her Ideal Self, how would she make herself and how would it compare with how she actually is?

so basically i think Emmy's stat distribution is like

-high intelligence + dexterity -medium charisma (she's friendly and sweet but can be blunt and has a kind of dark/macabre sense of humor that puts some people off, and she has a lot of trouble with like, unspoken social rules or people who lie about their intentions) -medium-low constitution + wisdom (see above; she's not very good at sussing out hidden meanings or detecting people's motives, and she's not very good at listening to her own intuition a lot of the time) -low strength (despite being the physically biggest member of the polycule both in terms of height and frame/weight, she's not particularly strong)

and she would really like to bump up those WIS and STR stats and maybe the CHA as well. she wants to be strong! she's pretty butch and she really wants to protect and help the people who she cares about.

because of her history of bullying, she has spent a lot of her life learning to keep her head down and ignore when people are assholes. because she's not very good at telling when people are being more subtly assholish (pretending to be her friend or back-handed compliments, etc), she spends a long time just very withdrawn and socially cut off, refusing to interact with anyone other than Max because she doesn't know how to trust anyone.

she wants to be brave and outgoing and friendly and fearless, and be herself totally unapologetically, and whenever someone is mean to her or someone she cares about, she wants to tell them to go fuck themselves and be able to stand up to them physically if need be.

but... she still worries a lot about how people see her, although she's working on that. she pushes herself a lot to put herself out there and interact, and a lot of the time it IS fun and it DOES turn out well, but it's also gotten her into some uncomfortable situations and caused her to put up with pretty bad behavior.

being a fat black trans girl trying to figure herself out and start maybe kinda feeling herself means that she ends up with a lot of chasers who want to reduce her to a series of exotic and consumable body parts rather than interact with her as a person, and it takes her a bit to recognize the pattern and then get confident enough and respect herself enough to realize that that attention ISN'T positive and she doesn't have to just put up with it as the price of feeling sexy or fun or flirty.

she's not really used to standing up for herself or other people actively. she tends to just smile and withdraw when things get uncomfortable or people are mean. when she leaves for college she tries to overcorrect too hard the other way, and get VERY assertive and forward, which causes her to in some cases be extra blunt and react very strongly in situations that could have been handled with more tact - she has a hard time telling between people who mean well and people who don't.

it takes her some time to settle into a middle ground!

in reality she tends to be a bit shy and need time alone to recharge, and it turns out that when it comes to like, sex and dating and stuff, she really wants to be involved in some kind of emotional relationship with someone, whether it's a friendship or something more, rather than just hook up. she doesn't like confrontation and tends to feel anxious and guilty if she gets forceful or assertive with people, even when she's objectively in the right and they were wrong.

her ideal self, though, is confident, flirty, courageous, physically and emotionally strong, extroverted, always down to have fun and party, able to breezily socialize with little to no effort, and unfuckwithable. ideal Emmy knows what's up, doesn't ever hesitate or get worried, doesn't need time alone, doesn't ever accidentally say the wrong thing or ruin the mood, doesn't doubt herself, is up for anything, etc.

in time she'll come to understand and value who she is, and figure out that she can be confident in her own worth and stand up for herself and the people she cares about without being over the top, that she can be quietly firm about her own boundaries and how she's willing to be treated or let others be treated rather than having to make a scene, that she doesn't have to be a fun party girl to make friends or feel sexy or enjoy herself, and all of that.

(also, she would give herself a bigger ass. she's pretty top-heavy and kinda apple-shaped; big boobs, big shoulders, thick waist, big belly, comparatively less weight in her hips and thighs and butt. going on hrt has made her get a little more curvy, but she still carries most of her weight in her stomach and chest, and she wishes she had fatter cakes. u_u)

[bevswashere]

Koi No Yokan

Chapter 27: Before Graduation

March 2009 Nearly two years later.

“A beer for me. And you two?” Patiently she looks at us, and the waiter follows suit. “Don’t be shy now. Your Senpai’s are splitting the bill for your twentieth birthday tonight, Kaede-chan.” 

“Oh.” Mei Mei neglects to acknowledge that we’re both still eighteen, wearing our high school uniforms on a Friday evening. She also neglects to point out that my birthday isn’t for another couple weeks, and she probably won’t be one of those Senpais covering the bill. “I guess a beer for me too.

“Me as well,” Nanami says. 

When the waiter leaves, Mei Mei’s lips thin into an alluring smile, painted in a deep shade of red, “For a special grade you sure seem to buckle under the pressure when breaking the rules, Kaede-chan.” 

The fabric of my pants ball up into my fists, growing clammy with sweat. I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I’ve interacted with someone other than Nanami, let alone a group. “I’m not used to it.”

“Really?” she folds her arms above her chest. “You should practice it more. It might prove useful for you once you’re out in the real world.”

“She won’t need it, Mei-san,” Shoko says, a nicotine patch affixed to her inner wrist. “Kaede-chan’s seen plenty of the real world. She’ll be perfectly fine.”

“I’m sure, but it can never hurt,” Mei Mei says. “In a lot of cases it’s safer to break the rules, don’t you think, Ieri-chan?”

“I don’t know about safer,” Shoko sighs. She’s grown her hair out. “Easier maybe?”

Past the four of us, the table is lined with Utahime Senpai, Chihiro, several of the kids I knew from Kyoto, and other freelance workers with close ties to the technical schools. All part of some unofficial get-together we’ve been thrown into. 

I can tell Nanami is uncomfortable too. The past year has made us quite averse to other people, being constantly sent out overseas, avoiding our underclassmen whenever we’re back. Every time I walk past them I can tell they’re intimidated. Perhaps they think us cruel or snobbish, giving the time of day only to semi-first grades or higher. They can think whatever they want. At least Nanami or myself won’t have to mourn them if they die. Most of the time we hide away in his room. Nanami will read, and I’d keep myself present, sleeping or on a computer or whatever else. Then we’re sent away again. We isolated ourselves, sure, but like Shoko said, it’s “easier.”

“Uematsu-san.” A boy from Shigeri’s graduating class in Kyoto calls out to me from the middle of the table. “I heard you recovered one of Ryomen Sukuna's fingers the other day.” 

“Another one?” Mei Mei hums. “You know those are supposed to be incredibly hard to find.”

“Really?” I wipe my hands against my clothes. “It doesn’t seem that way.” 

Some of the people at the table snicker when I say this. Kei, the former Kyoto student now working as a grade one freelancer, comments, “It is strange, though, how the same person has recovered all five fingers herself. You would think they’re almost drawn to you.” 

When I feel their eyes on me, I focus on Nanami’s. The higher-ups' plans to keep all of it a secret changed shortly after Suguru defected. They let the news circulate, then the rumors. I realized then that the plan was never about controlling the chaos, but about controlling me. My movements, my ambitions. Leaving me under a spotlight to keep me unsuspect, instead of festering in the shadows as he’d done. 

A new window for Tokyo, sitting next to Chihiro-chan, innocently asks, “Why would they be drawn to Uematsu-san?”

“Who’s to say?” Kei shrugs. “Those fingers are fragments of Sukuna’s soul. It’s possible they could recognize her and make themselves known when she’s near.” 

“Or it’s all one big coincidence,” Shoko says, restlessly chewing on the straw of her drink. 

“Do coincidences really happen five times?” Kei says, as the front door rings and someone announces, “Oh, Gojo-san!” 

I feel my heart drop, turning my head to see him come through the front door, the frames of his glasses, the hooded sweatshirt I used to borrow. He smiles and he waves at everyone.

“We can leave,” Nanami whispers.

“It’s fine,” I lie, and Mei-san smiles when I make the request, “Do you think you could order something a little stronger for me?” 

I think it started when Satoru graduated last year. He opted for the freelance route outside of Tokyo High, instantly bombarded with mission after mission, curse after curse. Sometimes it would take him weeks to come home, only for me to be assigned overseas. By the time I’d come back, he’d be gone again, and the cycle continued. When we were together, it became harder to steer the conversation away from anything Jujutsu or strength involved. 

I stir at the mention of his name. "What about Shigeri?" I say carelessly to someone across the table I'd never spoken to previously.

"You haven't heard?" Kei pauses, scoffs. "Well, of course you haven't. He abandoned the Kamo clan all of a sudden. Took his sister with him and everything." 

I digest her words slowly, thinking about the letters we'd send back and forth. Until those inevitably slowed and faded away just as everything does. "Is he okay?"

"Who knows?" Kei takes a sip of her beer. "Nobody's heard from him for four months now." 

I stayed in Satoru's room until it ended. I’d sleep in his bed, wear the clothes and watch the movies he’d left with me to help distract myself from his absence. But eventually, it became too great to ignore. We’d set up times to meet, and Satoru, who used to always be early to see me, started showing up later and later, canceling at the last minute. One of the last times it happened, I remember waiting in Shinjuku for so long that I fell asleep on the pavement. When Satoru finally arrived, he said nothing about being late or my sleeping on the side of the street, because he was too caught up in finally figuring out Domain Expansion. All of our plans were canceled that night so he could demonstrate this for me, and then leave a few hours later. 

The next time we set up to meet, I waited for hours again only for him to never arrive. So I went back to the school, back to his room, and I remember not even feeling angry. I understood somehow that he was busy. After that, I didn’t see him again for two months. 

Mei-san refills her glass and then mine with another round of shochu. “You should slow down,” Nanami tells me.

Our glasses clink as we cheers, then the glasses are empty once again. “You should respect your elders.”

“Elder by three months.” 

My words spill over one another. “And five days.”

He sips his second beer, “I don’t want to hear anything about you feeling sick later.” 

I thought drinking might make it easier to sit at this table with Satoru, easier to ignore him speaking with Kei for the past hour. I thought it might make me forget all the anger and hurt I harbor towards him. Instead I feel all of the heartache tenfold, and compare myself to the beauty of Kei, wondering how long before he’ll see it too. The thought sickens me, not the alcohol. 

“Excuse me,” I get up from the table, and stumble into the bathroom, dipping my head down towards the sink to rinse my face with cold water. 

After not hearing from him for two months, Satoru came to Jujutsu High unannounced and said, “I think it’s time we called this off.”

“What did I do?” was the first thing I remember wanting to ask. “Is there something wrong with me? Am I not strong enough?” We hadn’t slept together in a long time, but “Is sex too dull with me? Is it my shoes, my hair, anything in between? Is it the way I speak or that I’m not speaking enough? Tell me. What did I do? What have I done to make you not love me anymore?” But I didn’t say any of that, or anything at all. I walked away without uttering a single word.

I press the bathroom door, let it swing open as I step out and feel an arm immediately hold me steady. It’s a warmth I haven’t felt in a year. “Did you throw up?” I look up at him, feel his palm press against my forehead. “What’s wrong with you? You know you can’t handle your alcohol.” 

I’m staring at him. The perfect outline of his face and the way his hair spills down into it. The rose tint of his lips and the way one of his ears is slightly more pointed than the other. “Why are you talking to me?”

His hand falls from my face, “I was worried about you.”

I stare and stare, until Nanami comes to my rescue and pulls me back to reality, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“I can help get her home,” Satoru offers.

“No, we can handle it.” Nanami places my jacket in my arms, and slowly I feel Satoru let go of me, as I’m led out of the restaurant and back into the open air. 

“You can stay here tonight in case there’s an emergency.”

I fall down on the edge of his bed. “Why can’t I be in love with someone more like you?”

“Someone who could love Gojo Satoru couldn’t possibly be in love with someone like me,” he answers diplomatically, lining his shoes up neatly besides the dresser, “It makes no logical sense.” 

“Logic isn’t the point, though.” I remove my shoes and let him set them next to his own. “Something’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He takes out a shirt and joggers from his closet, “You can’t control being in love with an idiot,” then pulls a second pair out. “Clothes?”

I stretch my arms out, and the clothes land in my grasp. Facing other ends of the room, we change out of our uniforms, then Nanami turns the light off and we lay down with our heads on opposite ends of the mattress. 

“Don’t let me drink again.”

“I told you to slow down.” 

“Well, we both know by now I can’t make good decisions,” I groan. “From now on you make all of my decisions for me.”

“I don’t want that responsibility.”

“What?” I whine, poking his calf next to me. “Why not?”

“I’ll kick you,” he warns. “Too many people rely on you.” 

“No one relies on me.” Silence settles between us in the darkness. “Do you think it’ll be more like this once we graduate?” I ask. “We won’t have to be by ourselves all the time? 

“I don’t know.” He sighs deeply. “Kaede, about after graduation…”

“Oh, did you decide if you’ll stay on campus or not?” A decision that’s crossed my mind more frequently as graduation approaches. I figured whatever Nanami decides would steer my decision too. He doesn’t answer me, though. “Nanami?”

“We’ll talk about it another time,” he says. “Go to sleep, Kaede-chan.” 

[selachiixiv]

Amity

: FRIENDSHIP especially: friendly relations between nations

The northeast end of the chocobo forest, tucked very cozily into the shadows of the Sohm Al Foothills and the Iron Feast, has grown well-warded over time, a soft, calm urgency overtaking most to venture in that direction to encourage them in another direction. The men to ride in that direction this afternoon, however, are unaffected - they have to be. They wove those wards.

Beyond those wards lies a small plot of land hosting a couple of homesteads, not really any different from many others dotted around Dravania save for the inhabitants.

The priest swings himself off the chocobo, still dressed for summer in the mid-autumn and shouting out a greeting to one of the succubi that waves from her work weatherproofing one of the small cabins on the land. “Hello, Ambra!”

The hunter lingers behind him as he hitches up Picorer, watching his surroundings with keen eyes. Even with the presence of Hyacinthe and the desire to support his efforts, the instincts have been a part of him for so long that walking into a settlement, even a small one, where the voidsent were the primary inhabitants raised his hackles a bit.

Still, the priest worked hard for this, and that meant trying.

The gruff sound of quiet cursing - he doesn’t recognize the words, quite, but he recognizes the tone of voice - makes the wolf’s ears swivel, following the sound both with them and with his feet until he finds the source, a short, stout... bat-man? The wings and ears scream bat, the whip-like golden bone tail, dragonlike feet and clawed hands, and the... horn eyes screamed something else altogether, and the shovel in his hand and stalk of wheat clamped between sharp teeth screamed farmer.

The loincloth garb with nothing else screamed the kind of fashion statement Sorn could respect, given that if Hyacinthe would let him just wander into town in that little he’d try it, but the priest was not above making him put on something that won’t make strangers uncomfortable. That was beside the point, though. He squints, trying to parse the words; they remind him more of modern Garlean than they do of his own mother tongue, but also diverging, in a way that reminds him of how the more archaic of Hyacinthe’s Gelmorran is still closer to Ishgardian Elezen than it is to Gridanian and his own tongue itself.

But the rest of them were from this world, and it’s been tweaking his curiousity for a time now how a substantial chunk of voidsent seem to speak yet another branch, and then a different chunk speak what might as well be Hingan to him.

His reverie is interrupted by the little round bat man managing to leverage a stone out of the rocky ground of the Forelands, before it occurs to him to actually use his words.

“What are you looking to grow?”

What follows is a sort of fumbling conversation between the two of them, trying to make themselves mutually understood; it is very clear very fast that this man doesn’t speak a shred of the Eorzean common tongue, but they manage to work their way through the discussion of what grows well in the Forelands. He is surprised to find that figs are not unknown to this man, if something he hasn’t encountered in millennia.

By the time Hyacinthe wanders over, the wolf has somehow wound up in a lengthy-if-halting conversation about the things that can handle the soil in the Forelands while helping to move the larger rocks, having gotten the name of the voidsent - Abundius, who’d been farming before the night took the Thirteenth and was perfectly happy to get back to it - and a rough history of his experience of living off the land.

The priest nestles into his shoulder as they head off back in the direction of home. “Making friends?”

“Yes. No. Sort of. Maybe.”