#and we have a lot of reasons to believe so

[chryso-poeia]

Being human is simple if you strip away the inhuman systems, the bureacracy, the trauma that the programmed, wounded and misled perpetuate. (Hence kindness or protecting one’s energy). Being human happens without your conscious participation, you could not beat your own heart, digest your food etc. Hence ”human being” and not ”human doing”. Your body orients you, not the programming. Ground yourself, become present, it’s all here right now, the wonder of it. If you really pay attention.

People are either motivated by an avoidance of pain or a seeking of pleasure. Pain is fear, without pain, no pleasure. Without your palm, no dorsum. Everything exists in a complementary relationship to everything else. Night follows day. Everything is a derivative of fear or love. But it all leads back to love, in the end. Spiritually, this is transcendence of duality.

So i believe that, that which causes life to thrive, or a flower to bloom: is love, which is acceptance, which is compassion, which is nourishment, it allows. So i will be kind and playful in my eternal love, nothing else worked. The mind is designed to be as convincing as possible, hence it reaffirms our sense of reality. But there is something called as healthy functioning and coping, not meant as judgement but rather compassion. This can clear your mind.

Here’s a few of the most effective grounding exercises for a traumatized nervous system, that i’ve found:

• 5-4-3-2-1 Grounding Exercise.

• Progressive muscle relaxation.

• Breath awareness (esp in highly emotional situations): Allow the breath simply arise, don’t try to control it, just let your attention ride on it, become breathed, like a tree.

• EFT.

Misc:

• Follow your excitement in every situation.

• Think about who you are without all your negative convictions. Instead of thinking that you chose think a thought, observe the feeling is triggers in your body. Feel the fear/anxiety and just breathe deeply. Don’t engage in the mind conversation, just breathe deeply. If you start engaging in the convo again, gently back to the breath. Remember: your mind is convincing for a reason, because a lot of thoughts: require your participation to survive. It can help to repeat:

”This negative response is how my body-mind has been programmed to think it must respond. Because it replays the past, i choose to learn from the past and accept myself, in order to move on. I choose to invite love. So i choose to believe that i don’t have to respond that way. Divine, i don’t know how it’s possible but with your infinite intelligence, all things are possible.”

Spiritual Practice:

• Aum chanting, 16-108 rounds.

• Hare Krishna chanting.

• Tibetan Tummo Yoga. (Very physically intense, somatic effect).

• ”Breath Of Fire” Pranyama, breating exercise (CAUTION: Please research how to do this one correctly, faulty practice can damage your lungs. Hence it’s also therefore incredibly potent.)

• Hoponopono.

Natural Processes:

• Full body crying. (Crying is a mechanism that releases tensions and trauma from the body).

• Ruthlessly honest journaling. Write down everything that has ever happened to you. (ChatGPT can be a wonderful tool here, just temper the amount of detail you provide)

• Exercise, 30min at a minimum, daily walk. Preferably in nature.

-

Above all, whatever we resist, persists. So things like journaling can often be the most cathartic and effective practice, each time. The idea is that if it is not expressed, it is harbored within. But once expressed, it becomes external. At which point, one can notice how there is a separation of ’what happened’ and ’who i am’.

chronic fatigue from mental illness and neurodivergency isn't something you can just will your way out of. your nervous system is part of your body. your brain is an organ. the fatigue is real. you're not lazy. so be kinder to yourself. be gentler with your bodymind.

[latenightreadingpdf]

Knock on the Door - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the midst of an intense investigation, Spencer and Derek bring you into protective custody after a disturbing discovery links you to their case. As you navigate the unexpected situation, Spencer’s calm presence offers reassurance, sparking an unexpected connection amid the chaos.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The quiet street was a far cry from the usual high-stakes BAU scene, but the tension in the air made Spencer’s skin prickle with unease. He glanced at Derek, who was already preparing to knock on another door, exuding his usual calm confidence.

"This one could be a lead," Derek muttered, showing a slight glint of hope in his eyes as he raised his hand to knock. The case had been dragging on, and frustration was growing with each unanswered question.

When the door opened, Spencer noted the faint hint of confusion in your expression. Derek immediately flashed his badge, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma’am, I'm Agent Derek Morgan. This is my colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI."

Your eyes darted between the two of them, registering the serious expressions they wore. "The FBI? What's going on?"

"Have you had any strangers come to your door recently trying to sell you something?"

A flicker of recognition passed over your face, and Spencer leaned in, catching the shift. "Actually, yes,” you said, brows furrowing. “A guy came by yesterday… He gave me his card.”

Spencer and Derek shared a look. "Do you still have that card?" Spencer asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Yeah, I think so. Let me grab it." You turned back into the house, leaving the door partially open, and returned a moment later with a card in hand. As Derek took it from you, he confirmed with a nod that it matched the cards left at the other crime scenes.

You looked between them, anxiety creeping into your voice. "What is going on? Who is this guy?"

Spencer’s voice softened, his gaze meeting yours directly. "We believe he's a dangerous criminal who may be responsible for several recent homicides. His method involves gaining entry to homes under false pretenses."

Your face paled as the weight of his words sank in. Derek placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We need to take you back to the station to make sure you’re safe. There are some steps we’d like to take to ensure you’re protected while we gather more information."

"Safe? Is he going to try and kill me?"

Derek’s expression turned serious. "We have reason to believe he might try to come back, and it’s important we get ahead of him."

A sense of dread settled over you as you let their words sink in. You followed them to the car, feeling your stomach twist with a mix of fear and disbelief. As you settled into the backseat, Spencer turned to give you a reassuring nod.

“Just so you know,” he began, his tone gentle, “we’ll have officers posted near your home to ensure he doesn’t have the chance to get in. We’re taking every precaution.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just�� a lot.”

“Understandable,” Spencer said, glancing at you with a sympathetic look. “We’ll also have you meet with a sketch artist and undergo a cognitive interview. It’s standard procedure, and it might help us learn more about him.”

You looked out the window, processing the reality of the situation. The quiet chatter between Derek and Spencer drifted over you as they discussed possible motives, patterns, and theories. But for now, you were too lost in your own thoughts to make out their words.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you arrived at the station, Spencer took a moment to walk you through the cognitive interview process. "It’s designed to help you remember specific details," he explained, his voice calm and assuring. "It might feel intense, but I’ll be with you the whole time."

You nodded, glancing around the bustling police station, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and adrenaline. "Okay, so… I just answer questions, and you’ll be able to get a clearer picture of this guy?"

Spencer gave you a small smile. "Pretty much. Think of it as helping us paint a portrait. Every detail, no matter how small, could be useful."

The interview went smoothly; Spencer’s presence was patient and encouraging, never making you feel pressured to remember something you couldn’t. Afterward, he led you to a small break room, offering you a seat at a worn table with a coffee machine humming nearby.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned with two steaming cups, handing one to you. "Here," he said, "it's not gourmet, but it’ll keep us awake."

You took it gratefully, feeling a sense of normalcy settle in. "Thanks, Spencer." You sipped the coffee, savoring the warmth. "I didn’t expect to spend my afternoon in an FBI station, but… it’s definitely more interesting than my usual routine."

Spencer chuckled, seeming surprised by your laid-back attitude. "Most people aren’t as calm in situations like this."

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the situation but refusing to let it get the best of you. "I don’t know. I figure, if I’m in good hands, there’s no point in freaking out."

As you chatted, Spencer filled you in on some of the behavioral profiling techniques they used, giving you a peek into the mind of the BAU. His eyes lit up as he explained the ways they’d been analyzing the unsub’s behavior to find any possible patterns, and you found yourself genuinely interested, asking questions and absorbing his answers.

"Do you ever wonder why people do these things?" you asked thoughtfully, watching him as he considered your question.

"All the time," Spencer replied, his voice softening as he looked down at his coffee. "But there’s rarely a straightforward answer. The best we can do is study the behaviors and try to make sense of them. Hopefully, it helps us stop them."

A sense of respect grew in you as he spoke, and you found yourself admiring the dedication he had for his work. "That sounds exhausting. Important, but exhausting."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But it’s worth it, especially when it means keeping someone safe. Like now."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his sincerity. "Well, I guess I’m lucky you guys were around."

The door to the break room opened, and Derek poked his head in, giving Spencer a grin. "You two doing all right in here?"

Spencer nodded, standing up to update Derek on the details you’d given during the interview. As they talked, you finished your coffee, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the unusual circumstances.

When Derek turned his attention to you, his gaze softened. "We’re going to have a team set up around your house tonight, keeping a close eye on things. We’ll catch this guy if he shows up."

You nodded, feeling reassured. "Thanks, Agent Morgan. I know you guys are handling it, so I’ll let you do your thing."

Spencer glanced back at you with a small smile. "If you need anything, or have more questions, just let me know."

As they walked you to the main desk, Spencer looked back, his gaze soft. "We'll keep you safe," he assured you once more, his sincerity unmistakable. "Until then, try not to worry. We’re on it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. "I trust you," you replied, giving them one last grateful look before they escorted you to a waiting area. And as you waited, you felt a sense of calm, knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[moniquill]

I think one of the disconnects between people learning about 4B for the first time since the election and people who recognize that as a movement it has problematic elements (transphobia, homophobia, authoritarianism, purity policing) is that we live in entirely different fucking universes.

I, a leftist living in a blue state, am vaguely appalled at the idea of pigeon-holing all men based on the actions of the kind of men who voted from Trump... because I never had those men in my life in the first place. I've never had one of those men be brave enough to say to my face that he's a trump voter. I cannot really comprehend the idea of a grown-ass adult who until this very moment has actually been living in the Shirley Jackson/Virginia Woolfe dystopia that was presented to me in Women's Studies in college 20 years ago. I do not know even one woman in my life under the age of 75 who doesn't have a job (unless it's for disability reasons) - I come from a social class where you start working under the table/on the side at elementary school age and you're expected to get a job that pays wages as soon as you turn 16.

In the universe I've lived my life in, OF COURSE I wouldn't sleep with a conservative guy! Discussions of politics and stances on key issues are things that happen BEFORE the first date. "I found out he held [a conservative view]" is a relationship-terminating dealbreaker every single time.

The men that I know, that I'm friends with, even the ones that I'm related to are comrades - lots of them are some flavor of queer, the majority of them are nonwhite, they are capable of being platonic friends with women.

I'm 41 years old and have had zero pregnancies, and no one CLOSE to me, whose opinions I actually respect and care about, has ever given me meaningful push-back about it. The 'Oh you'll change your mind' comments have always come from peripheral people like coworkers and teachers (and I dropped off sharply when I passed age 30)

I was never A Desirable Woman (tm) during the age of social media. I was 33 when Tiktok was created. I did not live in this panopticon, and cannot relate. All I can do is A: Believe the testimony of the women who have had these experiences and B: Advise them on ways that I have avoided those experiences.

"Don't be cruel or hateful to entire categories of human beings based on the way that they were born." does not translate in my head to "You are required to coddle and cater to those people." At all. I don't really understand how anyone makes that leap.

How the fuck have you been in the cage for so long?

[mariaace]

They're here. 'Yes, yes wait- WHAT?!'

A/n: BLLK SEASON 2!!! also haven't posted in a while hehe >< I hope you guys enjoy this!

Summary: Their reaction to seeing you at the Bllk x U20 match.

Warnings: Fluff, angst on Chigiri if you squint your eyes, also!! Spoiler for after the match obviously, a lot of sweetness, established releshionship, that's all I think

Pairings: Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, Yukimiya, Otoya,

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Isagi

You?? Came to see him?? He is so proud of himself, almost as much as you are. The moment he saw you sitting next to his parents tho. Oh this boy panics. Then he suddenly sees you laughing and smiling with his mom, he can't help but smile too. Bachira immediately notices and smirks at Isagi. Always looks at you at the warm up, but again, trying to refrain himself from it, because of a few reasons. Tho the moment the match starts? Oh, he is as concerned as ever. His parents are even surprised and you have to be like 'Don't worry, that's normal.' After it all ends tho, ohh such a sweetheart with that smile. 'I wanna hug you, but I'm sweaty' type of guy🙏🏻. PLEASE say how proud you are for him.

Bachira

You came!!! Omg!!!!! Hii!!! Waving at you the whole time!! Smiling is as big as his face. Actually made you run to the bottom of the audience just so he could hug you from the court. Points exactly where his mom is and is like 'Please sit next to her!!'. He is sooo excited about the match in general, let alone when you two are watching him. Mhm, that's the biggest day in his life, he can bet on that. After the match, kisses you right in front of all the cameras. Everyone needs to see you!! But don't worry not without asking you. He's just silly like that.

Chigiri

Oh my love, please help this guy. Not only did his parents and sister came, but you too?? Oh boy, someone save him, he doesn't know how to react AT ALL. All of his teammates are like 'Who are they??' Otoya is ready to- Nuh uh, back up. So, usually he was still nervous because of his injured knee and everything, but now that he sees you and his family together... coming here to support him.. okay maybe you guys coming is actually very motivating to him. Now...after the match...we know how frustrated is bc of everything, but he is still happy because of the won, so comfort him and congratulate him at the same time. Somehow do it.

Yukimiya

Oh this sweetheart of a man. You came? He cannot thank you enough. He is actually proud of you to be honest. He is just like that. Giving you that sweet smile of his. Now I personally think that he would have already announced that you two are dating before the match so the media already knows, but he's going to show it again anyways. He is so proud you're his, he just can't resist. You cheering for him with his number on your back... The view is perfect, what can he say? After the match he does that with the picking you up and swirling you around. He is sure that he is the happiest man alive.

Otoya

A GIRL CANE TO SEE HIM?? HIM?? Nah, Karasu doesn't believe it. He had to pay you right? He is sooo smug about it. He has a girl and it's actually a relationship. Showing you off everywhere. Media, the crowd, to Karasu especially. Like he didn't already see you, but sure. He tries to act cool, but still is trying his best to impress you at the same time. Teammates are actually surprised when he doesn't flirt with other girls, because he is genuinely so whipped for you.

© mariaace please don't copy, translate, steal or claim any of my works!

@dazailoveschuuya

[shiranuieditorial]

Japanese → English translation of an excerpt from an interview with MUCC lead vocalist Tatsurou (逹瑯):

A: Efforts to maintain relationships can feel somewhat negative, don’t you think? Essentially, it means that someone has to push themselves beyond their limits. I believe that in any relationship, there are moments when we must endure something for the sake of the other person; however, that endurance shouldn’t have to be an unbearable sacrifice. At most, it’s about saying, “I’ll hold back on this part of myself to support this aspect of you,” which is a more positive form of patience.

Q: I think it’s impossible to maintain a balance where everyone endures equally. But why do you think we manage to get so close to that ideal? It doesn’t seem like we’re diligently directing traffic, after all.

A: Indeed, it doesn’t appear that we’re directing traffic. Just… I don’t really understand it well myself, but surprisingly, even when I have to endure or feel stressed about something, I tend to forget it after a night’s sleep (laughs). It doesn’t completely vanish, but I find that I stop caring about it. My anger and frustration don’t last very long. So, I just think, “Well, whatever.” (laughs)

Q: The fact that you possess such a character is what makes you who you are, Tatsurou-san. I feel that this is one of the reasons for MUCC’s natural continuity.

A: I’m not entirely sure about myself; however, if I were the type who bottled things up and accumulated stress, I might have exploded at one of the other members at some point. If there had been even one member like that, things might have been different; but in reality, I see up close how everyone else is also struggling silently and doing their best without saying anything. For instance—Miya has an immense workload in terms of music, so, I imagine he must be going through a lot as well. Thus, even if there are moments when I think, “Wow!” I also think, “Well, it can’t be helped.” Because of this understanding, I don’t feel the need to complain.

Q: All four of you share a positive sense of “It can’t be helped” towards each other. Moreover, the parts where you play “MUCC’s Tatsurou” or “MUCC’s Miya” are quite minimal.

A: Yes. Also, for example, in the case of vocalists from other bands, they might have many invisible tasks to handle; however, in my case, I don’t often think “It’s unfair that I’m doing all the work while everyone else is slacking off.” Since I chose this position, I think it can’t be helped. Ultimately, despite everything, I believe we maintain a balance. When watching the rhythm section during individual practice before recording sessions, they seem to be under considerable pressure; they start recording much earlier than me and need to prepare quickly. Seeing everyone creating backing tracks in the studio looks incredibly demanding; plus, since our leader can be quite strict, they’re probably feeling overwhelmed (laughs). Of course, my own lyric writing can also become quite demanding later on; however, in that sense, everyone experiences similar levels of hardship. It feels like everything balances out in some way.

Image alt text for the original Japanese article:

係を保つための努力って、なんかネガティブじゃないですか。 それはつまり誰かが無理をするってことだし。 お互い、人間関係のためになにかしらの我慢をする部分というのはあると思うけど、それは我慢しきれない我慢ではないというか。 せいぜいそれは「相手のこういうところを立ててあげるために、自分のここは我慢よう」みたいなポジティブな我慢じゃないかと思うから。

———全員が公平に我慢する、というバランスを保つことも不可能だと思うんです。 だけどそれにすごく近いことができているのはなぜだと思います？ 一生懸命に交通整理しているようにも見えないし。

たしかに交通整理はしてないですね。 ただ。 。 。 。 。 。 よくわかんないけど、俺ね、意外と、我慢したりとか、ストレスたまるようなことがあっても、ひと晚経つと忘れちゃうんですよ（笑）。 ホントにきれいに消えちゃうわけじゃないんだけど、どうでも良くなってしまう。 怒りとかモヤモヤとかが、そんなに持続しないんで。 だから、ま、いいやって（笑）。

———その性格の持ち主が達瑯さんである、ということ。 それがムックの自然な継続の一因でもあるような気がします。

自分ではよくわかんないけど。 ただ、俺が結構我慢しちゃってストレスをため込むようなタイプだったりしたら、それが爆発したときにメンバーの誰かにあたってたかもしれないとは思う。 俺にかぎらず、1人でもそういうメンバーがいたら違ってたかもしれない。 だけど実際には「こいつも大变なのに、なにも言わずにがんばってるしなあ」というのを間近で見てるから。 それこそミヤも音楽的な意味での仕事量がすごく多いから、大变だろうなと思うし。 だからなんか「うわっ！」う思うことがあったとしても「ま、しょうがねえか」う思うし。 そこで文句を言おうとも思わないから、別に。

———4人全員がお互いに対してポジティブな意味での「しようがない」という感情を持っている。 しかも「ムックの達瑯」とか「ムックのミヤ」というものを演じている部分がきわめて小さいというか。

うん。 あと、たとえばほかのバンドのボーカルの場合、目に見えない仕事が多いんじゃないかと思うんですよ。 だけど俺の場合「俺ばっか仕事で、みんなズルいよ」と思うこともそんなにないし。 このポジションを選んだ以上、しょうがないと思うし。 やっぱ、なんだかんだでバランスがとれてると思うんですよね。 リズム隊とかを見てても、レコーディング前の個人練習とかで詰めてるのを見てると、やっぱり大变そうだなあとか思うし。やっぱ俺なんかよりもみんな、ずっと早くからレコーディングがはじまるわけで、準備にも早く取りかからないといけないわけで。みんながスタジオでオケ作ったりしてるのを見てると、いかにも大变そうだし、しかもリーダーがスパルタだから、ヒーヒー言ってる部分もあるし（笑）。ま、俺も俺で作詞とかがあとから大变だったりはするんだけど、そういう意味では、ある種みんな同程度にしんどいというか、帳尻が合ってるというか。そういうところも確実にあるんで。

[signanothername]

Can we see your version of Swap? Get to know the silly guy a little? What about Ink?

Hell yaaaa I think it’s time I actually gave a bit of a spotlight to the Stars and especially to Swap and Ink

If we’re gonna talk about who would be the most badass of the Stars, it’ll definitely be Swap, the guy is an unstoppable force

My version of Swap would be a variant that went through Killer’s eye stabbing incident, rendering his magical eye completely blind and by extension, later gets a prosthetic eye in his blind side, the loss of his magical eye has definitely affected his magic to a significant extent, he no longer is able to use blue magic, and not just gravity wise but also blue bone attacks, he also experiences phantom pain a lot and deals with severe migraines at times, and obviously had to adjust to living with one eye, getting to minimize depth perception issues

Not only that, but that also gave him problems with how his magic is distributed within his body, and so Swap sometimes struggles with too little magic output or too much depending on the situation

That however, still doesn’t strip Swap’s amazing physical, mental, emotional and magical strength regardless, he’s still very much more than capable on his own, and blue magic or not, he’s not to be trifled with, Nightmare actually sees him as a genuine threat, and that says a lot

The reason Swap ends up with a prosthetic eye is cause he asked for it to be made for him before he went on another mission with the Stars, to make it seem as tho he still has his original eye intact, so the Nightmare gang won’t take his blindness as a leverage in fights by targeting him from said blind side, as far as the Nightmares know, Swap’s eyelight survived Killer’s assault (Killer has a different opinion about that), Dream and Ink are the first to know about the incident and Swap’s blindness outside his own AU, Swap tells them about it after he has his prosthetic

Swap is generally the voice of reason and the one who takes care of Dream, cause while Dream is someone who can take care of himself, he sure isn’t putting much effort into doing so, too preoccupied with his messy life and his relationship with Nightmare to notice how he’s destroying himself

Swap looks out for Dream and tries to be as present as he could, he does not treat Dream like a child or forces him into taking care of himself, but he does nudge him to the right direction, and teaches Dream things that could help him like how to take care of his chronic pain, and later down the line help him with his Autism

Dream never says it out loud , but in a way Dream himself doesn’t understand, Swap is like another sibling to him, like it was always that way, like it’s just natural

Needless to say, Swap and Dream are very close

Swap loves Ink and his intense passion for creation, he might not understand Ink’s views fully, but he doesn’t judge them for it, just keeps a bit of an eye out for any mischief he’s cooking, Ink definitely is an a bit of an enigma to Swap, and he loves them for it

Outside the Stars, Swap is usually in his own AU with his brother dealing with his usual story and resets, the resets however no longer affect him the same way as he’s pretty much a semi-outcode, so when a reset happens, he still retains his memories fully and is able to know that a reset took place

Honey (Swap Paps) on the other hand, does not retain his memories at all, and by extension, isn’t able to truly realize if a reset took place unless he gets hints

Swap and Honey however, are open about the resets to each other, so when a reset happens, Swap does let Honey know, and Honey believes him without a shadow of a doubt, the Swap bros have a very open and healthy relationship with each other

The Swap bros also usually welcome Dream in their house with open arms, and while Honey expresses his reservations about Swap’s adventures as a Star (he’s just a lil worried) he still trusts Swap to take care of himself, in fact, Honey has no right to talk with his sock still on the ground

Swap spends most of his time in his AU in his own house, only getting out with the Stars when Dream comes to tell him he needs help or when duty calls, he does go out with them on genuine adventures too where they explore the multiverse, usually returning with souvenirs and gifts for Honey and his friends in his AU

Ink is the kinda guy that’s looking for what’s entertaining, if he isn’t entertained, then he’ll find ways to entertain himself, and believe me don’t want them to take it into his own hands

Ink generally has very low social needs and has no desire for connection, it doesn’t mean he has no connections at all, but rather, they’re satisfied by the very few connections he already has, like his friendships with Dream, Swap and Error, and their familial connection with his parents, (with Killer on the way to becoming another friend to them) these few connections are more than enough for Ink, he doesn’t look/long for new connections or feels the need to widen their social circle, Ink getting attached to others is very rare, but not impossible

The few connections they have are genuine, and he does love them, that doesn’t mean their views of them change however, his friends and family are all characters in a script, a never ending game

But not him, they’re above that, they’re real (yes, he’s very much a hypocrite)

He prefers to stay by himself in the doodlsphere, or in the Omega timeline with his parents, otherwise, you might see them traveling across the multiverse just to look for new AUs or stories, he might even go out of his way and travel around with Color, Epic and Delta, as they generally love traveling around, he goes for a little company, then leaves

In the Stars, Ink generally tries to never interfere or actually fight alongside Dream and Swap unless there’s an actual reason to, such as Error messing with the code or trying to erase the AU, which is rare, as Error’s attacks are usually independent of Nightmare’s

He does help with fighting Nightmare off if his quest for negativity messes with the script of an AU (which is usually the case) Ink usually stays on the defensive than the offensive in fights

They find no true joy in fighting, they prefer de-escalation tactics, but with how blunt and brutally honest he is, it usually just ends with it escalating further, he can be an absolute asshole, really inconsiderate, and a downright bitch at times

He acts upon his own interests, seeking what fulfills them not what others expect them to do, that’s why Ink would not allow anyone to interfere with AU scripts, that even includes Swap’s, Dream had tried interfering with Swap’s AU to make it so Swap never has to go through resets again (all from a place of wanting to do good) and Ink never allowed it to happen, it escalated in a fight between Dream and Ink, only to be interrupted by Swap

They and Dream end up in a pretty bad fallout, as during Dream’s younger years, a bit of a younger not fully mature anger riddled Dream couldn’t simply fathom Ink’s views of how the world works, that fallout does hurt Ink deeply and messes a bit with them, triggering his abandonment issues, he would be lying if they said he didn’t want Dream back in their life, but he sees no use in trying to mend something that’s engraved in Dream’s mind, so he just confides in Swap

As the years go by and Dream eventually matures, he comes back to talk to Ink, apologizing and asking Ink if he’d be willing to be friends again, which makes Ink happy, they both become really good friends again

Ink does not act on what’s good or bad, they simply do their job as an AU protector/ guardian just like Dream does, if that means stopping Dream from doing good or Nightmare from doing bad in an AU if it interferes with the script, then he will stand against both of them

His protection of these AUs comes from both a survival instinct and a genuine love for creativity, that’s how their love for creation blossoms through, he views everyone as mere characters in a story, but they find these characters to be beautiful, he finds the storylines they live as perfect the way they are, the way they were intended to be, a product of the beauty of creation, he recognizes the value of the stunning differences in these creations

Ink does help others if they’re asked to, he cares about the few people he loves most and absolutely enjoys the company of others, most of the help he provides is usually in the Omega timeline, making new houses, living spaces and creating essentials for the residents there

Ink and Swap are very sibling coded, they both are a bit hyper about what they love and their passions, they love spending time with each other and going on adventures together

Ink definitely loves pranking the shit out of Swap specifically, and he sure has gotten him in problems so many times, but Swap persists and Ink would be lying if they said he wasn’t impressed with Swap’s ability to withstand the bullshit he puts him through without batting an eye like it’s another Tuseday

He’s insecure about their lack for a soul, sometimes overthinking things and doubting their own emotions and the legitimacy of his love for the few people they do love, he often finds himself going to his parents when these doubts arise, finding saftey within their arms

Generally, the Stars go through ups and downs in their relationships, Swap being the one to help keep the balance of the team, they still are pretty good friends overall and each of them do look forward to their next adventure together

[lu-is-not-ok]

A Narcissistic reading of Hong Lu

Yup, I'm actually doing this.

To lay down some facts first: I have NPD, alongside a bunch of other things that coalesce into a nuclear concoction strong enough to kill every dark empath in a five mile radius. If I find you ableisting it up, I give myself the permission to smite you. This is a threat and a warning.

Now, let's talk about Hong Lu. Because as it turns out, he might just be the most difficult literacy check in Limbus Company according to what I've seen.

I could just say "I'm a narcissist and Hong Lu is just like me fr fr so he's a narcissist too" and end the post, but honestly, where's the fun in that? There are, legitimately, things I want to yap about, so I'm going to yap about them, and no chucklefucks can stop me.

So, to start this off, let's make one thing clear.

Hong Lu is not only a good actor, but also a skilled liar. The way he navigates conversations and the methods he uses are just as important to analyze as the actual words he says, if not more so. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that trying to understand him based Only on what he says and not how he uses the things he says would result in an understanding that's not only incomplete, but potentially outright wrong.

Now, this isn't really tied to why I think Hong Lu could be very reasonably read as having NPD, at least not directly. Narcissists aren't inherently evil liar manipulators, and if that's what you take away from this post, that's more of a you problem (and you can go ahead and block me considering I'm one of the evil liar manipulator narcissists according to you).

However, there is a reason why I have to bring it up. And it's because almost all of Hong Lu's narcissistic traits become a lot more obvious once you look at the exact ways he takes control of conversations.

With that out of the way, what exactly are we even looking for?

NPD, in my experience, primarily affects one's sense of self-worth and self-esteem. I personally found that the analogy of a pendulum makes the most sense to me - a narcissist's sense of self-worth can swing between massive highs and massive lows, almost never staying in a middle "balanced" position, with even the tiniest things being able to throw it to one side or another.

The ways this can present outwardly are. Quite frankly, way too fucking many to count. But there are some common threads we can keep in mind:

High sensitivity to criticism

Need for an external source of validation

Tendency to seek out ways to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful

So, does Hong Lu fit those criteria?

Well. Yeah. This post wouldn't exist if he didn't.

Let's talk about the first point, high sensitivity to criticism. And, immediately, I would like everyone to remember Hell's Chicken, specifically the scene where Meursault begins to verbally roast his team's dish, and in the process laying down a verbal smackdown on everyone involved. That scene ended like this.

Curious, isn't it? The moment Meursault was about to start criticising Hong Lu, he just jumps in and distracts Meursault with a change of topic - something even Dante's narration points out.

Mind you, this isn't an isolated event. This is just the most obvious example of Hong Lu exhibiting this kind of behavior.

Don't believe me? Just look at these.

These are all examples of Hong Lu either backpedaling, changing the subject, or otherwise trying to avoid the acknowledgement of something that criticizes his status, thought process, or (in the last example) which would reveal an emotional vulnerability.

This is a fairly consistent pattern for him, and that's not even getting into the fact that the line he says when hovering over him before a skill check he has a Very Low chance at succeeding in has him suddenly try to excuse himself and leave.

Hong Lu is absolutely highly sensitive to criticism, it's just that his primary emotional reactions aren't ones we're privy to. Instead, what we get to see is how he acts to try and minimize the impact of those criticisms, if not outright find ways to never let them leave someone's mouth in the first place.

Next up - need for external validation.

This one doesn't have as many examples as the previous point, as Hong Lu is a generally closed off person who keeps a certain level of distance from most other Sinners. However, that doesn't mean I don't have any.

One such example comes from Canto 4, where soon after acting out his part in the play, Hong Lu seeks validation from Yi Sang.

Then there's this moment in Canto 6, where Hong Lu, once again, seeks validation for something he's done.

And then there's also these lines from Hong Lu's various Identities.

Aaaand then there's these base Identity voice lines, which, if you ask me, feel a bit like fishing for compliments.

This point is a lot harder to say is a definitive one, mainly due to Hong Lu's more closed off projected personality. That being said, the fact that one can find examples of it despite that is pretty notable.

And for the final one - trying to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful.

This is one that's a bit harder to provide exact examples for, as again, Hong Lu isn't someone who talks about how he feels often, and when he does it's not always exactly trustworthy. He's not like Rodya, who while still putting on a facade, is pretty open and easy to read about how she actually feels.

But, there's still some non-mutually exclusive interpretations I want to posit here. Two, in fact.

One - I believe that for Hong Lu, the thing he sees as power is control.

See, avoiding criticism isn't the only time Hong Lu steers conversations. In fact, it's something he does All The Time. He's often the one asking questions to get the group moving, trying to gather information that might be relevant to him, and generally taking over the direction a conversation is going in. Chances are, if Hong Lu speaks up, it's likely to alter the conversation he joins in noticeable ways.

This, I think, is one of the ways Hong Lu makes himself feel more powerful. After all, it's not that hard to guess from what little bits of his background we have that Hong Lu lacked agency for most of his life. So, wouldn't it make sense for him that having that agency, that being able to be socially in control, would be the exact kind of thing that would boost his self-esteem?

In fact, the only times we see him rendered completely speechless, seemingly stripped of that confidence in conversations he usually exhibits, are in Canto 7 - specifically in scenes where he's Not In Control of what the others are talking about. Those scenes being when the other Sinners start shit-talking Xichun in front of him, and when Xichun actively tries to bother Hong Lu by alluding to the way he's been treated back at home.

Extremely confident until something external happens that utterly strips him of that confidence... sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Then, there's the second interpretation.

See, with NPD, there are two ways a narcissist can try to make themself feel more deserving of attention. One is the one most probably think of when they think about narcissists - setting out to fulfill extremely high goals to feel amazing when one reached them and then feeling utterly crushed in the case one doesn't. This would be someone like Rodya.

However, there is also another way, one which I personally have much more experience with - to undersell. To set extremely low expectations, so that it's as hard as possible to fail reaching them, and to feel way better upon surpassing them than one would with higher, more "regular" expectations.

This, to me, is exactly the kind of narcissist Hong Lu is. Think about it. He's constantly putting out this image of an extremely sheltered person that barely understands the outside world, with notable moments where it's made clear he's Just Making Shit Up at points. Wouldn't making one seem unable to do anything, only to then proceed to do things you've led people to not expect of you, make it feel like you're much more exceptional than you really are?

The underselling goes the other way too. When the other Sinners point out something odd about Hong Lu in a more positive way, he's often quick to point out how it's Nothing compared to what his Family expected of him. Wouldn't that make one feel exceptional, to make it seem like whatever effort you're putting in to do well is but a fraction of what else you can do? That you don't even have to try to be able to be special?

...So, there. That's all the analysis and interpretation I find important to do to get my point across.

Just to make it clear, I don't think that the only thing wrong with Hong Lu is the narcissism. There's definitely a lot more shit going on in that head of his. But, I'll be honest, the NPD reading felt so obvious to me that it genuinely took me by surprise that other people don't see it.

Though... maybe I shouldn't be shocked. Some fuckers out there still think Faust is a narcissist when she's literally just autistic.

[wilcze-kudly]

Something I've always loved about atla is how it handled scars, particularly Zuko's facial scar and Aang's lightning scar.

I've probably spoken before about how, as a burn victim with a ton of skin grafts on my legs, torso and hand, Zuko really was the first character "like me" that I saw on TV. It was, as you can guess, quite a momentous moment for kid me. Which is probably why I'm so disheartened on the live action show shrinking and toning down Zuko's scar significantly.

Too often scars, especially burn scars are seen as gore or body horror and too graphic to be seen on TV that isn't horror or related genres. And often scars, especially facial scars are reserved purely for villains and are used as a signifier for 'evil'. A trope that you'll find is still alive and kicking even today even in big franchises.

And while Zuko does reinforce this trope to some extent, I think it was subverted enough for it to have irs own merit. Atla also steers away from the scars=evil narrative, by having a lot of "good" characters have scars too like Bato and Song. This helps destigmatise scars as a whole, making Zuko's 'scarred villany' seem like a more individual case.

In Atla, scars are more the trademark of victims rather than villains and this rings true for Zuko too.

Zuko is a victim of the Fire Nation in the sense that the Fire Nation's values of war, strength and honour facilitated Ozai's abuse of him, particularly the scarring.

Zuko's scarring does follow a very established trope of a son being scarred by a father, which is surprisingly prevalent, especially with burn victims. Seriously I collect these men like pokemon. This tropiness isn't a bad thing, since I think it leads to us very quickly sympathising with him. I certainly did, since his experience mirrors my own.

The scene of Zuko's scarring is also particularly special, due to it being rather unique, because it isn't quick or an action scene, nor is it shown as an overly gory horror scene, despite it being, well, horrific.

It's... tasteful. Or at least, as tasteful as the scene of a child getting scarred by their father can be, I suppose. It doesn't linger on the violence, but also doesn't sugarcoat it. The scene of Zuko's scarring, and the events leading up to it also give us a good exposition to his better qualities, like his compassion, and a good explanation for why these qualities stay buried.

I can understand why some people in the fandom believe that Zuko's scar symbolises his 'worse side', but I actually believe its the opposite. Very often, when a character has a 'split down the middle' type of scar, their scarred side represents their worse half, like with Two Face from DC.

Because Zuko's scar doesn't symbolise his allegiance to the Fire Nation, it symbolises the fact that he failed to live up to the Fire Nation's standards. It's a physical reminder of the time Zuko actively defied the Fire Nation's standards and mindset.

We get a lot of nods to Zuko's scar aymbolising disgrace and failure to uphold ehat the Fire Nation expected of him. It's literally a physical blemish upon his 'honour'.

This is especially noticeable when Zuko's appearance is contrasted with Ozai, who exists as sort of the human stand in for the Fire Nation's imperialism. For most of the show, we are not shown any of Ozai's features, his face being obscured by shadow or out of frame.

We finally see Ozai's face, it's when Zuko is seeing hik for the first time in years. And Ozai looks so similar to Zuko. An unblemished, perfect, complete Zuko, so to speak. In Zuko's fever dream, where we see an unscarred Fire Lord version of Zuko, he looks exactly how I imagine a younger Ozai would look. I also love that Zuko's adult design seems to lean into this similarity.

Furthermore, Zuko's scar is used time and time again as a way he connects with victims of the Fire Nation. People who don't know him, like Song and Jet, assume him to be another victim of the Fire Nation, citing his scar as the reason why. Which is half true, Zuko is a victim of the Fire Nation, just not in the way they think.

Jet: I think Lee would make a good Freedom Fighter. He's just trying to find his way in the world, like us. Smellerbee: You don't know anything about him, Jet. Jet: I know he didn't get that scar from a waterbender.

One person who doesn't connect to Zuko over his burn scar is Katara. I love the scene of Katara and Zuko in the crystal catacombs. It's a profound scene and one that always makes me a bit emotional, especially in the wider context of atla, a subject I've touched on in this post.

However, the handling of Zuko's scar in this scene is especially dear to my heart. I strongly remember that, when Katara offered to heal Zuko's scar, I actually got scared and upset. I was terrified of Zuko's scar being erased, of the connection I felt to him snuffed out and one of the best parts of his characterisation being erased.

But that's not what happened, and the scene is amazing on that front and all others.

We learn that Katara asscociates Zuko's face with the Fire Nation, which makes sense, since he's been kinda clingy for the entire 1st season. Katara denies it having to do with anything with Zuko's scar.

Katara: It's just that for so long now, whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face. Zuko: My face? I see. [He touches his scar.] Katara: No, no, that's-that's not what I mean.

The Katara lover in me believes her. As a a member of the Sothern Water Tribe, she probably has seen many burn victims. And her pursuing healing would also probably lead her down the route of normalising and understanding burn scars.

However, I would not be surprised or disconcerted if the scar did have something with Katara perceiving him as a villain. After all, to a lot of people, scars and "ugliness" denote moral ugliness. The very obvious fire asscociation probably doesn't help someone traumatised by the Fire Nation too. It is a sad fact of life that even those who know better subconsciously react to people with scars and other "deformities" with disgust and distrust.

We also see Zuko explicitly give us the rundown of his previously unspoken struggle with feeling like his scar is defining him as a person.

Zuko: It's okay. I used to think this scar marked me. The mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately, I've realized I'm free to determine my own destiny, even if I'll never be free of my mark.

This is something I can relate to as someone with prominent scarring and I'm sure we all sometimes feel defined by things outside of our control. Sometimes It's hard to seperate your identity from your appearance. And it's even harder to seperate yourself from events that influenced you so harshly.

As I previously highlighted, Zuko's scar relates strongly to his failure to adhere to the Fire Nation's ideals and conventions, his failure to be the perfect prince of the nation. And while to us, that is a good thing, to Zuko, at least at first, that is a very, very bad thing.

To Zuko, the scar is a symbol of his flaws, and a just, if not harsh punishment for his percieved transgression. He sees it as a brand, denoting his mistake and shame. He sees it as the physical manifestation of what his banishment and scorn from Ozai means.

It's only when he begins growing as a person away from the Fire Nation's influnece, that he starts to realise that the scar is just a scar. It holds no power over him. And while he relapses for a moment, "demystifying" his scar allows him to do the same to the event of his scarring. It allows him to look back at that moment and not see righteous discipline, but rather see it for what it was and go "hey wait a minute that was actually fucked up.". Which allows him to look at The Fire Nation's conquest of the world and go "hey this is also fucked up.", when the lessons he's learnt in the Earth kingdom finally click.

I believe this is why we see Zuko almost purely from the side of his scar in the scene where he confronts Ozai, especially when it's contrasted with Ozai's unscarred eyes.

Zuko's scar, like many scars in fiction, symbolises imperfection. But rather than an "objective" imperfection, as most fictional scars do, Zuko's scar symbolises his imperfection through the skewed and biased eyes of the Fire Nation. It's a nice subversion of the trope that usually encourages us to equate beauty with goodness and ugliness with evil.

Side note, I know I've been using the terms "ugly" and "ugliness" to talk about scars. I just wanted to note that I don't think scars automatically mean someone isn't attractive/scarred people are ugly. But in a lot of media, scars are seen as gross and ugly, which is why I've been using these terms.

I like that Zuko defies this trope by being drawn as very attractive with his scar, and even being seen as desireable in canon.

Even though it does loop back to the 'attractive=good' symbolism, I don't think it totally invalidates the story Zuko's scar is telling. Plus it WAS an ego boost to child year old me who thought no one whould ever love me bcs I looked like a burnt chicken nugget. So I'll let it slide.

I love Zuko's scar, and I love how it seamlessly fit into the story, while also subverting tropes and invalidating stigmas towards scarred people. It's probably one of my favourite, if not very personal aspects of the character.

I do however, also want to analyse and go over Aang's scar from Azula's lightning and I plan to go over it at a later date, since this post is getting a bit long and overwhelming.

Toodles!

[girl4music]

The responder to the TERF is absolutely correct.

Human or any kind of animal body interaction at all is based on environmental interaction. They come and go together. Fixating on the body is the same thing as fixating on the ego, since the body only exists in the mind. All ideals of the body that is. The material properties themselves are shared with the environment.

Basic atomic theory should really tell these TERFS this. So I can only imagine the reason why they still insist they’re right is because they don’t want to learn even high school levels of science - let alone anything more complicated than that. However biology and physiology alongside the external environment and its physics is still something we do not fully understand to this day.

The body itself does not actually exist beyond the cells that make up what it is, - but that gets completely replaced with what’s around it every 7 years or so.

So technically… We’re all trans if we looked at it that way as a collective consciousness. It’s only our ideals of gender that are remembered and recollected by the mind that makes us think that we can’t change bio sex.

Of course we can. We do it more often than we realize.

We just don’t assign a gender identity to it.

We simply just get on with our lives without ever paying attention to what cells (atoms) have been replaced with the cells of something else that’s in the environment.

But you try explaining that to a TERF and they’ll think you’ve gone mad. Not madness, friend. Just education.

Try it sometime.

But yes, biological sex is not inherent in a human simply because it was never a permanence in the first place

What we are we share with what everything else is - which has to have a specific name or “identity” to it.

That’s a lot of identities. I’m someone that has never believed that the external and the internal are real existing phenomena on their own. That is, separated.

It’s never made any sense to me to believe that way considering we are made up of the exact same stuff as what everything else in the Universe is made up of and we consume that of the exact same stuff as that does.

To believe that the world or Universe exists separately from the animal that questions it is just insanity to me.

If that were really the way things worked, we’d all be standing on our heads because there’d be no space.

If everybody in this world understood the innate relationship between themselves and the environment there’d be none of this TERF shit being perpetuated by faux scientific or spiritual intellectualism. They’d simply just accept that anyone can change their biological sex because gender and “identity” in itself doesn’t exist.

It is nothing but fixated ideals and ideas. Concepts. We cling to concepts as if the brain was a mechanical thing.

Or as if everything was mechanical or technological

It’s mad to me that a lot of TERF ideology comes from religionists when they’re the ones that don’t want to think of the world mechanically. They go against their own ideology just because they’re not educated on science enough. If they were, they’d realize just how much their own spiritualistic understanding is correct.

[byexbyez]

lovers of valdaro | leon kennedy x reader

PART I  |  PART II  |  PART III 

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader 

summary: Some things have changed. The months, the weather, the air that hangs between Leon and you. Yet one thing has remained constant: his desire to keep you as close as possible. 

word count: 8.2K of gratuitous smut 

warnings: 18+, smut, established relationship, pda, bickering, consensual somnophilia, groping, dry humping, unprotected p in v, fingering, prone boning, swearing, slight dom/sub undertones, pet names, an attempt at praise kink, pill as contraception, creampie, oral sex (f!receiving), marking, masturbation, aftercare, no use of y/n, oh and ooc 

notes: i’m sorry to those who were expecting pt 3 to be angsty. i wanted to portray some changes and get used to writing and publishing smut. also, this can be read separately as it is almost all smut. enjoy!

➵ read on ao3.

“This man yaps a lot,” Leon says from behind you, you’re startled by his voice near your ear. His lips tickle your earshell. Like a cat’s fur standing up, your shoulders go up slightly. Renting only one sunbed –a narrow chair, really– for the two of you starts to feel like a mistake. Well, you plan to swim anyway, I’ll just sunbathe, you had said earlier, failing to account for Leon’s FOMO when you pulled out your book from your beach bag. For some reason, he was interested in anything that captured your attention as of late. 

You were looking at travel guides for you and your sister back at home when Leon saw your laptop screen. “What’s this?” he asked, adjusting the screen so he could see it better. 

“Beaches in Italy,” you answered. “My sister will be using her yearly vacation this year. I’m making  a list of places we can go if she asks.” Leon was silent and when you turned to him, already watching you intently. “What?” 

“Our anniversary is coming up.” 

You looked at the date, wondering why he brought it up. “I guess it is.” 

“How about we go? Before your sister asks, I mean,” he suggested, scratching the back of his neck. 

You straightened up on the couch. “You wanna go on a vacation with me?” 

The corners of his lips curled up. “Err, I believe I asked you first.” 

A little girl runs by your sunbed with her arms full of plastic toys, screaming with joy as she plops down to the sand. The bottoms of her tiny feet are red, probably because of how hot the sand is. She begins digging up sand with her toy shovel. 

“It’s Dostoevsky,” you say, like that would be enough clarification for Leon. His arm comes up to pinch the book up top to flip it and peek at its title, which reads “White Nights.”  Propping up your elbow on your torso to adjust both your book and your attention, you try to move as little as possible to not disturb him. He basically made you sit between his legs and lay your back on his chest, saying he would take a dip in the sea in a few minutes. 

You know he’s about to speak again when your head rises along his chest. “He’s been talking nonstop for three pages.” 

“Leon, I’m trying to focus.” 

The little girl a few feet away lets out a frustrated cry when her castle crumbles down, her little arms flap irritably, chucking the toy shovel in front of her in the process. A slightly older boy, probably her brother, comes to the rescue with a bucket full of sea water. He shows his little sister how to wet the sand for it to hold shape. The sound of waves crashing against the breakwater drowns out their shrill laughter.

“You’re squishing your boob,” Leon blurts out, takes hold of the planted elbow on your breast and lifts it in the air. 

Trying to follow the words, your head knocks on Leon’s chin. “I can’t read like this. Let go of my arm.” 

“Nuh-uh. If I let go, you’re gonna keep pressing your arm to your boob and have a nip slip.” 

“I’m not gonna have a nip slip.” 

“Whatever the correct verb for a nip slip is, it will happen.” His chin digs into the crown of your hair. “And those teenagers will remember this day forever.” 

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “What teenagers?” 

“The ones that are looking this way,” Leon states in a matter-of-factly tone. He’s right, a bunch of boys are in the sea, laughing among themselves by splashing water. Every now and then their heads tilt up to your direction. 

You look down on yourself to see if the swimsuit is covering you like it’s supposed to. There’s nothing wrong with it, yet that doesn’t stop you from setting the book down on your stomach. “Why are they looking here? What’s wrong with my swimsuit?” 

“It looks good on you, that’s why. Hormonal teenagers.” 

“I think it’s the position we’re in,” you mumble. Your back feels damp with sweat as you peel away from him, sitting up further away.

But Leon has other plans, he snakes his hand around your shoulder and plants his palm right on your sternum, pulling you back to him by your chest. 

“Oof,” you breathe out once you collide with his torso again. 

He taps his fingers on your breastbone as he catches the slipping book on your lap. “Here, I’ll hold it. You turn the pages.” 

“It’s too hot for this,” you groan. 

“Pardon me for doing something,” he says, sounding neither hurt nor sorry. 

“You said you’d swim,” you say, though it sounds more like a suggestion. “Want me to lather you up in sunscreen? I know you didn’t put it on back at the hotel.” 

“I mean, when you ask it like that, sure.” He’s grinning like a cheshire cat, it warms your heart that he’s pleased with himself just by managing to get under your skin. Something quite like a heartbeat, it feels intimate, an embrace out in the open. In a snap, you shake off the feeling. You’re not going to see these people again, they do not know you, just like how you don’t know the couple dipping their feet in the water while holding hands, little girl building sandcastles with her brother, young boys jumping on each other’s backs. Who would have thought being a stranger to all of it would make your yearning flesh all the more tender? 

Your wandering eyes shut in bliss when you feel it. A featherlight, barely-there kiss on the back of your neck, placed just below your hair, followed by the disappearance of your book from your sight. Leon reaches down to drop it in your bag, you wiggle away to let him search for the bottle of sunscreen. 

“Take your shirt off,” you say once you turn to face him. 

“Damn, woman. At least buy me dinner first.” 

“Can you get any cornier? You’re getting overpriced beer at best.” 

“...May your sky always be clear, may your dear smile always be bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of one's life–?”

Your attention snaps away from your book over a playful voice. “Hey, miss. Sorry to bother you.” Leon is standing a few steps in front of your chair, hands on his hips, most of his weight on one leg. Water drops cling to his firm chest, following a delectable path down his muscles. Some even caress his faded scars gently, a reminder that he has endured things far from gentle. His hair seems darker due to saltwater, the tips of it almost poking his eyes, by the looks of him having to shake them away from his face when he attempts to tilt his head to the side. “Are you perhaps single?” 

You purse your lips to suppress a grin. “Why are you asking?” 

“I’m interested.” 

“Oh,” you croon in mock-embarrassment. “I’m married.” You make sure to show off the gold band on your ring finger. 

He walks next to your chair. “Lucky guy. Speaking of, where is he?” His gaze lingers on your legs that are bent towards your chest, the book propped up on your knees. 

You close the book and play along. “He’s swimming.” 

“Is he a good swimmer?” 

“Yeah, his strokes are phenomenal.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are we still talking about swimming?” 

You tilt your head to the side. “Why yes, is there a misunderstanding?” 

“No, no. Just making sure we’re on the same page here. Tell me more about him.” 

You gesture to the empty room on the foot of the sunchair. “Then you might want to sit here for a while. Maybe dry off?” 

“I’d love to keep you company until your husband shows up.” Leon sits sideways next to your feet, way too familiar for a ‘stranger.’ “What’s he like?”

“First of all, he looks a lot like you.” You press your lips together. This is ridiculous. “He’s also incredibly annoying.” When Leon gasps half-mockingly, you cast a sideways glance at him. “His jokes are really corny, he’s lucky I put up with them.” 

“That might hurt his feelings.” 

“Well, he’s not here.” 

He scrunches his eyebrows together, there’s a visible question mark in his blink. “My jokes are that bad?” 

“Aaand, the play is over.” You slap your knees lightly, sliding your feet towards Leon until your toes touch the side of his thigh. “We are not sharing the chair again. You’re still dripping.” 

A sluggish sigh escapes his lips. “Let me lean on you at least.” 

And before you can say no, Leon is relocating your hands from your knees, moving them by your wrists, placing your arms at your sides. He folds his own arms on top of your knees and rests his temple on them, hugging your knees to himself, looking off into the side. You could lean forward and bury your nose in his hair like this, inhale the sun and salt, let your lips linger, let him feel the ghost of a kiss for a change. Though he was always better at unprompted acts of affection, maybe because he didn’t think much of it. 

It’s peaceful—the secluded space you’ve managed to carve out for the two of you, despite the chaos of the crowded beach. It feels like a quiet world unto itself, hidden in plain sight amid a sea of distant faces, as if removed from everything around you. It’s strangely intimate. Minutes or hours pass, you can’t make out which, lost in the stillness. 

When Leon speaks, his thumb starts brushing your knee. “I can hear you think,” he murmurs, his voice low. What’s going on in that head of yours? 

“Will you tell me a truth?” you ask, almost in a whisper. 

Leon doesn’t lift his head up, lazy like a cat in the sun. Although his body reminds him to be on guard upon hearing a kid yell in the distance, his muscles twitch reflexively. “Why?” 

“For all of this to feel real.” Your eyes follow the slope of his nose, then the squished red cheek leaning on his forearm. The sunscreen you copiously put on his nose bridge couldn’t protect his skin. You can’t help but admire his long lashes, fluttering so prettily the action could make butterflies jealous. 

His answer surprises you. “I’m scared all the time.” 

“Of what?” 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His thumb stops moving so he can squeeze your kneecap. “I’m scared that one day you’ll want us to go our separate ways. I’m scared that I will not be able to let you go. You know I wasn’t able to do it the first time around. I dread the day you won’t want to see my face again.” 

“Leon–” 

“Sometimes I get scared that something will happen to you and I will lose you.” 

It dawns on you then. The reason why you’ve been waking up to strong arms tangled around your waist for months. 

“Leon, nothing’s going to happen to me.” 

However, he’s still going on. “If you decide you’ve had enough, just let me know, okay? Don’t just up and leave.” 

Your throat constricts itself. You don’t know what to say to that. Part of you wants to do just that: up and leave. Not the way he means but in a way to escape his hold, step aside to mull it over and come up with a humane response. The fact that he couldn’t meet your eyes while saying all that leaves your heart with a dull ache, chest too heavy to even breathe. 

He finally looks up, expression unreadable. His eyes scour your face, searching for something. “Does it feel real now?” 

You swallow on nothing as you meet his eyes. Sure, you nod. It terrifies you how real it actually feels. 

Leon thinks he’s a genius for lowering the temperature of the air-conditioning while you were in the bathroom, carrying out your night routine. No, he didn’t have any malicious intent, not at all, he was just sweating a lot even after his shower. By the time you entered the bed in your pajamas, you suspected nothing, lifted the bedcover to join him. Your skin was glowing from all the products he couldn’t wrap his head around, your lips were shining clear. For a moment, he wanted to plant his mouth to your lips and taste the vaseline. 

He was aroused, which was not surprising considering the amount of sex you two had been having. It’s become so regular that he thinks he never had this much compatibility with anyone before. Goodnight, Leon, you murmured before gracing him with the sight of your back, voice so sweet he nearly whined out of desperation. He didn’t know why he waited for your breathing to fall steady, he’s been holding you in your sleep for a while now. Every morning you wake up before him and toss his arms aside, get the day started. 

When he’s sure that you’ve fallen asleep, he makes his move, drapes an arm around your waist, pressing his bare chest to your clothed back, spooning you. He’s careful not to wake you despite the evidence of his arousal resting against your ass. Normally, he would ignore it and take care of it in the morning but you make that impossible by squirming in your sleep. A few minutes pass by and he guesses the room must feel like an icebox to you, he knows you get cold quickly. Leon thinks he’s a genius because he could just wake you up and suggest warming you up. He also thinks he’s a fool because what if you don’t wake up, with all this squirming? He could move to the side and wait for the cold to do its own thing or he could just get up and go to the bathroom to rub one out. Or he could lower his boxers, do it right here. He’s positive you wouldn’t mind, that’s how intimate you two have become.  

Before he can decide, a shiver takes over your body, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Now Leon feels bad. He’ll just get up and fix the AC to an acceptable temperature. 

You shrivel into him, searching for warmth. The arm across your waist reaches up, the entirety of his hand cupping your breast that’s pressed against the bed. His body runs hot despite the breeze in the hotel room, so he thinks this will help. Just as a quiet, needy cry from your throat travels to his burning ears, his other arm snakes beneath your body to press against your belly. He squeezes you tightly until he can feel the blood pumping through your veins, buries his nose into the crook of your neck. Inhaling deeply bestows on him your enticing scent. 

Guilt washes over him as he ruts his hips into your sleep shorts, because who becomes an animal in heat when they smell clean soap? 

Leon. Leon does. 

The smallest things have been setting him off. All of your flimsy sundresses, swaying of your hips in them, your smooth legs, the gold anklet that matches with your wedding ring, the swimsuit that makes your cleavage call his attention. You, taking his arm while walking side to side. In fact, he suppressed smothering his face into your cheek today at lunch—cuteness aggression— as he tried to eat his food in peace. You were enjoying your pasta, humming contentedly after your first bite, you smiled at him when you caught him watching you intently. Leon was never into taking pictures but at that moment, he wanted to engrave the picture of you smiling up at him lovingly into his memory for the future, remember your crinkled eyes and adorably scrunched up nose when he would miss you. He knew he would miss that moment right when it was happening, he’d be gone again for an assignment soon. 

“What?” You laughed.

“That good?” he asked, eyes pointing to your bowl of pasta. 

���Yep! Want some?” 

Leon keeps clinging until your body twitches no longer, takes deep breaths against your neck, pleased as his heat completely stills you. His hold relaxes as he becomes aware of his grip strength. He releases his clamped fingers from your breast, stroking your nipple apologetically. It will surely leave a mark on your soft skin, which you will whine about later, though he knows deep down you enjoy him being rough with you. After all, it was you who brought up that you weren’t made of glass, he didn’t need to act as if you were going to break. 

Your soft sighs soothe him to an extent, as far as the strain in his boxers allow. Fuck it, he thinks. He’s still humping your backside, cock throbbing. He’s going to wake you up. Pounce on you once you open your eyes. 

Forefinger and thumb pinching a hardening nipple, he nuzzles his face into where your neck meets your shoulder, dropping heavy kisses first, then switching to sucking your skin. If he could drown in your smell, he would. “Honey, please wake up.” 

“Hm?” He hears you, heart starting to beat even faster. “Leon?” Your first touch is on his arms, fingertips ice cold, groggy voice calling to him. 

“You awake?” he breathes in your ear. 

Feeling tickled, your shoulder rises to your ear. “Clearly,” you reply hoarsely. His thigh is glued to the back of yours, reaching back to hold it, you manage to slow his movements. His erection is fully pressed against you. “Everything okay?” 

“No.” He pants in your hair. “Need to fuck you.” 

“Leon,” you groan, face dropping fully into your pillow. “I’m too tired.” 

“Please, you don’t need to do anything.” 

“Don’t think I can even lift my leg.” 

“Then don’t. I’ll do everything. Lift your hips for a second so I can get this off?” 

“Fine,” you huff, rolling onto your stomach so his strong-willed hands can strip off your shorts along with your underwear. “We don’t have lube.” 

He drops a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll just have to prep you.” 

Ugh, so sweet. “Make it quick,” you say as he carefully sits on the backs of your thighs, his knees trapping your legs together. “How do we do this?” 

“Stay still,” he mumbles, barely audible. You grow impatient as you hear him moving in the dark, taking off his only piece of clothing. He reaches over to the bedside drawer to turn on the lamp. The blanket is scattered across the bed. You hiss sharply, eyes adjusting to the soft light. 

He holds your shoulders firmly. “What’s wrong?” 

“Why is it so cold?” 

Somehow, you can hear him grinning behind you. “The AC’s broken.” 

“Have you tried calling the reception? It’s too cold for this.” 

“I’ll warm you up,” he says as his heat hovers over you, fingers hiking up your flimsy camisole to gain access to your waist, the other hand shaking off the thin straps. He buries his nose into the back of your neck, kissing a path to your right shoulder, sharp teeth grazing skin along the way. He shifts his attention to your left shoulder, reaching down to cup your ass, pulling apart your cheeks. His fingers find your sex straight away; he’s familiar with your body. 

“You’re a bit wet for someone who’s feeling too tired,” he teases. 

You don’t bother with pleasantries. “I will leave you blue-balled for the rest of the week.” 

“Right,” he says. “Lift your head up.” 

“I just woke up, you’re asking for too much from me.” 

He nudges his nose into the back of your ear instead of answering. Kiss me, he demands, pressing his hips to your plushness. Familiar with his silent commands, you submit to his reign, craning your neck back, open mouth chasing his. 

Your mouths clash unceremoniously. It’s messy, sloven, uncoordinated, and animalistic. He finds your tongue in no time, suckling on the wet muscle all the while managing to lift your shoulders off the bed to drop your thin straps around your elbows, pulling your camisole down. Now your top sits below your naked breasts, bunched around your middle like a thick headband. Leon’s jaw moves as if he’s thirsty, drinking from your mouth unapologetically. The noises from your so-called kissing are obscene, filling the room along with the sounds of heavy breathing. Heat starts to pool in your lower belly, body slowly warming up. 

Quick as a wink, a strong hand wraps around the back of your neck, pushing you face down to the mattress. Your surprised yelp into your pillow is cut short once he pulls your hair gently, laughing next to your ear. “Don’t want you to suffocate. Try to keep your head up. Can you do that for me, honey?” 

Rolling your eyes, you bite back a remark. Resting your cheek on the pillow is all he’s going to get. After all, he did tell you that you didn’t need to do anything. Your crushed breasts feel funny, one side aching considerably more than the other, owing to him groping it roughly while you were sleeping. 

Leon lets out a low chuckle and continues his undeterred path from your jaw to your neck, nipping at skin, leaving a stinging sensation behind. His knees make room for your squirming legs, a perfect chance for him to dip his hand between your thighs, a slight part of your legs to accommodate his fingers on your cunt. Rubbing your lower lips, he slicks his fingers with your wetness. 

Your breath hitches when two pads of fingers make contact with your clit, drawing tight circles. “That feel good?” His voice is muffled by your skin. 

You groan a noise of confirmation as he puts more pressure on his fingertips, quickening his movements on your now soaked pussy. His thumb catches at your entrance, maybe accidentally, and you can’t hold yourself back from pursuing that pleasure, back arching so your hips could sway up, chasing his touch. Thankfully, he is quick to place his thumb back, swiping back and forth. The double stimulation on your opening and clit creates enough lubrication for him to slide right in. 

Your eagerness doesn’t go unnoticed by Leon, the feel of his teeth on your earlobe is a wary appreciation. “Too tired, huh? Look at you.” He means your hips in the air, quivering right in front of his view. “Lemme help you relax.” 

You think he’ll finally thrust himself in, however, you’re taken by surprise when he works two fingers into you, the stretch unexpected, but appreciated nonetheless. He shoves your hips back down into the mattress, arm across the small of your back to keep you steady against the bed. “Don’t be disappointed. I need to open you up first,” he speaks into your temple, nose pressed to the tail of your eyebrow. He starts moving his fingers in and out. “Don’t want you to hurt.” 

He grabs a handful of your ass to pull apart while working your cunt open with his fingers. Your whole body feels electrified each time he strokes the velvety walls of your pussy, throat humming with need. 

“Leon…” you moan, wanting to arch into him. Your desperate hand slides under your belly to touch your clit. “Enough.” 

But that’s not what you want to tell him. You want to tell him this is not enough, he needs to be inside you right now or you will start to wail, turn over and jump his bones. This is quite the opposite from where everything started, with you worked up and fussy in his hands, unable to speak properly. 

You feel him watching his own hand between your legs, ears perked up for the sounds coming from where you are gushing, shallowing his thrusts once he feels your fingers join in. “Enough? You don’t want to come first?” 

“S’cold,” you cry out. “Fuck me already.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” he coos at you, pulling his soaked digits out of you, head rising to meet with your parted lips. The arm around your waist slides up, fingers gently digging into your scalp to hold you in place as he kisses you, using the fingers he just pulled out of you to slick up his cock. He moans into your mouth before pulling away. 

“You have me. Ready?” 

You nod into the pillow. 

As he presses his swollen tip into you, he watches the back of your head tip back with a shiver, your neck exposed for him to reach and grab. Instead, he wraps his arm around your neck in a gentle headlock, helping you rest your cheek on his bicep, the movement helping him slip further inside you. 

Hot, bullish breaths burrow into your neck when he is buried to the hilt, balls pressed against your clit and fingers that are spreading yourself. 

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he whispers, his torso meeting your back. 

He presses his entire weight down onto you and it is glorious, being trapped between him and the mattress, surrounded by his body heat with no room to flee. Not that you even consider it. Though your wrist, strained under the weight, digs into your pelvis as he begins to thrust feverishly. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts. 

Your mouth opens to let him know of the awkward position your arm is in but you only manage to moan wantonly. He takes it as a cue to snap his hips faster. 

“Wait, Leon—my wrist.” 

He stops completely, lifting his hips slightly for you to pull your arm out from underneath, dropping a kiss in your hair as an apology. “Fuck, sorry. Forgot your hand was there. Are you good? Am I too heavy?” 

Your hands fist around the sheets to brace yourself. He did not pull himself fully out of you, you just want him to fill you to the brim again. Even though you don’t know if you can come like this. “No, I’m good. Let’s continue.” 

As your wish comes true, his hips pick up a frenzied pace, the bed starts to shake. You don’t know how he manages it, you’re immobilized under him, high on the pleasurable feeling. Your poor nipples are chafing against the sheets with all the movement. The noises escaping your lips are embarrassingly loud, mingling with the creaky springs of the hotel bed. He doesn’t hold back either, sucking love-bites wherever his mouth can reach, moaning against your spit-lacquered skin. Palms sliding under your shoulders to hold you even closer, he squeezes you to himself while letting his weight push you hard into the mattress. 

It’s as if he wants to open up his chest and tuck you beneath his ribs, or crawl beneath your skin from behind, until you both become one. 

His pace falters, you squeak as he bottoms out, walls pulsing around him. He must have been desperately horny, for he is spitting out delirious things in your ear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck— you look so cute. You always do.” 

“Huh?” 

Rather than addressing your confusion, he leans in your face. One hand cups your jaw, guiding your face to his, squishing your cheeks together until your lips are puckered, ready for him to attack, though it’s a pleasant assault of kisses. “You’re so—” Kiss. “Soft.” Kiss. “It makes me crazy.” Kiss. “And you always smell so good.” Kiss. 

“Leon, what’s gotten into you—mmph!” 

He doesn’t care about what you have to say about his raving state; instead, he crashes his lips to yours for a longer, deeper kiss. His strong arm hugs your neck again, cradling you to himself. You swallow his animalistic groan when your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling on the tresses while trying to squirm. His hair has gotten so long; a luxury of taking time off work. 

His hips start to grind, precise snaps eliciting small sounds out of both of you, his cock massaging your innermost crevices. 

“You’re like an angel,” he whispers in your mouth, panting wildly. “You feel like heaven. God, I love you. I can’t believe—shit, I’m close. I’m gonna come. Tell me where to come.” 

If he wasn’t literally in your face, you might have missed it—that sacred, dangerous word slipping past his lips as if it was an everyday occurrence. 

It didn’t even register at first, partly because it happened so quickly and partly because it made you clamp down on him with an intense ripple of pleasure, causing him to grunt. 

Losing all strength in your muscles, you sag against his arm on the pillow, neck too numb to keep your head up, feet plopping down with a pat. When did you lift your feet up? 

Like a snap of a thread, his demeanor changes instantly. Concerned, he brushes your hair away from your face hastily. “Baby, did you just come?” 

A sound resembling “yes” is murmured into your pillow, your whole body feeling prickly upon the fondness in his voice, spasming uncontrollably. He’s still inside you, reaching incredibly deep, hip bones digging into the meat of your ass, caging you in his warmth. 

“Didn’t even need me to touch your clit,” he says. There’s that smugness in his tone, like he didn’t just rock your whole world. 

Feeling fuzzy around the edges, you remember his need to have a release, and words rush out without much thought, “Inside. Come inside.” 

The faint rhythm of his hips turn sloppy upon hearing you. He’s gasping, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m on the pill.” 

“Fuck. Thank you, baby.” 

His face finds home in your neck again. It’s not long before you feel the thick trickle of warmth filling you up. Coming to his senses, his arms loosen around you, waiting for his breathing to turn to normal. 

You can sleep like this, you think. With him literally in your skin, smothered under his delectable weight. It’s calming. 

Eventually, he pulls out and rolls over on his back, the absence of his weight feels oddly sad. He turns his neck towards you. “That was… something else. How are you feeling?” 

You stretch your arms, sliding them under your pillow. “Like I’ve just run a marathon. And I didn’t even move much.” 

“Now that you’re properly tired, you’re gonna sleep like a log.” He chuckles, throwing an arm on his forehead. 

You slide a hand between your legs, knitting your eyebrows, reconsidering. “We need to clean up first.” 

“Right,” he sighs. “I promised you I wouldn’t make you move, didn’t I? Wait here.���

Before you can say anything, he gets up from the bed, picks up his underwear from the ground and heads to the bathroom. You don’t move in case the viscid fluids threaten to leak onto the bed. He comes back with a few rolled-up toilet papers and a damp towel, with his underwear on. He sits on the edge of the bed next to you. 

You spread your legs as he holds up the rolled-up toilet papers to your dripping entrance. “Push it out.” 

You squeeze out the mixture of you and him. Your cheeks flare up, not because of embarrassment. But because of something else. Him instructing you with a raspy voice shouldn’t get you fired up, your limbs are still weak from the earth-shattering orgasm he pulled out of you, but your body reacts on its own volition. 

“I didn’t know you were on the pill,” he continues as he wipes down your sweat with the towel. 

“A recent development,” you say, eyes heavy with sleepiness. “Started it a while ago, I meant to tell you.” 

“That’s fine.” He cleans up the residue between your thighs lastly. The pressure of his touch is so careful, in case you’re overstimulated. “Honestly, I think I found out about it in the best way.” 

A small chuckle from you eases his heart. The image of you lying naked on your belly, your head turned to the side with bleary eyes is like a painting to him. He leans down and places a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. 

“Can I wake you up in the morning?” he mutters into your skin before hoisting your camisole to its place on your shoulders. 

You understand his implication. “Yeah, but no sooner than eight or I’ll be super cranky.” 

“We’ll miss breakfast.” 

“Breakfast or sex. The choice is yours.” 

“Room service it is.” 

Eventually, he finds your panties and shorts under the blankets, lifts them up over your hips, and finishes dressing you.

You give him a smile, fingers resting on your lips as you ponder. “I have something to ask you.”

“I know,” he replies, too quickly. He’s aware of the things he’s just said. “I know you want to talk about it. But I feel awful for disturbing your sleep. You’re tired. We can talk all you want in the morning. Just know that I meant it.” 

“C’mere,” you whisper, rolling onto your side to reach out to him.

This time, it’s Leon who seeks warmth, succumbing to the balmy caress of your hand as you pull him in.

The kiss is too soft, too fragile, and he wants it to linger forever. 

He’s offended when you pull away abruptly. But that feeling is short-lived as you turn your head away to sneeze twice. “Bless you,” he says. 

Deep down inside, remembering he changed the settings of the AC, he rolls his eyes at himself. He gets up and turns it off, throwing the soiled toilet papers in the trash on his way. “I’ll call the reception the first thing tomorrow.” 

Leon is insatiable. 

The first things he notices when he opens his crusty eyes is his morning wood and the deep red hues scattered across the back of your neck in front of his face. Wiping the sleep from his eyes with one hand—the other arm trapped under your neck—he presses himself to your backside. A repeat of what started everything. 

He retracts after letting out a low growl into your hair, only to roll you on your back by your shoulders. You’re still asleep, muscles all soft and pliant under his maneuvering. So pretty, he thinks. The tiny flutter of your eyelashes casts soft, quivering shadows on the apples of your cheeks as warm sunlight streams into the room through a narrow gap in the curtains. Hovering over you between your legs, he cups your face, thumbs caressing the dainty shadows. His breaths fan your face as a gentle nudge to your slumber. 

“Baby…” he croaks, voice all ragged from hours of disuse over the night. 

Even in your sleep you seek out his touch, nuzzling your face into his palm, rousing something carnal in him. His lips get to work on your throat briskly, sucking the delicate skin, humming against it. 

He feels the vibrations of the mellow sound your throat gives out against his lips and continues the path down to your clavicle, leaving ruddy blemishes behind. Rubbing up and down on your thighs, his palms curve behind the backs of your knees, bending them to spread your legs completely open against the bed. He presses his hard-on to your center. 

Your cunt must be sore, he’ll kiss it better. 

He mouths at the tops of your breasts, palms fondling them up in his face. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, though you’re too drowsy to hear. 

His head slips down the blanket, your cover slides down your body as it gets caught on his broad back, opening an airway for him. 

He starts littering kisses on the inside of your thigh, beginning from your knee and continuing the path up to your groin, pulling back each time his nose touches the verge of your panties. He looks up expectantly to see you stir. Because once he sees you awake, he’ll devour you. 

You are stirring, head lolling in an attempt to turn on your side. Leon’s hands quickly clamp down on your thighs, “Nuh-uh.” He denies you, keeping your hips still. His mouth switches to your other thigh, repeating his ministrations. 

His teeth graze the edge of your underwear. Your leg twitches under his touch, which further encourages his sudden urge. 

Blunt teeth sink into the soft, supple flesh of your inner thigh. 

That seems to wake you up as your head jerks, hand flying to his hair between your legs under the blanket. “Ow.” 

“Morning.” His tongue darts out to soothe the dull ache. 

With heavy eyelids, you crane your neck to assess the situation. His lips are slick and plump from all the kissing and biting. “Mhm. Good morning.” Yawning, you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, the other one cards through Leon’s hair lazily. As your grip tightens, you drop your head back to the pillow to blink away the haziness. 

The sounds of his lips smacking against your skin are accompanied by the fan noises filling the room. You realize you’re no longer sweating like you were through the night, when the broken air-conditioning left you sweltering—or would have had you freezing if it were actually running. You’re confused. “AC’s working again?” 

You feel him smiling against your thigh. “Yeah. Called the reception and everything.” 

“What was wrong with it?” 

“I’m literally in between your legs and that’s what you wanna know? Like, right now?” He nuzzles your underwear, placing a kiss on your clothed center to stress his frustration, which you reply with a startled whimper. 

“First, I risked frostbite and then sweated like it was hell. Of fucking course I wanna know the reason of my suffering.” 

“You didn’t suffer,” he says in a jeering tone, fingers hooking under your panties to peel them off. He’s quick to get rid of that obstructive piece of fabric. “I’d say I took pretty good care of you.” 

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah—world’s best husband or whatever, keeps waking me up because he’s horny.” 

“Hey, you said breakfast or pussy and I made my choice.” 

He licks a path up from your entrance to your clit, your hips jump. He grips your thighs and slings them over his shoulders. 

“I did not say that.” Words slurred, your eyes close upon the honeyed sensation. 

“Something along those lines,” he mumbles, lips brushing against the sensitive little bud of nerves. 

You kick the blanket off his back so he doesn’t suffocate under the heat. The slight temperature change makes your hips jerk up to his face, his morning stubble scratches the insides of your thighs deliciously. He drapes an arm across your abdomen to keep you steady. His other arm tugs on the thigh slung over his shoulder, only slightly, to make room for his head. 

Two fingers brush your slit, spreading apart slowly to gain access to your most sensitive parts. It’s still a little tender and swollen that when his hot breath fans across the sensitive flesh, your legs try to shut instinctively. His hold grows stronger to remind you not to squash his head. He licks a broad swipe up your slit and looks up at you through his long lashes. 

You can’t help but moan. He looks so pretty like this. 

Leaning forward, he places a kiss directly on your clitoris, the soft smack sound sends a hot burn to your ears. 

He parts his lips to suck your sensitive clit into his mouth, your back arches as you gasp. His plump lips pull on the taut flesh, making you writhe against the sheets. Now aware of your fist that was bunching the sheets this whole time, you let go to join it with your other hand in his hair.  

He’s always liked your hands in his hair, petting it, tugging at it, pulling it to steer him to where you need him most, he loves it all. He moans as you make a mess of his soft tresses, sending jolts of vibrations up your body. 

Relaxing his tight jaw with a wet pop, he quickly drops a kiss to the juncture of your thigh and begins to lap up your dripping mound like a starved man. 

“Leon!” Your back arches again, hands buried in his hair pressing his face firmly between your legs. You’re not sure if he can even breathe with your thighs caging him. You don’t care, he’ll tap you if he wants to take a breather. 

Blindly, the hand that keeps your slit open slides up to your chest, to push between the valley of your breasts. You clutch your palm on the back of his hand, fingers slotting between his. He squeezes his hand once. I’m alright, it means. He keeps your intertwined hands there. 

His face burrows deeper into your slick, thrusting his tongue into your hole in and out. Nose pressed against your clit, he hums contentedly and starts wiggling his head, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. 

The gasps that fall from your lips fuel him, he drags his tongue back up to your sensitive bud, flicking up and down with only one goal in his mind. 

Up and down. Suck. Up and down. Suck. 

“Too much, ‘s too much!” You repeat with a shaky voice. But you are insatiable too, with the way you guide his hand to your tit, encouraging him to squeeze tight. 

“I know, baby, I know. Just tell me when,” he rasps, trying to keep up with your bucking hips. Groping your breast under your pressing palm, he can’t quite reach to your shoulder to lower the straps of your top, though his fingers find your taut nipple through the fabric and start to draw circles around the pebbled peak. 

His stubble burns your thighs so good it only drives you more crazy. Your droopy eyes lock with his determined ones, mouth hanging open in a silent moan, hand brushing away the hair on his forehead. 

He tightens his tongue and places the tip of it right on your sensitive clit, wriggling the wet muscle in a snake-like fashion, and listens to your moans. Each roll of his tongue is a sweet torment, delivering sparks of pleasure to your quivering body. 

“That’s not—ah!—that’s not fair.” 

His mouth never leaving your pussy, he hums questioningly. “Mm?” The short syllable vibrates through your core, making you fussier. 

What’s not fair? His hips grinding into the mattress? The hand that previously held you down now slipping under his boxers to rub his slick, swollen tip? Fairness is not even the last thing on his mind right now. He’s too drunk on your essence, happily suffocated between your legs, unaware of the fast pace his hand picks up on his cock. He’s fully pumping himself. 

You also know you’re not making any sense. A hot blush warms your chest, travels up your neck to your ears, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. Your body is screaming for release, of course you don’t have any idea what you are blabbering about. 

Feeling your clit pulse beneath his tongue, he waits to hear your staccato breathing, waits for the tumble of unintelligible words to fall on his ears. 

“Leon, I’m… I’m—ah, fuck!” 

Just before the intense wave of pleasure comes crashing down on you, he tears his mouth away from you, panting for oxygen. 

“No, please,” you cry out. “Don’t be mean.” 

Not wanting to deny you stimulation, he gets to work on your tit and gives it a firm squeeze for good measure before returning his fingers to your aching nipple. He toys with it, flicking, pressing down, pinching through fabric. You whine softly through it all, trying to wrap your trembling legs tighter around his head so he could return to what he was doing before. 

“Please, I was about to come…” 

“I know, honey, I’m sorry. I needed to breathe.” He plucks at your nipple, rolling it before returning to your sex. 

This time he alternates between kitten licks and soft kisses on your clit, meant to be soothing. It feels as if he’s grazing a feather on your oversensitive, swelled up nerves. It’s so ticklish that your hips jump to chase after the phantom itch. 

That’s all it takes for the overwhelming waves of pleasure to come crashing down on you. The coil in your belly snaps. Eager as ever, he presses his open and panting mouth against your cunt, moaning against the spasming flesh. Cleaning up the remnants of your climax is only a poor excuse for his lips to linger. He presses a kiss to your thigh before pulling away from between your legs, the slick coating his mouth and chin leaves your skin damp. 

Taking a deep breath, he rises to sit on his knees between your thighs. Your legs drop from his shoulders. Pride fills his chest once he eyes up the litter of love-bites on your flushed skin. His doing. The rapid rise and fall of your chest. Also his doing. 

Through a fucked-out smile, you say, “What? What’s so funny?” 

Unaware that he’s cheesing, he shakes his head. “Nothing, honey. You look so pretty.” 

“I feel nasty, though.” 

He shuts you up with a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Mm… How about you?” you mumble into the kiss while ruffling his soft hair. 

His hips are grinding against his hand in a faint rhythm, palm stroking up and down slowly. He huffs. “Keep spreading your legs and it won’t take long.” 

Discerning the questioning raise of your brow, he swipes a thumb at the corner of your lip. “I’m not gonna put it in. I know you’re sensitive, baby. Trust me. Please?” 

You wiggle a bit to open your legs further, trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed because the way he kept pinning you has you feeling sores on your butt. “Yeah, okay.” 

Lining himself up against your slit, he hovers his cock above your puffy cunt and keeps stroking. He groans and bucks into his hand, head falling backwards. You whimper and bunch the sheets in your fists. He looks so hot. His hair is chaotically messy, lips swollen and slick, hand working desperately on his cock. Your pussy flutters at the sight. 

Eyes zeroing in on your center, he says, “Show me. Hold yourself open.” 

You reach down and spread yourself for him, shamelessly displaying what he wants. Your hole clenches down on nothing upon the little stretch, pulling another groan out of him. 

He’s grinning, head tilted to the side. “Fuck, that’s it. Like what you see, huh?” 

You nod fast, staring at the movement between your legs. It’s captivating. 

Feeling devious, you lift your hips slightly to touch your pulsing clit to his red tip, directly to his precum-coated slit. Like a featherlight kiss. It sends a pleasurable shock through your entire body, you plop down on the bed again. 

“Oh shit—you…” His expression tells you he’s very close.

Gripping your thigh, he jerks himself to completion against your twitching pussy. Thick spurts of cum coat your center and belly, your thighs get to have their fair share, too. 

A breathless laugh escapes him, like he can’t quite believe what just happened. His gaze softens, as though clearing a daze. “I’m sorry. Let me carry you to the bathroom.”

A quiet shift lingers in the air. 

He’s so silent while massaging shampoo into your hair, cocooned by your arms around his waist, water cascading over his back. His lips are set in a straight line, eyes roaming your face and coming back to meet your gaze every once in a while. 

You and him, in that sacred, safe haven again. 

I can hear you think. He wills you to speak without saying the words. 

“You don’t need to be scared.” 

His hands pause in your hair. Of what? 

“The things you said at the beach yesterday… You don’t need to be scared, Leon. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you,” you continue. 

He pulls you closer, cups the back of your neck and rests your head on his shoulder. I love you. 

“And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing your face. I miss it terribly when you’re away.” You nudge his neck with your nose. 

He closes his eyes. I love you. 

“Tell me a truth?” you whisper, watching the slow up and down of his Adam’s apple. 

The urge to draw you even closer to himself is too strong. Come, live inside my skin—I’m yours, anyway. Instead, he opens his heavy-lidded eyes, locking his gaze with yours. 

“I love you.” 

With a slow and languid kiss, he seals his lips to yours, weaving your souls together in that tranquil, infinite moment. 

“At times I think of human relationships as something soft like sand or water, and by pouring them into particular vessels we give them shape.”

― Sally Rooney, Beautiful World, Where Are You

[anders-holmvik]

can we talk about 8x06 confessions because id love to talk about confessions...

buddie analysis in this ep is well worn territory for good reason bc it was nuts so TRUST i agree w all of it but i wanna talk about eddie solo

first of all lets compare eddie's relationship with religion to bobby's:

in s1, when things become awkward in the confessional between bobby and father brian, bobby suggests that they move out into the pews and sit in the open, and that's where he confides in the priest man-to-man, not man-to-servant of god. and this is because bobby understands his transgressions, how the fire was technically not his fault because the building wasn't up to code, but it was also his fault because it was caused by his core issues (his addiction). Bobby's relationship with god is unwavering and he knows that god forgives unconditionally, but he craves human connection as forgiveness which is why he brings the priest out of the anonymity of the confessional box and out into the open pews. notably, once he opens up to buck chimney and hen about his past, he finds himself a lot lighter and no longer seeks the church for guidance as much even tho he remains explicitly religious. this is pushed further when he and athena bond over church, but it is essentially this human connection beyond his uniform, his "disguise," that starts his healing journey.

eddie, on the other hand, does not seek to connect personally with the priest. when things get awkward in the booth, he doesn't try to connect w him as a man because eddie is looking to be absolved by god. in fact, he pushes harder for the priest to reaffirm god's disappointment in him. he's been spiraling and cycling for so long that he doesn't know where else to turn other than the church. but then he hears from the priest that god provides unconditional love, and eddie doesn't accept that, so he leaves.

no one else around him knows that he's punishing himself in genuinely every aspect of his life so they can't absolve him (which probably wouldn't even make him start to forgive himself because neither chris nor his parents have and he feels like he wronged them personally) so it isn't until the priest, coming upon him accidentally outside of the church, not in uniform but dressed in white (like an angel) opens up to him man-to-man over the seemingly small punishment of choosing water over juice. and the priest is the only one who can connect to eddie in this way because he's also a servant by occupation.

and it's low hanging analysis but the obvious reference to the story of jesus and turning water into wine is invoked here, which is also a metaphor in the bible about balancing work and joy in life.

so eddie is absolved, not through some godly sign, but just by the priest coming to him as another human because god already forgave him because that's what He does. but only because it came unplanned from a Godly figure at a location OUTSIDE THE CHURCH does it work. and he takes off his disguise. This is crazy work because eddie considers himself to not be superstitious or religious yet is the deepest believer in signs and punishments …

the other thing this ep does is that even outside of eddie's storyline, a lot of it is About Eddie. The well call, the divorce call, the cold open call about being "haunted" by a dead woman. The well and divorce calls were for chimney and buck's developments respectively, but they're directly tied to eddie.

the well being the well #obvi but the divorce call first styling the wife like shannon, then featuring the man who sneezed (little outbursts) after telling lies, which resulted in him rupturing his sutures and spilling out. it's a metaphor for repression. i said that as a joke over on twitter a few days before the ep aired but then it actually rang true.. he tried to hold it in and still get away with lying, but it caught up to him and now he metaphorically can't take the truth back because its spilled out. CRAZY WORK. chad and andrew we may need to have words

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

i can’t be the only one who thinks rose’s flings with humans were partially self destructive

rebecca sugar often describes rose as self destructive. people self destruct in many ways.

i say this as a girl who’s been in relationships where i knew i was treated poorly but subconsciously believed it was what i deserved. if a good person who knew me well showed interest, i’d feel confused. i think you’re so good and i’m nothing like you type of thing.

(if you couldn’t already tell, i also deal with self hatred, though i’m a lot more self aware than i used to be)

rose saw the good in everyone but herself. she was naive, impulsive, & had a tendency to “worship” those around her, believing they were better than her. she was fascinated by humans but didn’t know the norms or labels of human relationships. she didn’t know or understand much about humans, period. i.e., letting a human baby climb a ferris wheel in greg the babysitter.

rose was initially drawn to humans out of fascination. she saw so much beauty in the most simple parts of humanity.

but people don’t always have the best intentions

i can’t help but wonder if some people took advantage, knowing that rose didn’t understand everything about human relationships. for some humans, i’m in no doubt that they found her intriguing & her powers were obviously beneficial for them, but they didn’t respect her or care to try & get to know her. i’m sure some humans weren’t horrible, but clearly her connections with all of them until the 90s were unremarkable. they’d be attracted to her for surface level reasons.

rose thought this was just how human connections worked. even though it would feel…bad sometimes, rose believed she deserved to feel that way. after all, she said herself that it was “a good thing” if people didn’t know her well.

she didn’t think she deserved genuine love from someone who truly knew her, someone who knew her past self. when a relationship felt good, she’d feel guilty, despite deeply & genuinely loving that person who cared for her.

that’s why she’s so surprised when a human treats her with decency in we need to talk. why she laughs when he says the word respect. why she says, “is this not how this works?”

she’s never had a relationship with a human that was caring & respectful. having conversations about respect & wanting to get to know a person are very simple things. this doesn’t make him “better” than any of the crystal gems—he’s just better than the other humans she knew.

as the next three years go by, rose continues to be self destructive. they don’t know about each other’s pasts & they have a shared coping mechanism: escapism. this is why sugar has said that they enable each other, which is unfortunate yet unsurprising because they cope in similar ways. she never opens up to him about her feelings surrounding past trauma, and he doesn’t either—even when some serious decisions are made. rose couldn’t stand herself & she didn’t feel deserving of love. the more people know about her, the less deserving she feels, which makes her avoidant & confusing in relationships.

nevertheless, she genuinely loves those around her, which is partly why she passes her life on to someone she believes deserves to live & be loved more than she does

as she said in nora’s tape in lion 4, i’m so excited for everyone who’s going to know you. from the very start, she believed that the best thing she could do for the people she loved was leave behind someone who deserved to be around them. someone who was worth loving.

with all of that said i hate the way the fandom talks about her character sometimes

[syabm]

Radfems aren't exactly leftists. They're pretty roundly shunned by leftists because of their transphobia.

BZZT! Wrong!

TERFs are hated, because they hate trans ladies, who out-minority regular ladies. Non-TERF radfems have mostly been ignored as an embarrassment, like Rochester's wife in the attic.

Frankly, I think it's quite telling that the only type of feminists it's okay for mainstream progressives to openly hate are two degrees from regular feminism.

And even then, a lot of people ignore how the hatred of trans women is from hating men, and misuse "TERF" as a shorthand for "anyone considered transphobic".

Including me. And I'm a man.

Also, they don't stop being leftists just because other leftists hate them. By that logic, all the times communists and socialists have tussled means neither of those groups were leftist.

Please note that I have seen quite a few explicitly leftist radfems.

Most of my friends are leftist women. If they hate me for being a man, they hide it well. Even the lesbians.

Your experiences are not universal.

Such as, somehow, missing the Man vs Bear In The Woods meme. Or the M&Ms meme. Or Schrodinger's Rapist. Or Russian Roulette.

In fact, feminists have spent a lot of time and effort on ways to say it's perfectly fine for women to assume a man is a bad person by default.

To say any group dominated by men will be misogynist, but not being worried about the converse, ever.

I think that qualifies as "hate".

"funny how women dont turn to fascism and rightwing politics in masses because of the hatred and discrimination we are and have been faced with for centuries 🤨" Don't take things out of context.

See, I interpreted that part as the cause.

Saying women aren't becoming right wing "in masses", and it is because they have been discriminated against for centuries.

You could argue that the radfems I mentioned are an exception to the rule I pointed out of how right-wing women downplay misogyny to spite feminism, but radfems don't neatly fall on either side of the left/right divide. They're too feminist for the right and too transphobic for the left.

Here's a clue. The name.

Feminists are progressives. Radical feminists, as the name would indicate, are extremists, so they're just further along that line.

Which leaves them progressive-to-leftist, IME.

Also, Trans-Inclusionary radfems are a thing.

I'm not sure why you're devoting so much effort to addressing this one tangent, instead of my much more important and relevant points.

But I can guess.

I just want to remind you that I consider you someone who is always wrong and acts out of left-wing partisanship, so I have literally no reason to believe a word you say without very, very good evidence.

Also, my hands are cramping now, and this is already off topic, so I'm gonna stop. Night!

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[therealneilperry]

Season 2 Jinx theories!

Ekko and Jinx

Tbh I’m fairly confident if not 100% certain Ekko and Jinx will become friends again.

Here, and in other shots of the trailer, Ekko has the same spray paint designs as Jinx does, and this is no coincidence or simply a result of fighting Jinx’s colourful attacks. I couldn’t get a shot close enough, but his little hair accessory has Jinx’s tiny little monkey design on it! On top of that, we see the firelights following Jinx, and I honestly think the firelights believe Ekko is dead, as we can see him on the mural of people who’ve died, with a plant/firelight symbol above his head. (I talk about what could explain his absence in another theory). But I believe the firelights follow Jinx when they find out she’s the reason for Silco’s death and once she starts doing things…semi-peacefully. Jinx also clearly does a prison break, with both the firelights and her own “Jinx supporters” or whatever.

Jinx and Vi

A lot of people were watching that official teaser of Vi fighting and they were saying that Jinx Jinxed her, but I don’t think that’s true, I think the next time they meet will be Jinx seeking out Vi’s help in defeating Vander. I think Jinx’ll relate to Vi being betrayed by a loved one and it’ll actually bring the, closer together and closer to understanding each other, and they’ll go back to being sisters again.

Jinx and Caitlyn

Jinx is working with Ekko, Ekko is working with Vi, and Vi is working with Caitlyn again, so Caitlyn and Jinx seem to both be on the same side in fighting, in my opinion, Ambessa, who’s shown killing enforcers.

However, I don’t think Caitlyn will give up her hatred of jinx so easily. In fact I think she’ll still be actively trying to kill Jinx, same side or not. Think about it, Jinx is clearly going to Cause more problems for Piltover, which will only fuel Caitlyn’s anger, and she’ll be dealing with another betrayal, Ambessa killing Caitlyn’s enforcers, which will only double her anger.

In the first shot, I think she’s looking up at Jinx, clearly pissed, and I’m it’s because assuming Jinx is not exactly…protecting the enforcers from Ambessa, rather, only joining the fight against Ambessa to preserve Zaun. In the second shot, I think Caitlyn is either aiming to shoot and kill Jinx.

If she’s shooting Jinx, perhaps after Piltover/Zaun won against Nox, it could explain this shot, especially if Vi and Jinx have been repairing their Sisterly relationship and fighting Vander together.

Jinx and Viktor

Listen, they’ve never met in Arcane cannon yet but there’s no way they won’t. @/mollysunder made an incredible theory that is the basis of mine even if it’s a tad outdated now lol, so go check out what they had to say but also

Jinx is using arcane weaponry here, more than that, it’s far more…”magical” than we’ve ever seen. Who else got a magical boost this season? Viktor! He’d also probably be one of the only ones willing and able to make her that sort of weapon (though I think Ekko could’ve also done it if Jayce gave him all of their notes on how they created Hextech)

[gem-de-lune]

hi, i'm getting more worried because there is a prediction account on twt that predicts there will be a variety show for seunghan next year, i believe that account because what she says is always right (she predicts there will be good news and about seunghan's instagram) is there still a possibility that seunghan will return to the group? thank you 🫶🏻🥹

To preface, ily and i appreciate you so please do not be angry at my answer here and try to see i say this out of love and care.

I'm letting you know rn that even if he does go on a show (no tf he will not but that's just me) that will be the first and last time you see him on one bc yall (not specifically you, but these spineless people) seem to believe this is the end.

Understand that SM has the full capability of changing their mind. They always do. Anon- you do not need to ask me whether or not there is a chance if he can come back or not. Because, with love, i have been saying since day 1 that the verdict lies with whether or not you and others are going to accept SMs literal pathetic consolation trophy or not. Whether you and others will continue to fight or not.

SM Ent ONLY put kicked out members out as soloists to shut fans up. They have NEVER treated solo artists well. Idk why so many ppl are eating it up. Follow his insta. Show him love, but do NOT forget why we started this in the first place.

It is so fucking weird that other people accept this even though when he was kicked out they released a similar statement alluding to a solo debut even back then a month ago. They just pushed forward a statement. Why are we acting shocked or surprised? Why are we caving? The only good from this is that we have a more clear line of communication to Seunghan.

Do. Not. Accept. This. He is still not being treated fairly. If you accept this you accept what happened to him. This is not over. I understand your hesitance, anon, but you are asking me abt a random prediction account. Predictions are predictions no matter how seemingly good their track record is. They are not God. And whoever sis is, she has accepted the situation and has accepted the pity trophy SM handed out. Have you? If not, do not ask me these things bc you are stressing yourself out for no reason.

I am telling you this not to be mean and not to discourage you asking me things but to tell you to ask the right questions. I cannot be your sole source of motivation. That is impossible. I do readings every single day answering this exact question for everyone and lots of people will still ask me if he's coming back bc they want a clear yes/no answer. There is not one. Only a clear METHOD and the method is to not give tf up and succumb to SM's pressure. There is either fight until death OR give up and fail 100%. Period. That is the answer.

Please please please do not take this the wrong way. I do not mean to hurt your feelings or anyone's feelings here. This is my way of pushing you in the right direction with a gentle kick to the butt. Do not ask me questions you already know the answer to deep down. You know full well there is always chance and you do not need to be deterred by a random twt acct who has already tapped out.

The only motivation you should need is knowing Riize and Seunghan do not want this. Period. You already KNOW that. The end.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 ily anon this is all out of love.

[awsugar]

speaking of questions that exercise very mcr specific muscles in your brain. i was perusing mychem tumblr the other day and came across a masterpost about the SS/mayo blog frerard lore (i’m aware frerard is not PC these days thanks obama). i’ve been a dedicated fan for over a decade now and my brain is an mcr lore bank but i had literally never heard of this. do you know about it and if you do what are your thoughts

omg yea. ss/mayo is crazy. and unfortunately a lot of it has been lost to time and its not even saved on wayback. theres some stuff thats convincing, theres some stuff thats not.

so like lets preface this by saying that the ft willz myspace? confirmed to be frank. and obviously the stuff posted on skeleton crew, those screenshots of ft willz works that look like theyre on burnt paper? yea so those are confirmed and those are real fully frank no questions.

i personally am a skeptic of other accounts that claim to be ft willz. like the tumblr? i do not think thats frank. and i think that came at a time when people had already really speculated or figured out that ft willz WAS frank. so like i think the tumblr is honestly just someone who was pretending to be frank and managed to sort of emulate his style but yea i don't think it's him. i think the reason some of the stuff hits so hard in a frerard sense is because that was intentional by the person writing it. you know.

anyway ss and mayo. there were two blogs on blogspot started in 2007 i believe that fans thought were frank and gerard. well it started with mayo (its-mayonaise.blogspot.com). that blog is still up and so are a lot of the posts but i think a lot of them have been deleted as well, and not saved anywhere on wayback. im sure theyre on someones hard drive out there but i haven't seen them. then a blog appeared called iamthemodernprometheus.blogspot.com. some of those posts are still up but most are gone. that was ss/sss/shitsubou shita/frank (allegedly). ss started interacting in the comments on mayo's blog. and i think i may have read some mayo blog posts back in the day but i haven't been able to find them to answer this one. i just remember when i joined the fandom most people thought it was gerard.

now here's a couple things of evidence. THIS is a blogspot comment thread where people who have saved some of ss' blog posts put them in the comments. and yes obviously it could be an elaborate hoax by two fans who were invested in frerard. but like these things were being posted as it HAPPENED. you know? idk i wasnt there in 2007. but 2007 was when the fanfic took off and we really informed a lot of our perception of what happened with frerard on things like ft willz/stuff that happened on stage/and a lot of these posts really fit into the timeline. i would recommend reading that because its kind of hard to believe its like. a teenager pretending to be frank. it really just SOUNDS like frank. and he's really writing blog posts. basically to gerard lol. it gives the impression that they were on tour together (projekt rev) and doing the Thing but like there was def tension going on behind the scenes and we already know that thats true. frank didn't like eliza and thought gerard was moving too fast, the imnotokay.net post came from someone in mcr's camp that ppl thought was frank (or maybe brian) and then tbh its happening again?? just months later? it makes complete sense that if frank thought gerard was moving too fast with eliza that he DEFINITELY thought he was moving too fast with lynz getting MARRIED to her backstage just a couple months? after breaking off his engagement with eliza. anyway just read the comments. its very easy to believe its frank.

and then the other peice of evidece i found in this reddit thread: x comment in particular by u/ReallyKapu. they say that they have always gone by Kapunua online and that they met frank at a lm show, gave him a hat with the inscription 'sss' inside and later on he thanked them for it on the blog.

sure enough:

from what i've read it seems like the blog was actually a community. there were people who followed it and made friends in the comment section. and it does seem implausible but it looks to me like frank saved all of his gifts from tour and then made this post specifically thanking people for them. the person who claims this is them also says that they don't think mayo is actually gerard but that frank thought it was.

and i've seen stuff saying that if it wasn't gerard it was probably someone close to the band because they had like information that was posted on the blog that wouldn't come readily available (or make sense) until the show the next day.

anyway, i wasn't there for this. i was on the forums and twitter and tumblr for a LOT of mcr history but this was a little before my time and i think if i had been there OR if the blogs had actually been preserved in some way that i might be able to form a better opinion. i think theres a lot of evidence for frank, not sure about gerard. but i won't claim that it's true either bc we really don't know and this one i don't think we ever will!