#but I only had drafts on that one and it won’t let me access it

[talkingattumble]

I be reading fanfiction of a character and franchise I’ve never even heard of in my life because the author is such a genuinely sweet person

[defectivevillain]

broken vessels

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. there's one mention of glasses, but that's the extent of my self indulgence.

summary:

You sit down across from Hannibal. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it, judging from the smile pulling at his lips.

You had no idea just how drastically your life would change after becoming Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

word count: 7.8k | ao3 version

author's notes: This fic has been rotting in my drafts for too long. The transitions are a bit choppy, but I just had to realize this into the wild. So... yeah.

The focus of this fic is Hannibal Lecter/Reader; there is no explicit romance, but I am a diehard fan of the inherent homoeroticism that is Hannibal Lecter. If you’re looking for a happy ending or romance, you won’t find it here. Also this won't be canon compliant, since Sam and Hannibal are very different. You have been warned!

And if you aren’t familiar with The Patient… Well, you’re in for a wild ride. For now, all you need to know is that the reader is a therapist and Hannibal visits them for a session. (And you should also watch the series when you get the chance, because it's very good.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, hopelessness, kidnapping, captivity/imprisonment, blood and injury, cannibalism

Hannibal Lecter is an interesting patient. You’re not sure what compels him to come to you one dreary morning, when the sky is muddled with grey and there is nothing but the threat of a storm on the horizon. You just know that your doorbell rings at exactly 10:00 a.m., and you open it to find a fine-dressed man with perfectly coiffed hair and an easy smile on his face. The expression is nothing short of polite, yet you feel as if there is unspeakab;e malice dripping from the corners of his lips. You invite him in and urge him to take a seat wherever he feels comfortable. The man regards the room for a moment, before sitting in the armchair you typically sit in. Unperturbed by the seating change, you move to the couch parallel to your usual chair. 

For a while, there is only silence. You get the feeling the man is surveying you, scrutinizing you in his mind’s eye. You watch him and he watches you back. While you’re content to let the silence settle over the room, after a few minutes, you decide to speak up and ask him why he decided to come for a session with you.

The first session doesn’t prove to be entirely eventful, but it rarely is. Since it’s your first interaction, you spend most of the time trying to get to know him better. You learn that the man—Hannibal—was a surgeon and is now a psychiatrist, rather renowned for his research. Idly, you have to wonder how he came across you—and why he’s giving you a chance. Surely Hannibal has access to any of his colleagues, who are distinguished scholars. Maybe he needs a break from that, you then think. 

Ultimately, your first session with Hannibal isn’t cause for concern. Your attention instead falls to your third session together, when you begin to realize that he’s being deliberately vague with his answers—and that he seems to favor dishonesty over truthfulness. 

“Hannibal,” you remark, your heart thudding steadily in your chest, “I get the sense that you haven’t been quite honest with me.” You feel unreasonably apprehensive, as if this single accusation will ruin the little progress you’ve made with him. Yet, you can’t even call your past two sessions “progress,” can you? You spent the entire time attempting to stay afloat amidst the fluid conversation, feeling somewhat frustrated and confused all the same. 

“I’ve been perfectly honest with you,” Hannibal responds. The look on his face is seamlessly calm. You’re nervous, but you continue. Therapy conducted under pretense is pointless, after all. Besides, this man knows what he’s doing. His behavior has been purposeful. 

“You haven’t been,” you say, “and I think we both know that.” Hannibal looks at you—really looks at you—for what feels like the first time. His eyes are a glittering maroon and a slight smile rises on his face. Somehow, you can’t shake the inexplicable feeling that you’ve just made a grave misstep. 

You continue to recall that third session as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your vision slowly growing fuzzy. You’re tired, but it’s taking you a while to fall asleep. Your mind is racing, recalling several different moments scattered across your lifetime that you’d rather forget. You try to focus on your breathing and, eventually, your eyes fall shut. 

Your dreams are weird—which is saying something, since dreams are usually weird. These particular dreams feel like omens for the future and, if that is the case, then your future can’t be very good. You dream of sharp mirrors, harsh corners, and neatly-carved lines. You dream of an infinite winding labyrinth that you can’t escape from, of a puppet-master watching you stumble through a never-ending maze with amusement, of your tattered visage reflected in the jagged shards of a broken mirror.

You jolt awake with a gasp on your tongue, your throat feeling extremely dry. It takes you a few moments to internalize that you’re awake and no longer dreaming. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table and you reach for it, wincing at how heavy your limbs feel. Eventually, you reach the water and take a sip. The glass is cold against your skin and, when you put it back, you nearly miss your nightstand entirely. That’s a little strange—the nightstand has occupied that position for years. Why would your muscle memory fail you now, all of a sudden? 

You swing your legs to the side of the bed, only to hear an ominous rattling sound—almost reminiscent of metal clinking against the ground. You reach down and try to feel your way around in the dark, grabbing your glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. The darkness momentarily sharpens and a sense of foreboding prickles along your skin. Your surroundings look strangely unfamiliar. Unease pulling at your gut, you reach down, down, down—only to find a thick chain secured around your ankle. You tug at it, panic rising in your chest as you realize it’s not coming off. You then push yourself to your feet and walk a few steps, testing how far the chain will go. It doesn’t reach far enough for you to thoroughly explore the unfamiliar space—just barely getting to the small room that looks to be a bathroom. Upon further investigation, there’s nothing in the bathroom that would help you get the chain off. The toothbrush and disposable toothpaste resting inconspicuously on the counter throw you off guard. Was this planned? It’s abundantly clear to you now that you’ve been kidnapped. Did your captor plan this out and configure this bathroom for a captive?

You manage to convince yourself to move back out to the main room, only to find a meal placed on the small plastic table situated past the end of the bed. You don’t recognize the food and, frankly, you don’t want to know what it is. The thought of food right now is enough to make you nearly throw up. You instead decide to continue testing how far you can move with your chain. It turns out you can’t move very far at all: you only have access to the bed, the nightstands, and the nearby bathroom. There are a set of glass doors across from the bed and hints of the morning sun illuminate the room in a hazy glow, revealing polished furniture and elegant decorations. It seems your captor has rather distinguished tastes. 

In hindsight, seeing Hannibal Lecter come down the stairs moments later is more of a shock than it should be. Your eyes widen and you blink a few times, convinced your mind is conjuring illusions. Hannibal stares at you in return, before sending you a small smile—as if sharing an inside joke.

Meanwhile, you’re panicking. There’s a good chance Hannibal is the one who trapped you here. “Hey, where am I?” You ask apprehensively. Seeing Hannibal simultaneously provokes relief and dread within you. You tug at the chain on your ankle, but it doesn’t budge. “Hannibal? Why am I here?” “This is my home,” Hannibal answers. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It was a foolish thought to think Hannibal would be here by mere coincidence, but it kept your hopes alive. Now, you’re left to the bleak despair that clings to your ankle like a vice. “I need to speak with you.” 

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend that statement, in the wake of all the thoughts running through your mind. “You could’ve called me to book an appointment,” you eventually point out, struggling to keep yourself calm. You’re trapped here, and the chain on your ankle is extremely thick and sturdy. Not to mention, you can’t reach the door; you don’t have your phone; and you have a bad feeling Hannibal is the sole occupant of this house. How on earth will you escape? 

“This is… an ongoing concern,” Hannibal interjects. It takes you a few moments to process that statement. Then, at your disbelieving look, he continues. “Our typical environment was not suitable.” 

“Not suitable?” Panic is beginning to seep through your voice. You know you should probably be maintaining your composure, but it’s rather difficult to do so when you’re faced with the inevitability of your captivity. “What part of this environment is suitable? I have a chain around my ankle and I can’t leave!” You try to take a deep breath and manifest a level of composure that you certainly don’t have at the present moment. You look eyes with him and attempt to get through to him. “Hannibal. Take this chain off my ankle.” 

You don’t expect your attempt at persuasion to work and, indeed, Hannibal is silent. He regards you for a moment before stepping forward, momentarily fooling you into thinking he may genuinely release you. Then, he takes another step and pulls a chair out from the table to take a seat. He motions for you to take the other seat. You shake your head and remain on the bed, opting to keep as much distance from Hannibal as possible. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t feel like enough—as his eyes pin you in place.

You’re not sure how long you spend trapped in your spiraling thoughts, before you attempt to speak to your captor again. “Hannibal,” you say, trying to maintain your composure. You’re grasping at the sheets of the bed with shaking hands. “Whatever you have to talk about, I am willing to listen to you. But not like this.”

There’s a beat of silence. You aren’t deluded enough to think this conversation is getting you any closer to an escape. Instead, Hannibal regards you for a moment, clasping his hands on the table. He holds his utensils in a strangely tight grip, as if they’re weapons. The knife makes you particularly nervous, but it pales in comparison to his next statement. “You would be legally required to share the information I divulge.” Therapists have a firm code of ethics, which dictates that information must be brought to the local authorities if it involves harm to oneself or others. The thought makes an ugly feeling stew in your stomach. You inhale slowly. 

“This is your last chance,” you warn, despite knowing you have no power in this situation. “Let me go, and I’ll pretend this never happened. We can go back to the way things were. I won’t press charges or anything. Okay?” You think that’s a pretty generous offer, all things considered. 

For a moment, the air is entirely still. Then, the expression on Hannibal’s face flickers. “Would you like something to eat?” he eventually responds.

You stare at him in disbelief. It seems you underestimated Hannibal and his cruelty. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth, and you take a deep breath before shaking your head silently. You move back on the bed, your back finding the headboard. You pull your knees up and rest your arms, clasping your hands and closing your eyes. Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed for long enough, this scenario will simply… disappear. 

Hannibal takes a bite of his food, ignorant of your internal conflict. The small clinks of his silverware against the plate are the only noises in the otherwise tense air. Even when Hannibal’s gaze is focused on something else, you feel as if he’s watching you. You don’t dare to move a single muscle. There’s an uncomfortable silence settling in the air. 

“I met with many different therapists,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of nothing. He levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You blink and you see your head on his dinner plate. You shake off the grotesque thought. “I chose you.” Is that supposed to make you feel better? It only makes you feel more uneasy.

After some time eating silently, Hannibal gets up from his seat and takes his empty plate. You watch as he steps towards the hallway from which he came—leaving you suspicious and wary as you wait for something to happen. In the time after his departure, you’re still tense. Will he be back soon? You’re not sure how long you sit there, dreading his return. 

Eventually, after what must be at least two hours, you conclude that Hannibal won’t be returning. You decide to lie down, curling up on your side. Perhaps if you close your eyes, you’ll wake up from this nightmare. 

…But the universe isn’t that merciful, and you wake up hours later with a helplessness that clings to your skin. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare—it’s reality. And your reality is inescapable. You’re a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a gilded cage. 

Hannibal visits in the middle of the day. Your eyes follow him the moment he enters the room; as if recognizing this, he seems to take delight in moving as agonizingly slow as possible. Despite the deliberate slow pace to his movements, you recognize the show for what it is. Hannibal is a predator on the prowl. You are his prey, left baring your bleeding flesh before a salivating maw.

It’s not helpful to think about what you could have done instead of pushing him to be honest. But you think about it anyway. If you had let him have his lies, his understanding but strained smiles… what would have happened? The self-defeating part of you wants to say he would’ve left you alone, but you know that’s a desperate thought. No. Somehow, you piqued Hannibal’s interest from the moment you found him on your doorstep.

Realistically speaking, he could’ve been watching you long before that. You’re not sure if he’s the type to stalk people; then again, you didn’t characterize him as the kidnapping type at first, and look where you are now. The thought drags a wry laugh from your lips, inadvertently drawing Hannibal’s attention towards you. He motions for you to join him at the table, where he’s prepared some sort of meal. Despite your growling stomach, you refuse the offer. Hannibal only raises a brow, as if he sees your fleeting attempt at resistance and views it to be a waste of time. Your refusal does give you an illusion of control. You feel as if you have power—however slight—over this situation. 

You don’t think you’ll cave so quickly, but by the time he returns that night with a late dinner, you’re fighting off the instinct to join him at the table. As if recognizing this, Hannibal stares at you with twinkling eyes. You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice anymore. If you want to navigate his mind games, you need to be completely focused. Your hunger and aching stomach can’t serve as distractions. 

You sit down across from him. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it. 

As you’re eating, you realize you’ve been given a knife. You frown and look at the meal before you. There’s meat on Hannibal’s plate, but not on yours. Why were you given a knife, if you didn’t need one? Initially, you want to think it’s just a mistake. But you don’t think your captor would overlook something like that. Nearly every action of Hannibal's so far has been purposeful, even if that purpose was beyond your understanding. It’s very hard to believe that the knife is a simple oversight. 

But the knife’s purpose doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that you have a weapon. Hannibal is well within striking range, since the table you’re eating at is rather small. You could easily reach out and stab him in the hand, but then what…? You would still have the chain on your ankle. If you dealt him a powerful blow, you could incapacitate him at the very least. You’re not familiar with knives, though, so an attempt to incapacitate him could quickly become a murder. That’s a risk you think you’re going to have to take. You’re not sure when you’ll have another opportunity like this. 

You reach out and take both your fork and knife, pretending you’re going to cross them on your plate to signal that you’re finished with the meal. Your hand doesn’t want to relinquish its awkward grip on the knife, though. Something about the blade’s steady pressure against your palm is grounding. You realize you’re drawing blood when droplets fall to mark the wooden table. Hannibal’s eyes follow the movement, as if he actually heard the sound of your blood hitting the surface of the table. He’s momentarily distracted.

So you strike. 

At least, you try to. When his attention is captured, you slide your grip down to the handle of the knife, winding back and aiming at his neck. But Hannibal is inhumanly fast, and he quickly grabs your wrist with bruising strength until the utensil clatters back to its place on the table. Your eyes meet and you see only raw, unadulterated fury. A shiver crawls down your spine as a bone-deep fear settles past your skin. You’re going to die. 

Seconds drag on and, while Hannibal is still holding your wrist, the strength of his grip slowly fades. The silence is almost more painful than the white-hot irritation of the gash on your palm. With bated breath, you watch as Hannibal lets your wrist fall. Dread churning in your stomach, you’re frozen as he leaves the room. Terror stews in your chest at the anticipation he’s leaving you in. What weapon will he choose to end your life? 

Hannibal returns moments later with a clear container. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch silently as he approaches you, setting the bin on the table before taking your wrist and studying the minor gash on your palm. Something close to disapproval passes over his face for a quick second, before it’s replaced with a clinical gaze. 

Your hand is trembling ever so slightly. If Hannibal notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he obtains ointment from the container of medical supplies and spreads it along your scrape—before wrapping a bandage around your hand and wrist. His movements are precise and practiced; even if you were unaware of his background, you’d know he had experience as a medical practitioner. 

“Don’t try that again.” His voice is deceptively light; you don’t need to look far to see the anger coiled in his tight shoulders. You nod silently, your throat burning as you’re overcome with your own helplessness. With that, he walks back to the table, collects the dishes, and leaves the room. You stare down at your newly-bandaged hand, a renewed anguish promptly replacing any hope for escape. That attempt just now was a colossal failure. You didn’t think you were too obvious about your intentions, but he had reacted as if he expected you to stab him. Maybe that knife was placed there purposefully. Maybe, for reasons beyond your current comprehension, Hannibal wanted you to threaten his life. 

You really don’t know what to do with that information. You settle for reclining on the mattress and closing your eyes, still fighting off that foolish hope that you’ll wake sweat-soaked in your own bedroom, breathing hard from the fictitious nightmare you just experienced. 

Not much is born from your failure to escape, save for a few things: 1) a downgrade to plastic silverware, which makes you laugh in hysterical defeat; 2) pervasive hopelessness; and 3) a need for a new coping mechanism. Planning to escape no longer seems like a productive use of your time—trying to create something out of nothing is just insanity. Instead of maniacally going through every physically possible way to escape—a list which currently has zero items on it—you find yourself meditating. 

You were never the meditative type; you had many therapists who told you to meditate on your problems, and you promised yourself that you would never give that kind of advice to your patients. Mindfulness itself isn’t a bad suggestion, but the suggestion of meditation—crossed legs, pinched fingers—always felt like a slap in the face. 

You were so desperate once that you gave it a try. Predictably, your skeptical nature prevented it from actually working. But, ironically, when you tried it again a few days later, you found that you were able to compartmentalize your thoughts better. It didn’t necessarily make you feel calm in the way everyone claimed it did, but meditation helped you sort out the seemingly infinite tangle of problems in your mental cobweb. And if that cobweb was tangled before, it’s an absolute wreck now. Trapped in a man’s basement with no means of escape is a never-ending fountain of dread, regret, fear, and stress. 

At first, you just try to count to large numbers in your head. It helps you pass the time, in a room with no other form of entertainment. You slowly work your way up to tackling actual thoughts from there, and you find that, with time, you’re able to suppress unwanted feelings slightly. It’s nothing ground-breaking. But coping with your situation is one hell of a difficult task, so you’re proud of yourself for making any progress at all. 

This meditation becomes somewhat of a routine. You find yourself retreating into the depths of your mind at least once a day, if not two or three times. It’s a welcome escape from the unfamiliar room around you. Everything fades away, until you’re submerged in an endless void. Memories flicker before your eyes in brief flashes of light, visible but intangible. 

This meditation has one flaw: it leaves you entirely unguarded and defenseless. You were preoccupied with this notion during your first few attempts, but after you returned to the empty room each time, you began to forget your fear. But losing that fear made you complacent. You soon found yourself entirely ignoring the room around you—ignoring footsteps, ignoring shadows passing across the walls. While you often returned to reality to find yourself alone… that wasn’t always the case. 

When you’re finished with meditation one night, you open your eyes to find Hannibal standing in front of you. You immediately flinch and suck in a startled breath, nearly falling backwards on the bed as you create more distance between the two of you. It doesn’t take much contemplation to understand what he’s doing here. He was watching you, observing you. You never noticed him cross the threshold of the doorway; you didn’t notice him approach you with intrigue in his eyes as he regarded your vulnerable form. You were lost in the workings of your mind palace, your eyes closed and hands clasped in your lap.

“Hannibal,” you say, when you regain the ability to speak. “You scared me.” That’s an understatement. Your heart is positively racing in your chest. Hannibal has that damned smirk on his face, suggesting that your terror only amuses him. You grit your teeth and pretend not to notice the satisfaction practically radiating off of him. 

He finally stops looming over you, turning on his heel and walking over to the table. When he takes a seat, he immediately looks at you expectantly. “Take a seat,” Hannibal verbalizes, when a few seconds pass and you don’t make a move. 

You do as requested, albeit with a lot of restless fidgeting. Whenever the two of you sit at the table and there isn’t any food, you know a therapy session is beginning. Admittedly, your interactions so far barely qualify as sessions—Hannibal has still been frustratingly vague with what he’s experiencing, leaving you with virtually nothing to give to him in return. 

This session is nothing new. His ambiguity is still infuriating, but you find yourself grappling with a newer impatience. When it becomes clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, you hear yourself speaking. “I thought we promised to be honest with one another.” You wait with bated breath. Hannibal looks tightly coiled, as if ready to strike at any moment. But he remains silent, which pushes you to continue. “You’re still not being honest with me.”

“Very well,” Hannibal nods. You both know it’s true. Hannibal has only spoken of ambiguous urges that nearly consume him. These urges are evidently negative and almost mirror compulsions. However, from what you’ve seen of Hannibal so far, he has finely-regulated emotional control. Is he really a victim to these negative urges, or is he their puppetmaster? Your instincts gravitate towards the latter, but you aren’t prepared for the verbal confirmation he gives you. “I am a serial killer and a cannibal.” 

You immediately scrutinize him, looking for the signs you’ve grown to attribute to dishonesty. But there is only unapologetic candor… and an almost boundless hunger. You loathe how quick you are to believe such an outlandish statement. But, in the wake of your captivity, you’ve grown somewhat used to outlandishness. After all, Hannibal went so far as to kidnap you indefinitely—it’s been abundantly clear since you woke in this room that he is not a good person. His thinly-veiled fury has always been present—it is only now that you are able to attribute it to something. 

Your gaze is then unwittingly pulled down, past his neatly-ironed suit and to the wooden table before you. You think back to all the meals you’ve been fed and you look back up at him, unable to hide your fear and revulsion. “Have you…?” You’re at a loss for words. 

“I have not fed you anything untoward,” Hannibal answers. You’re briefly grateful, before you chastise yourself for the emotion. Why are you grateful to your captor for showing you the smallest of mercies? You are still trapped here. You have been shown the most basic of human decencies: food and water. Privacy and safety are distant memories, at this point. 

“You’re a serial killer and a cannibal,” you hear yourself repeat. Your voice sounds foreign and unrecognizable, in the wake of this horrifying revelation. “That’s…” You choke out, entirely unsure of what to say. 

Hannibal tries to keep talking, but you place your hands on the table and get to your feet. The chain on your ankle clinks menacingly as you move away from the table and towards the bed. You know better to turn your back on the man, so you instead perform an awkward side-shuffle until you’re seated on the bed. Hannibal finishes his meal in silence and leaves you alone in the basement. You break down soon after. 

Each time you blink, you see eyes glazed over in death; limbs stiff and unfeeling; lips parted but unbreathing. Every morning, you’re brutally torn from your sleep and forced to wake up in a nightmare. You are rotting behind these nondescript walls and no one has seemed to notice. What of your family and friends? Where are they now? Is anyone looking for you, or have you been banished to the uncompromising soil and cold headstones in a barren field? 

You haven’t caught even a trace of happiness throughout your captivity here. Fear, unease, and desperation have forced you into compliance. There’s a constant burning sensation in your throat and behind your eyes, as you mourn for the tragedies of tomorrow. Your life here is dictated by Hannibal’s whims. And, worst of all, your death is completely inevitable. You have no sense of the passage of time, yet the threat of your end seems to come ever closer with each passing moment.

There are only so many mind games you can subject yourself to before you have to face the grim reality: you are trapped here, and you likely will be trapped here for the remainder of your life. Whether that’s several weeks, eight months, or a few years… You will be confined here until Hannibal grows disinterested. Whatever the source of his interest, one thing is certain: this intrigue persuades him to spare you. But, as patient as Hannibal seems to be, you know it will only be a matter of time before he snaps. 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear your own bones cracking and snapping under his grip. Sometimes, in the light of day, you can see bright patrol lights reaching out to you through the screen door, beckoning you back to your life. But none of it is real. Nothing is tangible, save for the chain suffocating your ankle and the fear that keeps you from acting out or attempting to escape again.

In light of Hannibal’s confession, you feel… empty. A part of you is almost hopeful—even desperate—for an end to your confinement. That part of you longs to test the limits of Hannibal’s patience, in the hopes of breaking it and triggering the final chapter of your life. 

Safe to say, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore. Everything feels completely pointless. You’re just waking up to fall asleep again the next night; eating to put off the gnawing feeling in your stomach; living to die. Each day simultaneously feels like a victory and a defeat. 

One question still begs your attention: why are you here? In your first session, Hannibal had maintained the illusion that he wanted to get better. The same can’t be said anymore: he shows no regret for the things he’s done. There isn’t even a hint of remorse in his answers to your questions, which only confuses you more. He does not want to improve. 

One particular morning, you decide to ask him. After all, you have virtually nothing left to lose. You would welcome an escape from this situation—any violence from him would only provide a merciful end to your suffering. “Why are you still entertaining all of this?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hannibal is entirely static as he stares at you, no hint of emotion in his eyes. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. “You don’t want to get better. You show no remorse for your victims. Therapy is conducted under the pretense that the client wants something. As you’re aware, that is often support, self-actualization, or even just someone to listen to them… What do you want?”

“I’m glad I chose you,” Hannibal says, his eyes glimmering. 

“You haven’t answered my question,” you frown. 

“Company,” he answers. 

You study him for a long moment. “Do you feel unsatisfied with your current attachments?” You ask, squinting at him. “You once told me you host dinner parties frequently. You’ve never expressed difficulties with making friends, but you also never speak about the ones you do have.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal didn’t have any friends—he doesn’t seem the type.

“Perhaps I think them to be beneath me,” he remarks casually. 

“Sure,” you say. That sounds about right, but you know things are rarely so simple and straightforward. “But then how do you fulfill your basic interpersonal needs? Are you constantly pretending?” You push. 

His silence is enough of an answer. Something ugly stews in your chest. You hate that you’re entertaining this—that you’re even pretending this man is redeemable. Yet what other choice do you have? When it comes down to it, you don’t want to die in this basement. You’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you escape that fate. Even if that means asking questions that you really don’t want the answers to. Somehow, you manage to push the off-putting words from your lips. “How do you choose your victims?”

Hannibal raises his brows, evidently surprised that you asked. He almost looks impressed. The recognition nauseates you: why are you so desperate for his approval? “I exchange business cards with people I meet,” Hannibal responds. That uneasy feeling is only increasing, continuing to prickle along your skin. “The cards of those who are particularly rude… are set aside.”

You force yourself to maintain some semblance of composure, even if you know the effort will be obvious. “And then?” Your voice is deceptively light, despite your pulse practically thrumming with uneasy anticipation. “What pushes you to make a move?”

“Anger,” he answers. His eyes gleam a foreboding crimson in the dim light of the basement. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop talking, yet you continue relentlessly. 

“No,” you immediately argue before you can stop yourself. “It’s not anger.” Hannibal raises a brow, challenging you to provide a better explanation. 

You pause to review everything you’ve learned about Hannibal so far. His secretive, elusive nature suggests that he isn’t killing for attention or pride.  Sure, anger could be a motivator, but above that… “It’s boredom,” you realize aloud. “You’re bored. Very little interests you, especially when you have so few genuine relationships. Killing actually makes you feel something—an emotion you’re unable to find elsewhere.”

You’re gripping the arms of your chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. One wrong move and he could lash out at you, ending your escape attempt before it can even truly begin. “Try as you might to replicate that feeling… You can’t.”

You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting. Yet you’re still shocked to see Hannibal smile—a twisted, malicious thing that tears your breath from your chest. You’re immediately overcome with the inexplicable conviction that you’ve just supplied the last nail in your own coffin.

“My whole life, I have been thinking…. thinking… trying to figure myself out so I can help other people understand themselves.” You say some time later, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twitch restlessly in the plush brown armchair you find yourself sitting in. The room is warmly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. Across from you sits your old therapist. “And here I am,” you continue wryly, “Talking to my dead therapist.”

There’s a healthy glow to Charlie’s warm brown skin; he looks entirely at ease. “Why do you think that is?” He asks. Irritation floods through you. Charlie is just a figment of your imagination—a device your mind is using to attempt to cope with the trauma of this situation. But even this manifestation of Charlie is unrelenting, just as he once was. 

“Come on, Charlie,” you groan. His expression says, Humor me. You take a slow breath. A thump from upstairs draws you to look up at the ceiling, before you’re returning your eyes to Charlie and the space around him. “Fine. I was kidnapped by a serial killer and I have no chance of escape. No one is going to find me and I’m going to rot down here.”

Speaking on your thoughts ushers in a new sense of finality and it’s greatly unsettling. Charlie, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected. Whether that’s because he’s already dead or simply because he has a firm handle on his emotions, you’re unsure. 

You’re not sure how long you spend falling apart on that armchair, nor how long it takes for you to pull yourself back together. All you know is this unfamiliar feeling that tugs you back up above the roaring waves, pushing you to try again when all feels pointless. “I can’t die here,” you announce. The words linger in the air long after you utter them.

“So don’t,” Charlie replies simply. 

“I wish it were that easy,” you breathe. Faint traces of voices break you from your reverie and you stare at the basement wall intensely, before abandoning the gesture moments later when nothing happens. You look back at Charlie, whose eyes snap back to you as if he was also distracted by the sound. “Hannibal… He’s too perceptive. It won’t work.” You’re forced to think back to the rapidity with which he disarmed you.

You sense what Charlie’s going to say before he says it. “You don’t know that unless you try.”

“There’s no point,” you sigh frustratedly. 

“How long will you perpetuate this cycle?” Charlie asks, a worried frown on his face. “You give yourself hope, only to take it away again. You are the one in control here.” 

That’s not true. You’re not in control—Hannibal is the puppet master. But you suppose your therapist is correct, in a sense: your emotions are your own. “Fine,” you acquiesce. “I need to put an end to this. I can’t be trapped down here for the rest of my life. I need to try, at the very least.”

Somehow, the placating smile on Charlie’s face still looks smug. You put it down to your imagination. “What are your options, then?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. “I could fashion a weapon out of something in the room. But I’ve been downgraded to plastic silverware since the fork incident…”

“I could also try to reason with him. That definitely wouldn’t work, because he’s already convinced and can’t be persuaded. Hannibal shows no remorse for his actions and he will likely spend the rest of his life killing.”

You find yourself faced with the same troubling conclusion that has provoked your inaction. “I have no power, no authority in this situation.” It doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to set in once more. “He’s not trying to get better.” Only in the depths of your mind, before your conjured visage of Charlie, does your voice betray the defeat you feel. 

“But he brought you here,” Charlie reminds you. You tap your fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. “He must’ve taken you for a reason, even if it wasn’t for you to help him. What do you think that reason is?” He prompts. 

“He’s…” You break off. “He enjoys being in control and exerting authority.” That explanation sounds flimsy, even to you. The truth of the matter is staring you in the face, but you’re too unsettled to acknowledge it. 

“You’re grossly underestimating your value,” Charlie hums, perceptive as always. “You are valuable to him.” You’re unwittingly reminded of his gentle touch as he bandaged your palm; the intensity with which he gazes at you (especially when he thinks you don’t notice). You can deny it no longer. 

“Somehow, I interest him.” You say. Charlie nods; you’re on the right track. Something pushes you to shake your head and abandon that thought process. Inexplicably, you know you won’t like what you find there if you push any further. 

“I need to focus on how to get out of here,” you announce. Charlie arches a brow, but gracefully allows you to change the subject. Yet the unspoken sentiment adds a tension to the air that wasn’t present previously. You both know just how far Hannibal’s intrigue goes, yet you’re not comfortable with addressing it. 

“You’ve looked around the room,” Charlie then prompts. 

“Many times,” you acquiesce. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look again. There are two padlocks—one on the bedpost and one on the chain around my ankle. The lock on the chain could be picked with a pin. I doubt he has a pin lying around, but a nail or something like that could work…” 

Charlie nods approvingly. You roll your eyes and willingly retreat from your mind palace, returning to the room around you with renewed resolve. That resolve slowly wanes when you don’t find anything in the main room. But when you walk into the bathroom, you realize there’s a landscape painting on the wall. It must be secured with a nail. Surely enough, when you remove it from the wall, a single nail is left behind. It looks bent already, but it’ll have to do. Studying the room, you decide to stuff the painting in the cabinets beneath the sink. You’ve never seen Hannibal use this bathroom and you’ll have to trust that assumption. Hope brews in your chest, but you can’t quite bring yourself to trust it. 

When you leave the bathroom and enter the basement, you sit on the bed in silence—waiting for Hannibal to stalk in and thwart your escape attempts. After an immeasurable amount of time spent holding your breath, you manage to convince yourself to work on the padlock around your ankle. The nail you found is rigid and uncompromising, which forces you to exert an unnecessary amount of strength to manipulate it into a suitable shape. 

The chain is rattling ever so slightly as you attempt to free yourself from it. Your breathing is extremely loud in your ears and you’re frantically fighting off the growing potential for Hannibal to walk in and catch you in the middle of the act. Your heart is thudding steadily and quickly in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’ve waited for this chance and you’re not going to blow it. Your fingers calloused and throbbing, you firmly maneuver the nail and the padlock finally pops open. You place it on the bed gently, before shakily taking off the manacle. Your ankle is bruised and irritated, but it’s not broken and you don’t feel too much pain. After a moment, you decide to hide the padlock under the comforter. It doesn’t really matter if you hide it—Hannibal will notice your absence regardless. 

You take a deep breath and get off the bed, stealthily walking towards the glass doors at the other side of the room. You’ve been staring through them for so long now, but you were never able to get close enough to open them—let alone see your surroundings. Now, you find that it’s afternoon—as the sun casts a warm glow on the sky. You slide the lock of the door and pull up on the interior pin, before gently sliding it. Of course, the door catches on the track and shudders—but you manage to put it back as quietly as you can. 

Your shoes finally meet the pavement and you’re free. You’re actually free. 

You take a deep breath of fresh air and survey your surroundings, only to see a never ending expanse of trees on all sides. You’re in the middle of the woods. 

Fuck. 

You had a clear plan in your mind: escape the house, run down the populated street, and find the nearest approachable stranger to ask for help. The second step of your plan has already failed: there is no street or neighborhood—only forest as far as the eye can see. It takes everything you have not to fall to your knees and cry. Crying won’t do you any good.

At first, you take silent, measured steps away from the house—afraid to make any sound. As the house shrinks in the distance, however, you break into a jog and, eventually, a full-out sprint. You don’t know where you’re going—you just hope to put as much distance between Hannibal and you as possible. (Of course, it’s likely that he knows these woods a lot better than you do. That’s only another reason to prioritize speed over getting your bearings.)

In hindsight, you wish you had attempted to sneak upstairs and steal something from his house: a wallet, a phone, a weapon, anything. But you just couldn’t risk it. Not to mention… you had banked on finding yourself in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere. 

You’re not sure how long you’re running. You don’t stop until your legs threaten to give out. Then, you brace yourself against a tree and try to catch your breath for a few minutes. The pain in your chest fading and your breath restored, you remove your hand from the tree and stand upright—only to see a figure a short distance from you. You squint and try to make it out. For a moment, it’s stationary and you’re fooled into thinking it’s an object. Then it moves, and you’re forced to come to a nauseating conclusion: Hannibal followed you. 

“No,” you say. “No, no, no, no.” Your shoe slides back as you step backwards, leaves and sticks crunching under your feet. You’re hardly able to believe your eyes—frozen in fear as Hannibal strides towards you. Your survival instincts don’t kick in until he’s far closer, and you immediately whip around and run. 

You don’t get far before he’s tackling you to the ground. The sharp edges of his body press into you and you try to throw him off, bucking underneath him. His grip is insistent and he stares down at you with a blank expression. You manage to pull your knee up far enough to hit him, causing his grip to slacken and giving you an outlet of escape. You shove him off of you and kick at his side, but he manages to maneuver to the side and dodge. 

Something at his side catches the light. He’s holding a knife. You’re holding your hands out in front of you, as if that will somehow stop the killer in front of you from making you another victim. With blinding speed, Hannibal is lunging towards you and sinking the knife into your thigh. You scream and manage to push him away, though your attempt at disarming him is futile. You immediately clamp a hand against your bleeding leg, gritting your teeth as stars pass across your vision. Hannibal continues his pursuit, forcing you to stumble backwards. 

“Hannibal,” you choke out, your voice thick. You think you taste blood in your mouth—probably from biting the inside of your cheek too hard. There is almost no emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, save for one confusing one: betrayal. Did he expect you to stay? “Please.” What are you begging for? Do you want mercy, or do you want an end to this madness? 

Either way, Hannibal extends his hand towards you. You’re shaking, blood dripping from your lip as you stare at him. The gesture is a peace offering of sorts: come willingly, and I won’t hurt you, he’s trying to say. You’re not so easily fooled. You never had a choice. 

You still shake your head, a pained whimper wrenching its way out of your lips. You instinctively step backwards. In the blink of an eye, the world is spinning around you and you’re falling to the forest floor. (If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it make a sound?) You blink dazedly, your vision slowly blurring. Leaves crunch near your cheek as Hannibal draws ever closer. You try to reach out a hand to resist, but you can only twitch for moments before your eyes are slipping shut. 

When you can finally fight off the exhaustion seeping into your form, you blink past dry eyes and stare up at an achingly familiar ceiling. You push yourself up weakly, only to find yourself in Hannibal’s basement once more. There’s a sturdier chain around your ankle, and a new, bulkier padlock securing the chain. All you can hear is your ragged breathing and the awful ringing in your ears. Taking a shuddering breath, you bury your head in your hands.

endnotes: Here's some dialogue I couldn’t find a place for:

“I don’t particularly care.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” Hannibal responds. “You don’t know me,” you feel the need to remind him. “And I haven’t felt like myself in quite some time.”

Hannibal's boujee ass definitely has a state of the art security system in his home… Methinks the reader triggered the alarm system in their escape and it sent Hannibal's phone a notification…

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[lix-ables]

⌗ rich boy things – hyunjin + car sex .

🥡 smut includes, fem!reader, dry humping, hand jobs (while he’s on the phone with his father), mentions of ruined orgasms (because he absolutely loves teasing the shit out of you), lovesick + pussy drunk hyunjin, etc etc. word count: 971. (MINORS DNI.)

💌 note: its been a while but hihi, im back!! i was initially going to post something else??? but this has been in my drafts since april

©lix-ables 2022. consider leaving comments and feedbacks !! happy reading ‹33

hyunjin was annoyingly pretty and he knew it, so sneaking around on the campus way past your curfew can be excused, right? 

here you were in his car’s passenger seat with your hand wrapped around his dick while he was on an important call. how did you know that? because he told you it was his father, and still your fingers played with the tip, your palm resting under your chin as you watch him shut his eyes. 

his other hand moves to wrap around the wrist that was currently busy, and he turns to look at you. “yes dad, i understand,” he sighs and replies. “no im not out racing. i’m with the boys. panting? have you thought maybe it's your hearing?” hyunjin clears his throat and shifts in his seat, making your hand fall on his thigh. but that gave you even more of a reason to stroke him instead of just touching him. a little teasing wouldn’t hurt no one. your thumb rubs circles on his tip before wrapping your whole hand around it, earning a small grunt from him.

“listen i need to go. they need my help with something. yes, i’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“you like what you see don’t you, darlin’?” hyunjin’s voice stops you from your task, and makes you look at him. he stares at you, smiling before setting his phone in his jacket pocket.

his hand finds your bare thigh and you curse yourself for wearing pj shorts while it was cold outside. “i thought i told you the call was important,” he mumbles, his fingers snaking all the way up to the hem of your shirt and tugging it toward him. “i want this off,” he nods at your shorts, and you bite your lip in frustration. “i thought we were here to talk,” a whimper leaves your throat when he pulls you to him. “we’re talking. this is good communication, don’t you think?” you let him pull you onto his lap, and you struggle out of your shorts in the process. “i was getting ready for bed, it’s way past curfew what if someone –” hyunjin presses a kiss to your lips, his hands wrapped around your waist and it just dawns to you, that his dick is still out, and is now between the two of you. “no one is going to come here, and you know that,” he smiles again, his finger twirling around a strand of hair that wasn’t held together by the band. 

you hum in response, the chill breeze making goosebumps form on your bare skin and you grind against hyunjin’s dick. you’re probably going to have to buy new underwear but fuck it. “this again? and you said you wanted to talk,” he smirks, tugging on the strand of hair in his hand, and his fingers find your shirt, pulling it up so he has more access. your hand wraps around his wrist when you feel him move your underwear aside, and he clicks his tongue. “baby, let me in hmmm? it’s not fair that only you get to do the teasing. it works both ways. besides, no one’s around so i could probably edge you say, four to five times? i’m sure you can take it yeah? because i sure as hell want to see that tight and pretty pussy of yours clenching around my fingers when i don’t let you come.” hyunjin tilts his head to look at you, he shifts the material a bit more before resting two fingers to your clit, and pinches it a little. your thighs shudder at the feeling and he leans back against the seat. “you’d beg me to let you come, but you won’t. you like it too much hmm?”

you nod and his hand reaches down and finds the adjustment lever at the side and moves the seat back a bit more, so there is space for both of you. “when i didn’t see you in class today, i thought something had happened,” he mumbles as he moves his free hand to stroke his dick, bringing it closer to your entrance. “i missed you today, doll.” hyunjin’s fingers work on rubbing random patterns to your clit and you feel yourself getting even wetter than you were ten minutes ago. 

“you were supposed to come pick me up, idiot,” you lean forward close to his ear and press a small kiss to his neck. your hands hold onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the leather jacket that he was wearing before going back to grind against his dick. 

“just the tip, i swear,” he rests his head at the crook of your neck, his free hand now holding you close to him as you move faster against him. you’re breathing faster now and your fingers come to rub your clit, applying more friction. “baby, let me –” hyunjin swears, his hand shivering and you turn your head to the window – it’s drizzling. the sound of rain muffling out your moans and hyunjin’s swears as he manages to guide your hips toward him, his tip close to your pussy, before entering just a little. “that’s it baby, fuck.” 

his hands rest at your lower back, his fingers slowly pulling up your shirt from the back as you ride against him. you’re mumbling something about having a real talk after this, but all hyunjin can hear is your whines and whimpers as he pulls himself out just to replace his dick with his fingers. 

“you’re coming on my tongue and my dick once we get to your room,” he grunts, feeling your walls clench around his fingers. “not yet, darlin’. hold it for me.” with his fingers now buried inside you, and your body grinding up against his palm, hyunjin meant what he said. teasing works both ways.

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[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 18: Renewed Desire

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: In an attempt to help them, Lucien invites the sisters for a journey. The shadows always take her side. Two years later, Azriel and Nyra finally let their desires take over. (SMUT FROM THE NEXT CHAPTER)

Author's message: From this chapter onwards, I will not follow the original plot. There will be a timeskip among other changes.

@feerique always and eternally grateful to you!!✨✨

Word count: 5.5k (Enjoy!!)

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

After the war, the  Cauldron made Archerons were dragged into politics with Vassa’s request to draft a new treaty. 

The twins worked on the draft treaty and correspondences while Elain helped out those affected by the war in Velaris. 

And one fine day, Lucien paid a visit. Nesta answered the door. 

“We’re the only ones here. You’ll have to go to the River House for the others.” Nesta sounded dull. 

“My lady.” He bowed. “I’m here to speak to the three of you.” 

Nesta blinked and quietly made way for his entry. She closed the door and held his gaze before she turned and entered the house. “Come with me.” 

They moved towards the corridor and stopped in front of a room. Nesta knocked on the door. “We have a visitor.”

Papers shuffled, wood moved against wood, fabrics swished, and Nyra Archeron opened the door. The lightning wielder saw Lucien and exited the room, closing the door behind her. 

They reached the backyard where Elain was planting saplings. Elain immediately turned and met Lucien’s gaze. Nesta cleared her throat. “He wishes to speak to us.” 

Elain quietly set aside her tools, stood up, brushed off the dirt on her hands, and joined them. She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “Yes?” 

The male was now definitely entranced. Probably because she was addressing him for the first time. 

“Before I begin, let me clarify that I’m not suggesting this because. . .” The autumn-born trailed away, looking at Elain. She tilted her head in a Nyra fashion. “I’d like all three of you to come with me.”

“Why?” Nesta was not even harsh. 

“A change in scenery.” 

Silence prevailed before Elain spoke. “The sunlight here is not that great.”

“What kind of change in scenery?” Nyra had only asked and Lucien had begun advertising all the different places he’d travel to after leaving Night.

“We’re not used to travelling. We’ll only burden you.” Nesta was cordial with her implied refusal but he was adamant. 

“I’m going for diplomatic discussions. It won’t be hectic. It’ll give you more ideas for the treaty drafting.” Lucien paused looking at Nyra before shooting his next question. “And wouldn’t you like to see the world?” 

The lightning wielder looked up at him, clearly intrigued. “Are you prepared for this?”

“I can only try, my lady.” He honestly answered. 

“Do you understand what this means?” Elain finally asked. 

“You are people. I know how to behave around people.” He answered, looking straight into those brown eyes. 

“That’s not what I meant.” She retorted. 

“I also understand that you’ll have your cycles. I have helped my mother with hers so there’s no need to worry on that front.” Elain simply blushed as her sense of propriety from her human life prevailed. “I’m a decent cook. And I’ll be ready for whatever you need of me.”

“You need not worry about cooking. We’re good at that.” Elain waved her hand. 

“It’s not just the cycle.” Nesta sighed. “We’re different from other fae. We’re even different from each other.” 

And Lucien remained persistent, silently meeting their gaze in turns. 

“All right.” Nyra was the first to succumb. 

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Elain comment lightheartedly. Lucien only stared at her in disbelief.

“Fine.” Nesta agreed.

“Do you have any pending works I can assist with?”

Nesta opened her mouth to refuse but she halted. She contemplated the offer and met his gaze with more acceptance. “Actually, yes.” 

“I’ll join you after this.” Elain nodded at him and quickly returned to her work. 

“It’s nearly dinner time.” Nyra mused. 

“Shall I cook something?” Lucien offered. The twins looked at him blankly. 

“When I accepted your assistance for pending works, it was not for household chores.” Nesta wondered why he would even offer to cook for them right now. 

“We can dine outside.” Nyra suggested.

“Eula’s.” Elain called from the distance. 

“Eula’s, it is.” Nyra looked at the sky, its pink and violet hues bringing the night. 

“Come with me, Lucien.” Nesta began. “I’d like your opinion on something.” The flame wielders headed inside. 

Nyra continued to stare at the sky as she reached Elain. “Does his presence bother you?” 

“Quite the opposite.” Elain whispered. “Is it the bond or is it him that calms me?”

“Maybe, you’ll know soon.” Nyra walked away. 

An hour later, they had dressed and departed. Eula’s was a fifteen minute walk. Many people greeted Elain, having interacted during her daily visits to the city. Neither twin interacted with anyone. Lucien smiled politely at a few familiar faces. They reached Eula’s nearly half an hour later. 

****

The shadowsinger was already sitting on the roof of the building opposite the one where Eula’s was. He’d seen Nyra as she walked with her sisters and that redheaded bastard. 

Green silk wrapped her body and flowed with her every movement. Hair in a loose bun with curls escaping near her ears. 

When was this female ever going to let him have his senses? 

Every single time he saw her, she consumed him wholly. 

He wanted to be near her, touch her, kiss her, and whisper sweet things to her. 

Could she ever give him a moment to catch his breath?

And then he remembered.

She was going to leave. 

His heart cracked. 

And the shadows were wailing. 

But if this is what was needed. If this is what she needed to regain her spirits. He’d support her. 

****

Azriel winnowed in front of the townhouse. He was nervous. He felt pathetic. Maybe, he should’ve come after a while. They’d only just returned from dinner. 

As soon as his shadows were about to take him away, the door opened. 

Nyra watched him with wide eyes and took a step outside. The shadows stopped and let him be. More shadows were around her wrist.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

This beautiful creature, brilliant and full of wonders. What had he ever done to deserve a mating bond with her? 

“Were you leaving?” She whispered. 

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“I want to stay.” 

That moment filled with tenderness and intimacy they shared before the High Lords’ meet bloomed again. From when she’d kissed the corner of his lips. 

“Come in.” She led Azriel to the office she’d taken over and he closed the door behind him. 

Silence prevailed as she sat on her desk, now empty of all the papers and pens. Nyra looked at her hands. “I’m leaving.”

“I know.” 

She looked up at him.

“They told me.” She nodded and looked at the black snakes crawling around her fingers.

Azriel did not know what to say. He wanted her to stay but if this is what she wanted then how could he say otherwise? 

What if this is what she needed? A change? 

Change helped him a lot. He learned how to fly, cook, sew, kill, maim, and so much more. Perhaps he’d changed for the better and worse. 

The bond between them thrummed silently, a reminder of life. The storms in her mind were chaotic.

He walked forward and stopped two steps away from her. “May I?”

“What are you asking?”

“To touch you.” He heard her breath hitch. She nodded.

“Words, Nyra.”

She looked at him, eyes gleaming. “Yes.” 

Azriel wrapped her in a hug, his entire frame covering her like a shield against the world. There was no one but them. 

Nyra wrapped her hands around his torso. 

“Be safe.” He felt her nod against his chest. “Be happy.” Another nod. “Write to me.” She raised her chin, rested it against his chest,  and looked up at him. 

Gods fucking damn this world. 

She was too fucking adorable like this. 

He never wanted to let go.

“You’ll write to me too?” She whispered. 

And he smiled. “I’ll write to you too. But I may delay when I’m on a mission.”

“Mhm.” 

Azriel brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her there. 

“Have you had dinner?” She asked. 

Azriel went rigid. “No.” 

“Shall I prepare something then?” He was blank for all but a second before he began panicking. The shadows began cheering and panicking. 

She’s accepting? No, she wasn’t. 

She’s only offering food. She doesn’t know. Exactly. 

Of course, she doesn’t know. Because he was a fucking coward, that’s why.

Should we apply for leave? No!

A month? A month? Why were these idiots going overboard? 

Master hasn’t had sex in fifty two years. Owing to Amarnatha’s reign and the overload of work before his mating bond with Nyra snapped. 

He’s become a beacon of celibacy.

Does master remember how to bed a woman? What? 

How to please our mistress? What even? 

He’s going to embarrass us. What in the everloving fuck?

“Have you had dinner?” Azriel managed to ask between his shadows’ commentary. 

“Yes. I can cook-”

“I’ll eat at the House. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense.” She leaned back to look at him properly. Nyra seemed mad at how he spoke about himself. “You’re not a bother.”

A silence settled between them. He played with the baby hairs on her forehead and the side of her ears and Nyra enjoyed it as she felt ticklish. 

“How are your nightmares?” She asked. His hand near her ear stopped playing with her ear and dropped to her shoulder. 

“Manageable.” He was lying. 

“And the headaches?” 

“Tolerable.” Another lie. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Lying is a part of my job description. I’m famously good at it.” Azriel tried to lighten the mood with an awkward smile. She sees through you.

“Unbelieve.” She was playing with his hair when she traced his ears. He loved her touch. He wanted more of it. “Your ears remind me of when I was human.”

“Bad memories?” 

“Bad and good.” She seemed to be lost as she traced the curve of his ear. Azriel sighed, her touch a reminder that the world was worth something. 

She was still wearing that green silk. Her neck craned to look at his face and he only wanted to kiss her. This was unbearable. 

“I’ll take your leave now.” He kissed her left hand and let the shadows take him away even as she called his name. 

****

The next day right before dawn, Rhysand stood at a distance from the townhouse with Lucien. “Day Court?”

“Yes, I’ve received a welcoming reply for our arrival.” 

Rhysand wondered when Lucien would discover his paternity. Politics was such a twisted thing and he only pitied the male who was unaware he’d be inevitably dragged into it even more than he already was. “If anything happens-”

“I know. You’ll slit my throat.”

“I was going to tell you to call out for me. If you’re anywhere in the Middle, then contact might be difficult so be prepared for greater risks.”

“Why would we go to the Middle?” Lucien looked at him oddly. 

“You’ll find that your mate is curious about plant life in the Middle. The twins may be drawn towards the monsters.”

“The Weaver?” 

“We won the war but three ancient gods are now free.” The twin gods and Bryaxis were released for war and were now free to roam the lands even though recent reports suggested their presence in the Middle. 

“What if the monsters are drawn to them?” 

“Elain’s power shouldn’t. The twins will.” Rhysand sighed. “I’ll ask Azriel.” He closed his eyes and sighed. His power thrummed and the next minute, the Spymaster joined them from a swirl of shadows. 

“What?” 

“Brooding already, brother? The sun hasn’t even risen.” Rhysand smirked. 

“And what are you doing here?” Azriel coldly asked, turning towards a larger fae cloaked in greying rags. 

The Suriel grinned, displaying its sharp teeth. Its face turned to the townhouse standing at a distance. 

Nyra Archeron appeared at the balcony in a nightdress and a robe, stretching her arms. And then she turned to look straight at Azriel. 

His breath hitched. If he could ever wake up to that sight, embracing that beautiful female, he’d count himself blessed. 

“Blessed you are indeed, shadowsinger.” The Suriel’s ominous voice spoke. “And even more blessed you will be.” The wind took those words and carried them away to the world. 

The Suriel took a step only to see a flash of lightning as Nyra emerged. It grinned and folded in the middle, a casual bow. “Greetings to the Sovereign of the Skies.” 

Azriel’s shadows were with her, twirling around her hands and hair and the hem of her nightdress.

“Your robe looks fantastic, Conqueror of the Cauldron.”

At that comment, the shadows slashed the Suriel, dismembering a leg. It kneeled with the other and cackled. As though it had been misted, the ghastly creature disappeared. 

Azriel walked over to her. The shadows had produced a cloak which materialised on her shoulders. They wrapped her up nicely in it, tying all the knots for her. 

Nyra frowned at him, probably for fleeing like that last night. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the cloak. Fur tickled her cheeks and she removed her face. The cold made her blush. “Rhys? Lucien?”

“Hello, Nyra.”

“Good morning.”

“Hello, hello. Good morning.” She was unusually cheerful for someone who’d frowned at him. 

Why did you run away? Here we go. Again. When were they going to stop reprimanding him like a child?

She thinks you rejected her. What?

You should listen to her when she speaks. 

Oh fucking fuck. He didn’t. Azriel could never reject her. He would never dare. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Rhys remarked fondly, a tone Azriel remembered had been reserved for Maia and now, Nyra.

“Nesta made hot chocolate. And none of us are having nightmares these days.” 

“And you’re still sleepy.” Lucien eased into the conversation. Azriel wondered if last night’s dinner had increased the familiarity between him and the sisters. 

“It’s winter.” She pouted. Azriel would have a heart attack any time soon if she remained that adorable. “I’d rather be in bed than anywhere else.” 

“We’re to leave soon. I hope you haven’t forgotten.” Lucien reminded. They were going to leave this afternoon. The Day Court was the first destination. 

“I remember.” And she was going to leave thinking he’d rejected her. But she was just too pretty for him to stay in her presence and remain sane. 

Azriel took a step forward and she immediately glared at him and then turned to Rhys. “I need to freshen up. Meet you later?”

“We’ll meet you after breakfast.” Rhysand assured. 

****

Azriel, being his calm, stoic self with no ability to communicate the deepest of his feelings, watched quietly as Nyra and her sisters left with Lucien. She spared him a withering glance before the party winnowed away. 

Once they left, the shadows began screaming. You better write to her, you stupid male. 

Beg for her forgiveness. 

You’re a grown adult. Miscommunication at this age is disgusting. For a Spymaster, he had fucked up in communicating vital information to his mate. 

Get your shit together before someone else sweeps her away. 

There’s no shortage of males or females who’d want her attention and affection. 

They wouldn’t shut up. They kept on screaming and yelling so much that he winnowed away to his mother’s house for comfort, knowing they’d behave around her. 

****

Two years later. 

Azriel knew he had fucked up. He was the one who’d proposed the idea of writing and he was also the one who’d stopped correspondence. 

Despite Nyra being upset with him, they’d written to each other and then there was a mission that lasted too long. 

He assumed that a pause warranted an explanation but his draft letters were unsatisfactory and he ended up not sending a letter or replying to hers. He even disappeared when she visited. 

It had been nearly four months since they stopped corresponding and two years since she’d left Velaris. 

Azriel couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live without seeing her, or talking to her, or feeling her. He wanted to lose his senses to her. 

He was also scared. 

Because she was his equal and identical in one particular aspect—they did not forgive or forget as evinced by how she’d killed her mother. And this much might have been enough for her to consider him a traitor. 

And with fear and need, he finally showed up at the Archeron residence with her favourite cheesecake. 

****

The living room of the manor was a scene from a horror novel. Probably because Nesta was glaring at Azriel from the armchair she had seated herself on. 

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. He’d been so afraid of Nyra’s reaction that he’d forgotten that Nesta Archeron was a terrifying female. 

“I hope you’ve made arrangements for your funeral.” She was frosty one moment and then gave him an overly cheerful smile. “I’m looking forward to that.” 

Nesta was really looking forward to his death. Surely, Nyra was not that harsh. Right? 

The door opened loudly and Nyra marched in, eager and bright as she called her twin. “Nesta, there’s. . .” 

She was radiant in silver, he wanted to kneel and beg for everything. 

His heartbeat felt heavy, the organ ready to break through his ribs. His mouth parted and throat dried and he did not say anything. He had no words no matter how many times he’d rehearsed his apology. 

And then Nyra noticed Azriel, who stood up instantly. He was nervous and anxious and so many things but she simply dismissed his existence and started talking to Nesta about a new novel. 

The twins chatted for not more than two minutes before promising to resume the conversation later. Nyra turned on her heel and headed towards the door when her name escaped his lips. 

“Who are you?” She sounded like she’d met an unpleasant creature and she’d rather be anywhere else. 

The shadowsinger flinched. “It’s me. Azriel.”

“Come to think of it. I knew someone by that name.” Thunder roared outside. “That Azriel who did not write for four months?” 

“I-”

“Or was it that Azriel who did not bother showing his face for the past year?” Oh, she was so gloriously merciless. 

“Nyra. .”

“I thought he was dead.” She smiled so sweetly and Azriel heard Nesta snort. “Since he did not visit or write.”

“I’m alive, Nyra.” He moved closer.

“Shall I rectify that?” Lightning crackled at her fingertips as she raised her hand. 

“Please. .” It was foolish to avoid our precious mistress. 

She spared him nothing before walking away. Azriel followed her. “Nyra. Please. Just listen to me.” 

Nyra simply walked as if he didn’t exist and entered her room. He followed and caught her wrist. When she turned back, Azriel was greeted with indifference. 

“I had a mission that lasted a month and I wrote letters and never sent them because I didn’t think any of them was adequate enough reply and by the time I wrote a decent letter, five months had passed and I’d already heard that you were furious and I-ow!” 

Nyra smacked his arm, interrupting his rant. “What’s the point of writing letters if you can’t be bothered to send them?” 

Azriel took a step back in response to her advancing towards him. He moved around the bed only to be chased after. She was furious. “You could’ve just visited.” 

“I had another mission.” 

“That’s what letters are for.” She grabbed a bottle of something and threw it at him. The shadows caught it and gently set it down where it was. “No, don’t protect him.” She took a pen. “Let him feel everything.” 

“Nyra, please.”

“You fucking idiot!” The pen hit him. He caught the empty vase. Clearly, the shadows were siding with her. And then she grabbed a dagger. “You and your stupidity warrants everything I throw at you.” Exactly!

“Sweetheart, that’s a dagger.” Azriel only processed the sound of the weapon landing on the wooden column behind him. His wings dropped. 

“You repeat this again and I won’t miss.” Gods, she was so beautiful—all feral and angry at him. At him. 

Oh, this marvellous female. 

He wanted to drown in her.

And she picked up a sword. Where did she even get that from? We gave it to her. 

“Nyra.” And his every call of her name was a prayer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” The apology did not have the intended effect. Lightning coursed from her palm to the sword. “How dare you throw your flimsy apologies at me after no contact for months?” 

“I know. Let me-”

“Months. Months! And you think you deserve to be pardoned?” Thunder roared like a chained beast demanding freedom.

“My drafts were not good enough.” 

“I did not want perfection from your letters, I wanted you.” Nyra threw the sword away and looked around for something else to throw at him. “I wanted to know if you were alive, breathing, healthy, and you delivered nothing.” She removed her slipper and aimed for his face. Azriel dodged it in time. 

And she stopped pacing around, stopped picking up things. Nyra simply stopped and Azriel travelled through the shadows in front of her and took her in his arms. 

“You were worried about me?” Azriel asked while praying silently.

Nyra struggled against his grip. “How dare you question that? You absolute-”

“I won’t. I won’t. I swear I won’t.” He hugged her tighter. Nyra began to relax. The shadows gently pried the sword from her hand. 

Azriel picked her up and deposited her on the table. He let go of her but his hands remained on either side of her, supporting himself and cornering her so she wouldn’t escape. 

Azriel leaned forward and brushed their noses against each other. 

A soft feeling came to life. 

The same as what bloomed back when they’d shared a moment before Azriel departed for the High Lords’ Meet two years ago. Before Nyra left Velaris.

The scales began leaning towards balance as Azriel and Nyra breathed against each other. 

Desire renewed itself and buried affections began sprouting. 

Azriel saw her eyelashes and her cheeks glowing golden under the lights. She was breathing heavily after her outburst as she watched her hands play with a strap on his leathers. And he was desperate to meet her gaze. 

He placed his hand on her shoulder and let the thumb graze her collarbone. The hand ascended to her neck and stayed there while his thumb traced her chin and pushed it upward so that she would look at him. Midnight blue greeted him gently. 

“Inconsiderate ass.” She mumbled. The warmth was returning to her and Azriel was relieved. 

The shadows carefully floated over to her and one brave tendril tugged at her finger. She looked at it and turned her hand to show her palm as a sign of her consent. More shadows appeared. The remaining ones slowly brought to her many crumpled papers, all of it raining in the room. 

All the drafts master wrote for you. 

And for the first time, Nyra looked at the shadows in shock. Because she could hear them. 

“These are his drafts?” She slowly looked around her.

Yes, drafts from the very first letter he wrote to you. He thought we threw it away but we saved. . . You can hear us? 

“Yes.” She replied. And she heard them cheering like a little band of children. 

And in the middle of it all stood Azriel, surprised that she could hear them. 

Could you try to speak to us from your mind? That’s how our tactless master communicates with us? They sounded all too eager to talk to Nyra.

Like this? And when Nyra succeeded, they cheered again. She smiled at the dark wisps as they gently pushed her towards the dining table. 

We’ve got cheesecake for you, mistress. And from a pocket of shadows, the cheesecake Azriel had purchased earlier appeared. 

Thank you. She was happy. 

I was the one who bought it. Azriel deadpanned. 

Azriel? Nyra’s voice in his mind had him flustered. 

We apologise on behalf of our master. He can be an idiot at times. The shadows easily intervened. 

Azriel immediately raised his mental shields before contemplating. The mating bond now seemed stronger. Did that have anything to do with Nyra being able to hear the shadows? 

Yes. He’s an idiot. Nyra replied dryly. What have you lot been up to? Surely not brooding by his side. She was utterly happy while addressing the shadows. 

We missed you. Azriel was convinced the bastards were trying to flirt with her. And our master was the only one brooding because he was too afraid to send you letters. 

Your master is an established idiot. 

That he is. The woe to belong to someone as grumpy as he. The shadows had now begun bitching about him, right under his nose. He’s insufferable when he writes letters to you, mistress. His attention to detail is agonising. 

“Why are you troubling them?” She watched him with an easy smile but his gaze had changed. It was heated and all the lightheartedness thawed, making room for something heavier. 

“May I?” His voice was deeper than it usually was and Azriel was obviously looking at her lips. Nyra wanted this. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted this two years ago and even now. How had things not changed?

“Yes.” Her consent was probably the most commemorative thing that had ever happened in his life. Azriel brought his other hand down from her neck which pulled her closer by the hip. 

Their lips were close. Still so close and still not touching. So when Nyra leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss, leaned back, and looked up at him intently, Azriel moved and devoured her.  

Nyra loved his mouth on hers, his hand on the back of her neck. Absolutely enjoyed him taking control and demanding every bit of her. 

Her head leaned back and even further and Azriel grabbed it before it hit the wall. When he moved a little away from her, leaving her gasping after their kiss, Azriel looked like he had every intention to make her moan. 

“What. . .” She rasped, hauling air inside her like he was. 

“Hold on to me.” Because he was not going to accept her grabbing anything other than him—not the table, not the sheets, it had to be him. 

Her hands wrapped themselves around his neck, fingers combing his hair, nails grazing his scalp inducing a soothing sensation. “Good girl.” 

His mouth moved to her jaw and descended to her neck, sucking harshly. She had such supple skin, he never wanted to take his mouth off her. 

“Beautiful.” He looked up at her. She was flushed and breathless. Her hair messier than before, the straps of her gown removed from her shoulder, two purple marks on her neck and collarbone. And the sight of her hurt so deliciously. 

“Tell me I can touch you more.” Azriel was begging now. “Tell me I can undress you.” 

Nyra might’ve fainted right then. Or maybe she wanted him to make her faint. The shadows were too much. Felt too good with their fluttery touches. 

She’d had sex before but . . what was this? This was new. 

Was it because he was her friend? 

Because she already found him attractive? 

Because she’d already been half way in love with him? 

“Yes.” Her hand cupping his jaw moved and she touched his lips with her thumb. Nyra leaned in and kissed him, relishing in the slow start and their passionate progress.

Her skirts were now a bother, forming layers  between them. And her slippers, why were they not off? One of them was stubbornly dangling off her feet. And then she felt the cool touch of the shadows remove her slippers and slide up her legs. 

“Do the shadows. . .” She broke the kiss and looked up at him. “Do they always participate?”

“They are?” He looked dumbfounded. 

“They’re teasing my legs.” 

Azriel spared the dark tendrils a glance, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a first.” He mumbled to himself. 

Nyra did not understand why this new piece of information made her feel special. And she moaned, head leaning back and closing her eyes. They’d pinched her inner thigh. And Azriel eagerly bit her neck. 

Her breathing was already heavy and stuttered. And Nyra wanted to fall, so down. But Azriel squeezed her waist. She opened her eyes to see this beautiful male starving for her, waiting to feast. 

“Bed?” Nyra nodded quickly. He scooped her up, hoping he’d last long enough to give her pleasure. 

It had been quite some time since he last had sex. Nearly fifty two years. Forty nine something years busy worrying about Rhys and plotting to get him back and around two years since the mating bond. 

Restrain me if I’m too rough. Obey her without question or complaint. Because if he was going to do this, he had to ensure a safeguard for her. 

Yes, master. The shadows solemnly vowed. 

This was everything he wanted. Nyra in his arms and his mouth on her. And he would burst because this female was indescribably endearing. Her hand came to his shoulders and then on his chest. 

“Off.” She whispered against his lips. “Take it off.” 

Azriel tapped a siphon and the leathers on his upper body dematerialised. He removed his siphon-attached gloves and let the shadows set them down. He felt his boots unbuckle as the shadows helped him out of it. 

Nyra felt the cotton of her sheets on her palms as she was set down by the side of the bed. Azriel leaned back and stood straight. Impatient at his own shadows for taking long, he yanked the boots from his legs and threw them away. 

Meanwhile, Nyra gathered her hair and brought it forward from one side. The shadows immediately swarmed over to unzip the dress and pulled it down, helping her out of it. 

Azriel felt tortured at heaven’s doorstep. Nyra in black made him want to kneel. 

His hands went to his belt and unbuckled it with speed and ease. Unbuttoning his pants and letting the shadows pull them down immediately while he moved closer. His undershorts remained. 

“Are you sure?” He placed a hand on her cheek. 

Nyra was looking at him, his body. She placed a hand on his chest, on the scar left behind by Jurian’s spear. A reminder of the day her sisters were Made into fae. She stood up and kissed the scar. 

She looked up at him coyly. “Do I need to write a letter that you might not answer?” 

Azriel raised his hand to the back of her throat and ascended to tangle his fingers on her hair. Azriel pulled her soft, thick hair and her gasps were beautiful. 

“I’ll write you as many letters as you want. For now, I’d show you all that cannot be written.” 

Nyra smiled, amused at that. “There are smutty books. Many things are written in those.” 

Azriel smiled faintly. “Not for us.” He kissed her ear. “We’re real.” He whispered. 

Nyra’s knees weakened. And she sat on the bed as if she’d been dropped. And he was on his knees, parting her legs. 

She leaned back, supporting her body with her elbows and watched his kiss and lick and suck her thighs. 

She felt herself become more sensitive as each second passed. Her back felt the cold of the sheets. Goosebumps were all over her hands and upper body. Her legs were warm and wherever Azriel placed his mouth, Nyra felt heat. 

And she could feel her damp underwear sticking to her. “Stop teasing.” 

“Patience is a virtue.” He was so close. He kissed her inner thigh. Azriel had half a mind to rest his head against that incredibly soft thigh. Maybe he’d finally get some good sleep. 

“I’m not feeling particularly virtuous right now.” To know that she desired him brought him peace and then his own desire rattled that peace.

“As if I’m any better.” Azriel chuckled faintly. And he bit her inner thigh once, pulled the fabric of her underwear aside and licked. 

Nyra wanted to breathe. She really did. But Azriel was gently licking her as if he were savouring her taste. It was the first time but she would probably cry or scream if he kept on teasing her anymore. 

Heat filled her as she met his gaze. Breathing had become a legitimate task because she couldn’t seem to do it unconsciously.

His hands which remained on her inner thighs moved. He now held her thighs from below and lifted it. With no difficulty, he’d placed her legs on his shoulders. 

The shadows snipped her panties and disposed of it, leaving behind their cool touch. And Azriel whispered. “Lie down, Nyra. And take all of me.”

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot @rcarbo1 @i-am-infinite @latinxbipride @moni-cah @fantanbietsson @julsgrace @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @byunniebaekhyunnie @fhgsvbnh @halo-mystic

[ofmermaidstories]

So on Good Friday I had drafted up a little post just—I dunno. It started off with me talking about my lunch (broiche toast with peanut butter, some slices of overpriced smoked cheddar and a pottle of cherry tomatoes that i’d halved and dressed with wholegrain mustard, salt and pepper and sesame oil), because i enjoyed it, and then because i had been thinking about it, i had mentioned how Australian grocery prices have climbed well above the global average.

I mentioned some of my favourite people to follow, on tiktok! Food accounts—the woman who does the Dollar Store budget videos, where she plans out meals around limited money, or accessibility. The young mum who’s videos are just her making lunch/dinner for her four little kids. The Palestinian man who used to review resturants and dishes before the war on Gaza—and who, before Tiktok took down the videos, had started posting himself making dishes from aid rations. In the end I just saved the post to my drafts because—there was no real point to the post, not really, beyond how unfair it is that food is swiftly becoming a luxury and how it shouldn’t be, for any of us, anywhere. Not us here in Australia with our 54% on average price increases, nor for American families that have to shop at Dollar Tree with their last $30 for the next two weeks.

And definitely not for the citizens of Gaza.

Israel is manufacturing a famine within Gaza’s borders. And just today, they murdered via airstrike a carload of World Central Kitchen aid workers. Seven in total, six foreign nationals and one Palestinian local. No aid organisation can operate within Gaza’s boarders without reporting their travel plans to the Israeli Invading Force. Their car was branded with the organisations logo. Israel has some of the best surveillance technology in the world—it is often the testing ground for the hot new stuff that then gets sold to the rest of our governments. Israeli knew who was in that car. And they targeted them anyway. And now because of their actions, the WCK is now “pausing (their) operations”. And who can blame them? Knowing that if you stay, you’re just putting more lives at risk—but it means how many less meals, now, less food for the Palestinians still there? All of our countries are cowards. The Australian government won’t even name Israel in its condemnation today, of the attack. The Australian government has let our only two real supermarket chains—Coles and Woolworths—create a duopoly where they can charge the public however much they want. We can’t help ourselves and we refuse to help other people—so what good are we, as a country? The boomers and the ignorant on facebook are too busy frothing at the mouth over the imaginary millionaire immigrants who come to Australia in boats and buy houses by the dozens, per family. So many of our problems—here in Australia, globally—would be solved if the majority of us realised the real enemy isn’t a people bomb-locked on their own land, or the refugees that make it here, or even each other but instead our own fucking governments, and the bastard corporations that are gripping them by the balls. I’m grateful for every meal I get to sit down to. But I would enjoy it a lot more if it were easier for all of us to eat—or if it were a CEO or politician or two on the plate itself.

[angelsdevils]

October 1, 2024 - Kakucho Hitto (TR)

A/N: Re-Written to fit the theme of halloweenlmao. Tokyo Revengers Warning: Obsessive behavior, supernatural elements, murder mentions, psychological horror

Tag List: @reiners-milkbiddies @thisbicc @bontensbabygirl @useless-potatho 

At first you thought you were going crazy — there was a shadow in your peripheral vision, the cold draft on a still night. No one would be that interested with you, right? Wrong. He wasn’t just stalking you — he was haunting you, a figure that followed your every step, protecting you in ways you never asked for.

But on October 1, 2024, it all became clear. You had returned to your home after a very long shift. Your boss made you work a double only one break. You were soaked to the bone from the sudden down pour. As you stepped into your house, a wave of warm air and the scent of your favorite meal hit you. It was comforting at first, but then red alarms went off in your head. You lived alone. No family. No friends. No one to cook you a meal. Lightening flashed outside of the windows, casting a twisted shadows on the floor. On the stove sat a pot of chili, still warm, and beside it was a note. 

“I know you had a hard day. I made you chili, don’t worry it’s safe to eat. Rest well, love. <3 – Yours Always. 

A chill ran down your spine, and you checked every room in the house, but there was no sign of an intruder — no sign of forced entry either. Just the presence of something dark. You felt a pair of eyes on you the entire time, but no one was there. 

What made you realize you probably needed psychological help though wasn’t because of fear. For some reason, you felt safe and comforted. You went to reach for your phone to call the police, but a message buzzed across your screen: 

Unknown: Don’t call the cops. I won’t hurt you. I’m here because I care for you. I love you. 

You: Who are you? What do you want from me? 

Your hands trembled holding your phone, falling into a chair in the kitchen. 

Unknown: Just a man in love with you, Someone who wants to protect you. I can’t reveal myself, once I do, you’ll never be free from me. 

You: Reveal yourself. 

No reply came that night, but the next day you woke up, something had shifted. You walked out of your bedroom after getting ready for work. You went to the kitchen to grab your keys but you froze. You found a bouquet of flowers on the counter, and inside the flowers was another note, and a black card. You know the card that has no limit? Yeah that was there and in it was engraved your name in gold lettering. You picked up the note and read it.

“Don’t worry about work. Your boss won’t be a problem anymore. I’ll take care of you from now on, my love.” 

Fear swirled in the pit of your stomach, and you had a strong urge to turn on the news. So you rushed to your living room, and turned it on. The news headline scream: Local Man Found Dead in an Office Fire — Foul Play Suspected. Your phone buzzed again, and you shakily opened the message.

Unknown: Don’t be sad. I don’t mean to scare you, But he confessed that he was going to hurt you. Now, he can’t. I won’t let anyone harm you.

You took in a deep breath, you didn’t know how to respond. You just stared at the message, tears falling from your eyes. You looked back at the new, quickly turning it off unable to stomach such a thing knowing he died because of you. Your fingers finally moved across the screen.

You: Why? Why would you do this to my job? To my boss? You say he was gonna hurt me but… why?

Unknown: I can’t tell you exactly what he planned to do with you, just know I have access to the black market, and I saw something I didn’t like. No one will hurt the girl that I love. No one. 

You dropped your phone, burying your face into your hands sobbing quietly. You were terrified even though deep down you felt safe around him, he still did something terrible what if one day he turns on you and severely hurt you?

You: How can you love someone you have never met before? 

Unknown: We do know each other, we have known each other for a long time, since we were kids. 

You: When…. can I meet you? I think I deserve who is doing all of these things. 

Unknown: That’s not a good idea, you will never see me the same as you do. But if you really want too, I can reveal myself. But as I said before, you will be mine completely. 

You: Can I atleast know your name?

Unknown: The rules are still the same… are you sure?

You hesitated, if he told you his name or revealed himself, that meant you would be his and only his. That terrified you, but you had to know. 

You: Yes. 

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, it was comforting kind of. A cold breath hit the back of your neck. Slowly, you turned around, your heart was pounding in your chest. Standing directly behind your couch was Kakucho. You were raised in the same orphanage as him. Shadows stretched out on the floor, his dual color eyes stared at you one red and one white. He had a grin on his face it was sharp. 

The house lights flickered off, all at once and a candle lit on its own. Your head snapped to the candle before going back to Kakucho. 

His shadows wrapped around your ankles and you gasped as they brought you to him. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly. He buried his face into your neck, taking a deep breath.

“You smell so good, you always did. Like caramel apples. Like… home.” He whispered against your skin.

“Kakucho?” You whispered. But he wasn’t the same person you knew, he wasn’t even human. He had horns on his head, and the shadows wrapped around you like a warm embrace. 

He stepped further into the room, with you in his arms. The candle light flickered crossed his tanned skin, his clothes was streaked with blood. You could see the outline of something monstrous beneath his human form. 

“You have always belonged to me, I was just simply making it seemed like you had a choice.” His voice was softer then the winds outside. “I have been watching you since we separated and I joined Bonten. It was the only way to protect you from a fate worse than you could imagine. From things that were worse then me.”

“You aren’t human anymore…”

“I was never human,” he said. Your breath hitched and his blood hands brushed against your cheek. His touch was freezing cold. You couldn’t help but flinch. “I killed him for you,” he said, referring to your boss. He leaned down, and pressed his lips against yours. “He was going to do terrible things to you… I couldn’t let that happen.”

“What are you, Kakucho?” 

He gave you a small smile, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I am not alive or dead. Just a monster, that was sent to seek havoc on this world, but after meeting you when we were kids, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything to harm you. The closer we got, we became bound together. No matter where you go, where you hide, I will find you. We are stuck together, like the red string of fate. Except this is something much darker. 

He pressed his lips against yours once more, and suddenly you felt exhausted. His cold lips lingered as you faded into a darkness and fell into his arms.

“I love you dear, you will be okay. I promise.”

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners. 

[crazymcwritesalot]

Trick or treat!

Nice costume my child 🤶. Let's see what I could give you, something special...

Ha, here! What follows is the first idea I had for Elysandra's secret Santa last year. I toyed with the idea of an AU taking place in a dystopian Gothic town. Kate is a burglar, Helen a merciless assassin and Nikola a vampire. Here it goes, I hope you enjoy this weird draft (unedited) :

The night was perfect. Dark and foggy with a side of drizzle, which insured that no one would spot the shadow gliding effortlessly up the razzle-dazzle facade from the street below. The owner of the manor had gone all out with gargoyles and marble flourishes, which made it both outrageously tacky and a ridiculously easy target for a burglar of Kate Freelander’s caliber.

The windows of the three first floors of the building were burglar-proofed. However, the owner of the manor must have run out of money before the completion of the building, or -and Kate thought- lost the last thread of common sense. For, the last floor stood like an open invitation: big windows, no bars, easy climbing access thanks to the hideous adornments disfiguring what would have been a top notch facade, and at least one side of the building was slightly kept in the shadows from the city gas lamps.

Kate’s mission was to be easy and fast, and, as she was dragging herself up the window sill -one more sign the owner was an absolute idiot, window sill, in a city where nearly a quarter of inhabitants earned their living committing crime- she was dreaming about the pint of ale waiting for her at her usual late night drinking spot.

She did, however, think it odd to find the window open. Not open open, but pushed closed yet unlocked. That didn’t deflate her confidence in the slightest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”.

Kate tightened her grip on the bottle, ready to use it as a weapon should the intruder bear ill intent, and turned around, her hands held out in surrender.

In her line of work, crossing paths with the competition wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and things could go sour very quickly,

She surely did not expect to come face to face with an assassin.

“He’s had so many visitors of your kind that he resorted to leaving the window open to cut off on glass replacement costs.”

“Eddison sent you.”

“How d’you know?”

“You’re his type. Let me guess. He contracted you to steal Nikola’s blueprints, paid you twenty five percent of the total price in advance, securing the deal. I’ll save you time: you won’t find any schematic. They only exist in Tesla’s mind. Which is why your boss has not yet dared place a kill contract on his head.”

“Why would he pay me to steal documents that he knows don’t exist?”

[mehoymalloy]

"I don't need to see her."

While working on the Let Me Sequel recently, I came across the initial draft from a whole ass year ago! Back then, I basically kicked the Circlet of the Hidden Eye to the curb immediately, since it felt like too much of a barrier to the telepathic connection this whole wacky concept is based upon.

However, the circlet will very much be sticking around!

So here, have the original draft of how Imogen and Otohan's confrontation goes down during that really hot moment from episode 51, "The Apogee Solstice," when Imogen, clarifying that yes, she does in fact want to attack Otohan as she's walking away, says "I don't need to see her, she just needs to be within 120 feet of me." (Very much modeled after this gen one-shot: Don't Think, Don't Blink)

-

Imogen and Laudna worked to destroy the power source before them as efficiently and quietly as possible while Orym stood guard, peeking around the curve of the tunnel wall to keep an eye on the entrance. Outside, FCG stood guard between two nearby tunnels, ready to aid either group if the need arose. While they normally wouldn’t split up, being crammed into a robot in such an enclosed space felt uniquely dangerous, so they decided to risk it, hoping to cover more ground if each group could find multiple power sources. Imogen and Laudna lucked out; she could only hope Fearne, Ashton, and Chetney had as well.

There was a sudden tug at her mind—a request for permission Imogen was still getting used to accounting for and granting on behalf of the circlet. As soon as she consented, FCG’s voice filled her mind, oddly robotic—even for them—in its urgency. Only one word was spoken: DANGER.

Imogen didn’t even think before she acted. She knew exactly who was coming, and she lashed out immediately, defensive and protective and furious. “Otohan,” she growled under her breath, reaching for the tether and granting temporary one-way access. Before she could possibly consider the consequences, Imogen unleashed an attack she hadn’t realized was crackling just beneath the surface of her skin, straining to escape her mind and race across the bond to the woman on the other side of it.

“Imogen,” Laudna breathed beside her, voice small and shocked, though it was immediately lost in the cacophony of two explosions, one after another, somewhere out in the pit. Imogen’s gaze darted between Laudna and Orym, now staring at Imogen with wide eyes, a silent ‘what did you do?’ plainly obvious in his expression regardless of the circlet.

Imogen abruptly turned and grabbed Laudna’s shoulders, casting Invisibility on her as she steered her toward the wall opposite the sparking power source. “Up on the ceiling, now,” she whispered frantically.

“Orym, hide,” she instructed, sparing him a glance to see him darting toward a wall of nearby crates.

“Imogen, what–”

Imogen turned her gaze back to the empty space in front of her, squeezing Laudna’s shoulders as she stared at the wall opposite her pleadingly. “Now, Laudna,” she hissed, giving her a gentle push toward the wall. When Imogen released her shoulders, she could only hope Laudna obeyed.

When she glanced back toward the crates, Orym was already out of sight, and she inhaled shakily as she reached back out to FCG. ‘Tell the others to get back to you now; I’ll distract Thull.’

Alone? But what if she–

‘She won’t,’ Imogen forcibly cut off the connection between them, unwilling to risk Otohan somehow finding the others through it. She squared her shoulders as she took a large step away from the power source, wary of its erratic sparking and the glyph on the ground beside it. Imogen spared a final glance up to the ceiling, where a small puff of dust and grit dissipated into the air. A tiny pebble fell and bounced off her shoulder—Laudna was directly above her, which felt far too close for comfort, but it was too late now. Stupid, stupid, stupid; what had she even been thinking–

Her self-deprecation was abruptly interrupted.

“Imogen,” Otohan practically purred as she rounded the corner, voice infuriatingly pleasant, as if she were greeting an old friend. “It’s been a while; good to see you.”

For a split second, Imogen was confused, as memories of their many previous encounters—as well as the last one—flashed behind her eyes. These had all been in Imogen’s dreams though. In reality, Imogen hadn’t seen Otohan in the flesh since the battle at Bassuras, when she had slaughtered over half of Imogen’s friends. The realization was strangely jarring, though Imogen kept her expression carefully neutral.

“Otohan,” Imogen ground out, twisting her mouth into a grim snarl, practically baring her teeth. “I’m 'fraid I can’t say the same.”

There was a flash of that disconcerting, almost playful glimmer in Otohan’s eye, and Imogen hated that she could even recognize it. Otohan flicked her wrist, and Imogen tensed, prepared to resist a telekinetic pull or shove—whether toward Otohan herself or the nearby glyph. Consequently, it took her a moment too long to realize her limbs felt locked up, not because she was bracing herself, but because Otohan was intentionally holding her in place. Where she expected cold to pierce her mind, it instead draped over her like a second skin, a layer of subtle chills. And then Otohan was already standing before her, reaching out.

“Don’t move,” Imogen barked, and she silently hoped that Laudna and Orym understood she was talking to them.

Surprisingly, Otohan did hesitate. Her hand hovered a few inches from Imogen’s waist, fingers twitching like she was itching to grab hold. Otohan pinned her with a scrutinizing gaze, one brow arched in silent deliberation, before she almost lazily waved her hand and released her hold.

That layer of frost suddenly melted away, ice water trickling over Imogen’s frame and causing a shudder to rip down her spine. Imogen remained tense, working her jaw as she debated what to say to keep Otohan here even a moment longer as the commotion outside began to die down. However, Otohan quickly divested Imogen of the obligation in the worst possible way.

“Where’s your favorite?” she murmured, that spark of playful cruelty practically dancing in her gaze.

Anger abruptly boiled up inside Imogen, and she drew herself up, ready to lash out, lightning sparking against her fingertips. Then Otohan broke their stare, pointedly raising her gaze to the ceiling directly above them, her line of sight surely only visible to Imogen.

Imogen’s fury instantly vanished as her heart leapt into her throat, choking any retort that was raring to to fly from her lips. { Her heartbeat roared in her ears, so loud and strong that Otohan could surely hear it—maybe even see the pulse of it, thrumming wildly just beneath the skin of her neck. }

Otohan lowered her gaze back to Imogen, dark eyes glimmering with amusement even as they seemed to swallow the flickering torchlight. Imogen held her gaze, and Otohan’s smirk widened into a wolfish grin as Imogen swallowed thickly, desperately trying to keep her expression neutral even as Otohan’s eyes plainly traced the cords of muscle and tendons in her neck as they worked. At least the circlet prevented her frenzied thoughts from giving her away.

Imogen knew Otohan couldn’t hear her thoughts, and yet her eyes abruptly honed in on the circlet, barely peeking out from beneath Imogen’s crimson hood. That nearly-manic grin instantly fell, playfulness quickly doused as her eyes darkened with intense scrutiny once more. The sudden change put Imogen even further on edge, hackles raised as Otohan fixed her gaze on Imogen’s.

“So that’s why I can’t feel you,” she said softly, though her gaze remained sharp, even as the slightest smirk curled across her lips once more. “Though I’d recognize your particular brand of pain anywhere.”

Imogen’s scowl only deepened, but before she could say anything, Otohan forged on. She leaned closer, infringing on her space, and Imogen resisted the urge to step back, holding her breath as she watched Otohan’s gaze flick over Imogen’s face before unabashedly lingering on her lips. { Surely she wouldn’t… }

Just as Imogen prepared to telekinetically shove Otohan away from her, Otohan struck first. Imogen was too busy staring apprehensively at Otohan’s face to catch sight of her arm suddenly slinking around Imogen’s waist. She held firm and pivoted on the spot, taking a step forward, forcing Imogen to stumble in front of her—again leading a dance Imogen never agreed to participate in.

“Get your hands off me,” she hissed lowly as she grabbed hold of Otohan’s shoulders and subtly but firmly pushed, afraid Laudna might intervene if she saw her struggling.

Otohan only smirked as she abruptly { dipped Imogen forward every so slightly. } “Watch your step,” she murmured just as quietly with a disturbingly mischievous glimmer in her eye.

Imogen sucked in a sharp breath, turning her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the glyph, glowing softly scant centimeters from her heel. Imogen abruptly latched onto Otohan’s shoulders for balance, curling her fingers like talons into the leather of her armor. When Imogen met Otohan’s gaze with her own glare again, the other woman looked far too pleased. She dipped Imogen forward the slightest bit more, and Imogen hated how her breathing hitched as she automatically pressed closer to Otohan in an effort to stay away from the glyph.

Then Otohan slowly raised her hand to Imogen’s face, casting her gaze up to the ceiling—toward Laudna—and back to her, like she was daring Imogen to make any attempt to stop her.

Imogen held her tongue and Otohan’s gaze, keeping still as Otohan brought her hand to Imogen’s face. She lingered, skimming her fingertips along Imogen’s jaw, her cheek, her temple, before she finally removed the circlet, strangely gentle. Abruptly, dozens—maybe even hundreds—of voices flooded Imogen’s mind, and she winced as she struggled to shut them out. Just as suddenly, the tether between Imogen and Otohan came back to life. Imogen froze up as ice seemed to rapidly cover the expanse of her mind, momentarily drowning out all the noise, leaving only that horribly familiar chill. It shouldn’t have felt as soothing as it did.

Imperceptibly, so slight Imogen wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t so rigid, Otohan tightened her hold on Imogen, almost like she was holding her steady. Then she sneered at Imogen, lips twisted in disapproval. “You’ve let this trinket weaken you,” she muttered. “You’re better than this, Imogen.”

As she said this, she flicked the circlet over Imogen’s shoulder, where it tumbled to the ground directly behind her. There was a sudden flash of light, and Otohan actively drew Imogen closer, pressing their hips flush together as she held her away from the concentrated burst of magic. Imogen glanced behind her, heart deflating at the sight of dark pewter ash against the dusty carmine crag where delicate silver filigree had once been.

She hadn’t even had it for a full day. There was a flash of cold across the bond, not painful, merely Otohan demanding her attention. Imogen shivered as she felt Otohan touch her mind, practically caressing it. She got the silent impression that Otohan had missed this. She didn’t care about Imogen’s ‘weakness,’ she simply didn’t like being denied full access to Imogen. Just as soon as the errant observation flitted across her mind, Imogen gritted her teeth as that gentle chill turned sharp, so many shards of glass digging in, no doubt in retaliation.

‘Now who’s weak?’ Imogen snarled across the bond, ensuring it hurt, pleased when Otohan’s brows furrowed in discomfort.

Otohan abruptly gripped Imogen’s hip with her free hand, shifting like she might shove her into the glyph herself before just as suddenly tugging her back. Her thigh brushed against Imogen’s pelvis, and Imogen jumped slightly, eyes wide as a slow smirk curled across Otohan’s lips.

‘Don’t test me. Now,’—Otohan’s expression abruptly turned serious once more—‘I have more important obligations than dealing with your ilk, and I want you to witness what we’re doing here today. Stay out of my way. You, I may spare, but I offer your friends no such mercy.’

Abruptly, Otohan took a large step back, dragging Imogen with her in that stilted mockery of a dance, then released her entirely. Imogen quickly jerked out of arm’s reach, placing herself between Otohan and the crates Orym was hiding behind.

Otohan ran her gaze over Imogen again, like she was memorizing the sight as she squared her shoulders. “Keep out of my way, Imogen,” she said, though the true targets of her warning were made painfully clear when she looked over Imogen’s shoulder, eyes roving along the crates behind her before flitting up to the ceiling.

Then Otohan returned her gaze to Imogen, where it settled heavy on her. There was cold pressure, fingers skimming up her spine and weaving through the hair at the base of her skull. The tether pulled taut, curled around Otohan’s finger. ‘Don’t shut me out again.’

In their minds, her tone was softer that it ever was aloud—so soft it could almost be taken as a request rather than a demand. That strange softness aside, her voice still hurt as it pierced Imogen’s mind.

Then Otohan turned and strode toward the entrance.

[f-117-nighthawk]

How about we trade? You receive: playlist update. I receive: plot

What is UP buttercups it’s pride month and along with a fic that’s been in my drafts for LITERAL YEARS I bring you….

Playlist update.

Under the cut, because as usual this be Long

Two side notes: since, for complicated and somewhat stupid but out of my control reasons, I cannot access Apple Music at work, some of you have been treated on Spotify to the in progress versions of the playlists that usually only I see, not just the versioned ones I keep active. Surprise? 

Second, keep in mind if you see a repeated (or remixed) song, that means something. Sometimes it’s different than a simple “these take place at the same time” ;) you should also pay attention to similar lyrics, things about the same concept… there is a lot of thought put into these. 

An organizational note: there’s seven playlists now! They’re sort of ordered here to what they’re most closely linked to: the main one and Dystopian Fiction, Through Apocalypse Skies and Endless War, Filaments and For Who I Could Have Been, and Design Your Universe is… mostly by itself, except the times it’s not.

Dark Matter

I am Dark Matter, your road to ruin…

Your World Will Fail and Dark Matter are what they’ve always been: the beginning. the end. Everything. Nothing. 

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

Things got shifted around a bit here to accommodate some things that fit better in another playlist, but No Remorse No Regrets is still the key one here. It is Haggar, and sort of Zarkon, but also not. 

(It won’t remember so it won’t forget/It knows no justice or regrets for the blood it lets/Believing nothing, it knows no pain/And it feels no remorse when it enters your brain)

The End of the World and Apocalypse 1992 are the two halves of the Fall. More in that playlist :)

(Sold on a dream of a future serene/then why does it feel like the end of the world)

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of the Fall from the Blue Lion’s perspective (yeah, I said Red Lion last time, but this makes more sense. Trust me)

(Now we sleep/for a thousand years/something is coming/coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between the Fall and present day. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuranial War has been long lost, and the Devourer reigns once again, searching after Its missing part and the Burning Star. Zarkon and Haggar, under the Devourer’s… guidance…, scour the universe, adding to Its power. Marzin and Galraasa rise the ranks as the left and right hands of the Empire, omens of destruction before the might of the Empire. The ‘holy half dead’ that shape the devouring of the universe.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

Ensheath is about Kolivan, placed here due to its relevance as he is forced into the role of Fourth General under the worst circumstances, and everything that almost causes him to follow Raelos in losing faith, were it not for the first of his ‘radiant knight’s. (Side note, if you play Arknights, guess who Margaret Nearl is here?)

(I once had the fight of a radiant knight/before I learned that justice may never exist)

Immutable is about Krolia. It’s her thoughts as she joins the Blade, as she leaves Earth and Keith behind, as she makes her way through a universe changed in the ten thousand decaphoebs she was asleep. It’s about the universe passing one by, and what she’ll do to keep her hope safe. 

(She’ll risk it for the lives/She’s left behind/Hope’s on the rise/But she’s flying blind)

The Glory and the Scum is the reason Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Suffice to say, she isn’t happy with some of the fallout of the events that lead into Ensheath, and decides that if Kolivan isn’t going to listen to her, she’ll go save the universe somewhere else. She is, after all, a Paladin.

(Look at what we’ve done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We’re the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, and is the first of four fics connected to Closure by its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark), as well as its relation to MGHM. It’s half the source for the Pleiades symbolism that crops up throughout Dark Matter. 

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here is the sad part, where they’ve separated by the launch of the SFSS Genesis and the things that were said. It’s also Shiro’s thoughts from the war as he watches Earth from ‘distant skies’. 

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. Mostly the Red Lion, but also extendable to the others. 

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here. It’s a declaration of protection for the Earth, but also a recognition that they may not be able to do it themselves.  That is, of course, if they even get the message.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

It Has Begun is the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula (aka: Blackout)

(Even a well lit place, can hide salvation/A map to a one-man maze that never sees the sun/Where the lost are the heroes/And the thieves are left to drown…We will face the odds against us/And run into the fear we run from/It has begun)

And then it’s, of course, The End of the Beginning, it’s eponymous fic. And one of many, many connections to String Theory. 

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is, well, not so simple. Several ‘simple plan’s come together, from Lotor’s scheming, Haggar’s suspicions and own needs, Galraasa’s orders to go beyond, and Team Voltron struggling to fit into their new roles while also building the Coalition. And to top it all off, everyone needs one thing to make all this happen: marthuzitok. 

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Crown of Mine is at the very end of A Simple Plan, but also woven together. It’s about a Black Paladin who doesn’t think he deserves the title, and his eventual desire to ‘burn this crown’ he never wanted. This also makes ASP the second of the Closure fics. 

(I wish I could be the me that you see/But I’m too drawn to black and white/Don’t be confused, spare me the excuses/It’s not even worth the fight)

Outnumbered, Bringing it Down, and Wildfire are the Siege of Naxzela/Breaking of the Naxzela Line, the one major victory the Coalition manages to get before the Raid on Hell due to the success of Project Kuron. Oh, and remember that episode where Shiro tries to talk to Lance in the meld? Yeah that. Wildfire is specifically related to that one scene in String Theory where the real Shiro tries to help Voltron.

Why is it that songs from two different gachas ended up here with the same motif about breaking the clouds? I dunno, but it’s useful

(Outnumbered but we can’t back down/It’s us against the world, us against the world/Outnumbered but we can’t back down/Ten to one, on the run/We will still overcome)

(Devouring me/Devouring me alive/There’s something inside you that isn’t right/Something that haunts your dreams/There’s something that you have lost/And you’re bringing it down/You’re bringing it down, on top of us)

(Unsheath a sword to rend those clouds above the ground/wake up it’s time to gather now)

Shortly after is Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met, which Every Time Our Earth Shakes is the end of. Krolia content!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

(Surrounded by lonely, bruised, and broken love/I’ve seen it and I won’t be like everybody else/Wave after wave, no change in my faith/I’m here for you through high or low/And every time our Earth shakes, I’ll fight through the pain/I’ll die before I ever let you go)

Remember that line about dinosaurs in MGHM? Laser-shooting Dinosaur. I’ll leave it there. 

(Here I come/drop your jaws to the floor/I’m riding on my mighty shooting dinosaur)

Then, the aftermath of MGHM and Laser Shooting Dinosaur is Brothers of Crail, where Allura finally makes contact with Oriand. 

(A secret ancient brotherhood, with laser sword in hand/guardians of ancient technology from centuries gone by)

Legion features the Whispers, Voltron, a few mullets, the Druids making a dangerous mistake, and… does this thing count as a robeast?

(Fallen angels ripping through/The circuitry inside this suit/Of flesh and bone that’s overthrown/No matter how hard you try/They keep waring deep inside/Where there’s a star collapsing in your heart/There’s something in your eyes/That’s coming back to life)

And then, which you can finally read, TRIALS (reimagine), Wrathful Cerulean Flame, Fools of Damnation, String Theory, I Am the One, and Final Mission ~ Quantum Burst. Yes the last one is mostly here for the whole big fun mess in The Architect to Rule Your Fate :3

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I’m the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they’ll hear the violence/We’ll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(So follow me/And we’ll burn the clouds away/And we’ll burn the clouds away/Keep our demons all at bay/There will be an end someday/And I must lead the way)

(Fool, dance for me again/I am your destiny, mark my words/Don’t you ever disagree/Fool, kneel for me again/I am your agony, walk my way/I will never set you free)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the follow up to String Theory, dealing with the political fallout of having a spy in Voltron itself for decaphoebs, as well as the more personal struggles the Paladins go through in that fact’s wake. 

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade, which I'M POSTING RIGHT NOW! Is the klance shenanigans in the aftermath of House on Fire and finally resolving that little plot point about Lance’s reoccurring crush. 

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. And Pidge. And Matt. And Zaivorg cannons. 

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure inspired fic, and I cannot believe I have managed to give away so little of the plot so far so we’re gonna keep it that way. But it is, as all Closure fics, about Keith and his struggles with identity. 

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

Storm the Castle is very related to the next few, but wouldn’t have happened without Iron. It’s our Last Marmorait making a point. One that Zarkon isn’t happy with. 

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown/But we will not abandon her/…Rise now, stand and fight/Take your freedom, claim your right/Rise now, stand and sing/Storm the castle, kill the king)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. The first two are about Lotor more than anything else, and the very high level target the Coalition is after. Firewall is the same event, but focused on a very… specific thing. The Devourer is not happy, and things learned in the framing story of Through Apocalypse Skies and String Theory swing back with a vengeance. 

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

And then… The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t fully come into effect until several months after Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. The Burning Star rampages through the universe, taking back what is rightfully Its, but the Devourer Star won’t take that lying down. 

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here as a microcosm of everything that happens between Firewall and Soulbound as the Colation go after the warlords, culminating in Holding Out for a Hero as the Paladins, exhausted of war and going a little crazy from their string of victories, decide to have a little fun

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night/He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast/And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight)

Earthrise and But Tonight We Dance are the last Closure fic. They’re both very much klance songs, although BTWD is a little more than that. Earthrise is Lance mooning (hah), while BTWD is here to remind everyone that Keith is Very Aro. Also, Keith loses a fight with a rock.

Have I mentioned they need to stop having relationship milestones in a war zone?

(I still fall for you like suns do for skies/Cerulean pouring in from your eyes/Just a hollow moon that you colorize/So powerful, I feel so small but so alive/Like watching the Earthrise)

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we’ll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

Closure is placed here with the last of its fics. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development, coming to terms with his identity in many ways and accepting his place in the universe and amongst his family. So this last one is then bright light at the end of the chorus, with a ‘last goodbye’ meaning never having to say goodbye. 

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Alchemy and Soulbound swing us back to universe level action. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall slam themselves into a Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity in Disappear. 

(Synthesized and transformed/pathetic life form)

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

(Stone heart, paired with empty eyes/That stared right through mine)

Something Wicked is. Well. Too bad this song isn’t on the album Vessels. 

(When all of the forces/Have been overrun/You’ll whisper, serpent tongue/What you fear you have become/Something wicked this way comes…)

Shortly after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster than Light. Haggar decides enough is enough and goes after the final piece of her puzzle with [something wicked], sending the Blade into chaos and the Coalition scrambling. And this leads directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds than These. Together they are the second of two revelations into the truth behind the Devoured Star and Burned Star. 

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you’re just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting pieces of the gods.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Coldharbour, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. They also link directly to Soulbound, and are one hellish battle, which is a problem because they lead directly to…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(If you kill my flesh tomorrow/then I’ll take my final breath/it’ll turn into a last laugh/and I’ll lay in a silent death)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn) 

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World on Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, Game Ender, The Wind that Shapes the Land, and Louder than Words. :3

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(We will rise as one/Stop what has begun/Bringing down the main offender/If you hear me now/Scream the words out loud/We will be our own defender)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

Of course, we can’t leave without the denouement. World with no Sun is Haggar’s final thoughts at the end of Louder Than Words, while Diving Bell is the Paladins’. 

And a sequel hook. ;D

(I wish I could give it all back/But it’s tied to the moment that I took/I followed a most selfish path/Waiting on a world that can’t see me/Waiting on a world that can’t see me/Waiting on a world that wants no one/Waiting on a world with no sun)

(Wake me when the new day comes/Together we will ride the sun/The future is an empty gun/We fire onto them one-by-one)

Dystopian Fiction

The pages of our lives aren’t bulletproof…

Dark Matter is here as it always is, but it’s also about… something super spoilery. 

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

Waiting on the Sky to Change is Akane’s song. It’s about ‘The Necromancer’ and her drive to fix Earth, how she’s tired of sitting around waiting. It’s time to do something.

(I’m done running towards the eyes of tornadoes/pretending this is hope)

The Human Condition is the advent of the Éshkayklos and Cascade, who oppose Project Necromancer and everything it and its champion stand for. Infected then is the slow, uhm, infection of the Sol Federation with their ideas and some of the results of that.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

(Here’s a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don’t know/So she’s got to go now)

A Place I Thought I Knew is Earth, but especially Adam, in that tumultuous time after the Genesis disappears. 

(And here I remain/still crying out his name/I stand alone at the dawn of a new horizon)

Who Will Save You Now is Sam’s abrupt arrival back on Earth, and several things that follow from that. 

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Tunnelvision is Team Earth going “no, fuck you Sanda and Torrent, we need to tell people about the impending alien invasion”. It helps, but…

(You took me for a fly/And fancied yourself a spider in a web of little lies/What a nice surprise/When the curtain’s pulled back, you can see the whole trap inside/And now the emperor has got no clothes/What a lovely show/When your cover’s blown, you’ll never know/'Cause you can’t see past your nose)

Codebreaker and Cross the Line are the Éshk’s final offensive before things really hit the fan in:

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Leaving Earth and Help is on the Way are the common populace dealing with the effects of the previous song. More specifically, they’re Adam’s parents, and all the horrors they never wanted to see. Dystopian Fiction, in contrast and as the title track, is the Garrison, specifically everyone left at Levitt Base, struggling against the same effects. 

(We were told just to sit tight/cause somebody will soon arrive/help is on the way/but it never came)

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two songs of that big finale that make it over here, as they’re the ones that have bits that happen before This is a Call comes into full effect. 

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Through Apocalypse Skies

Chaos will triumph this day!

TAS starts off setting the stage for everything.  Not all of the five main members of the Daibaaltea-Taibderion Alliance have songs yet, but they will eventually. Holy Flaming Hammer of Unholy Cosmic Frost more sets the stage for everything broadly, about how the five of them fit together, and the trouble brewing under the surface. Hail to Crail is Altea, more specifically the Knights of Zhael. Questlords of Inverness, Ride to Galactic Fortress is the Dalteri, with focus on the flagship Invernes itself. Fellows of the Hammer is the Aberdéts, because, well, dwarves. And guess what’s back for the Galra: Remnants of Stars

The Taibdee will get one. Eventually.

(Behold the knights of Crail/atop the city walls/they swore a mighty oath to say/Dundee will never fall!)

(Here every day the warriors train/in the art of epic fights/riding on eagles, questing so true/a legion of powerful knights emblazoned cross the sky/hear the kingdom cry/hail to Crail!)

(Ride on the wind and hail to the king/when the questlords of Inverness ride)

(The new blood of the realm now/flows from the seven stars/and spoken by all of us/to be strong when the time comes/is the oath made by everyone)

(As children of space/with stardust in our veins/we will give in to know the truth/we are the remnants of stars)

Rigor Mortis is the Voltron Comet slamming into Daibazaal. The beginning of the end. Dark Matter rises from its open, frozen maw. 

(Hydrate in violence/the darkness that you see/awaken the virus/to spread your disease)

(Bring me your soul, bring me your hate/in my name you will create/bring me your fear, bring me your pain/you will destroy in my name)

The Promise is exactly what it sounds like: the first of the Harbingers making a deal with the devil. Alchemy and No Remorse, No Regrets are her experiments in this context, echoed throughout the other playlists. 

(It won’t cost you much, just a single drop of blood and I’ll hand you the things you have long been wishing for/ it’s an easy way to choose, what do you have to lose?)

(Drink me/you know I can guide you through oblivion/trust me/I know what’s inside you makes you bleed)

(Strange persuasion/clearing the way to the clearest path/dreams illuminating/parting the seas to take it back)

Summon the Choir is a success, from a certain point of view. 

(First blood from cosmic wonders/a dark flood of power from under)

Can You Hear It? is… well. Remember the Sinkline Comet?

(Can you hear it?/the tolls of madness ringing/do you fear it?/an ancient choir is singing/all consuming/calling to me/in a dream, it’s a thorn I can’t dig out/can’t you hear it too?/if you listen close now)

Unfortunately, all that leads right into The End of the World, the end of Daibazaal. All is quiet for a moment, like the happy little whistle at the beginning of the next song.

(Sold on a dream, of a future serene/then why does it feel like the end of the world?)

Then we record scratch into The Fall. She Will Weep is a dialogue between two siblings, unwilling to compromise on their ideals, even if they ultimately want the same thing: peace and stability for their recently displaced people. But the one who’s side god is on, who is crucified but still alive, escapes to Altea, bringing the horrors with her to the Battle of the Five Armies. (Yes, this is a LotR song, but also, guess what serves a very similar purpose to the arkenstone. I’ve been looking for a song explicitly about the arkenstone to stick in here, but haven’t found one. I’m surprised Wind Rose doesn’t have one tbh). Crack the Sky is… it’s not quite a literal crack in the sky, but it might as well be. All of this is Apocalypse 1992

(What used to be two loving hearts/what we felt at the start/somewhere down the barrel of a gun/it was all torn apart)

(Confounded, distracted/trapped by a stone of power/Ensorcelled, corrupted/await the final hour)

(I know that you hate me but I think that I can live with that/last man standing, last resort/I’d rather walk alone than save myself)

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/fight for the world we must save/like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/chaos will triumph this day)

But again, we can’t leave it without the denouement. Silent Tears of Frozen Princess, Ashes, and Apex are all the perspectives of survivors of the Fall, waiting, watching. Voltron will rise again.

(Frozen princess in this land of fears/your mighty kingdom has fallen/I see the glitter of your silent tears/afar in the wuthering dark)

(What will we do when the world it is ending/and time it is halted for friend and for foe/try to hold on to the time as it passes/I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

(Brother mountain, now we sleep/for a thousand years/I will see you again/something is coming/coming for me)

Endless War

‘Cause you’re fighting an endless war, hunting a miracle…

The beginning of Endless War is from one of the perspectives of She Will Weep, the other sibling than we follow during most of TAS. Dark Matter here intwines with I Am the One far, far earlier than the Paladins of the present time figure it out. That’s what happens when one stands directly next to two Harbingers throughout most of Apocalypse 1992. 

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

Ashes is a needed perspective of one sibling on another, the beginning of the Fifth General questioning her orders. Meanwhile, remember how I said Alchemy was an experiment of the Witch’s? 

(What will we do when the world it is ending/And time it is halted for friend and for foe?/Try to hold on to the time as it passes/I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

(Take the poisoned cup/you cannot hide behind golden shrines/you can be the one in crisis, give into your greed)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is the birth of the Fifth General of the Blade of Marmora, although no one calls her that yet. Raise Your Banner is her newfound resolve and her first steps to creating what will become the Blade. 

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Silver Moonlight is her ultimate goal, but not everyone agrees with it. Not everyone thinks it’s even possible, or that it still exists, or that this will be anything but an Endless War.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

Of course, the fact is that the Endless War does end. Alchemy’s effects are still strong, even as they fight Against the Tide. The Fifth General is betrayed on Holy Ground, with her final stand in I’d Rather Burn. 

(I finally get what you’ve been saying/now that we’re knee deep side by side/the storm clouds are circling above us/as we struggle against the tide)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

But even that isn’t enough. Empty Eyes and The Departure are [beeeeeeeeeeep]

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see through/Right through my empty eyes)

Filaments

Filaments is intimately connected to both the main playlist and the following one, and I’m doing my best to explain some things, but some you’ll have to wait and see. 

How long is the body beholden? How long ‘til we run out of road?

First Light is the dawn of something… a little different. Filaments is the title track, and I’m not going to say more than it’s connected to the same exact things First Light is.

(We can change our fate. We can change the future. We can change… the past)

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight and Carry Me Home are primarily adashi songs, but also follow the transition between the two playlists’ proper stories, as well as Shiro’s retirement from Voltron.

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

Prognosis is about record skips that only certain people can remember, and the decision that it’s time to back into The Breach. 

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

(Follow me/Follow me now once more into the breach/Can you see?/Can you see how this is the way to destiny?)

This next part is supposed to act similarly to the beginning of TAS. there is an overarching story, but there’s more specific songs for specific… well, Other Worlds Than These. Right now the only song here is Masters of Destiny though, which is also sort of an overarching thing and also sort of a single world. We’ll get there. Of course, as these things sort themselves out, Something Wicked this way comes.  

(In the end we cannot hide/there are other worlds than these)

(I used to be sure it’s me who sleeps/but can it be/somewhere there’s a life/that dreams of me?)

(And it clawed/Back in the world again/Here for a new revenge/An enemy I can’t condemn)

The Art of War is the beginning of the end, with Cascade finally showing his true colors, the Sol Federation not having a good time, and Voltron getting dragged into it. But the consequences…

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I’ve broken)

The Future is Now and Tresspasser sort of take place during The Art of War, sort of not. Team Voltron is trying to figure out where their Black Paladin is, why exactly all their sensors are so incredibly broken, and what’s up with Krolia. Meanwhile, Keith is in the middle of an argument with himself.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Where’s my heart?/I want to feel whole again or nothing at all/Where’s my soul?/Because I’m not myself)

Centigrade is Keith exposing a fraud, and Team Voltron [BEEEP], and Miserable Me is very related

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It’s time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future’s a lie from a past you cannot hide)

(history misunderstood this deity/miserable me!/oh why is the deep dark shored sea the only friend to me?)

This all leads into Unveiling the Architecture, Altas Obscura, Dark Matter, and A Theater of Dimensions. No I will not be explaining.

(All human history a sigh from their endless lungs)

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

Afterlife and For They Shall Inherit the Earth are a fitting denouement to everything. The Immortal has frequently been used in place of Voltron within the playlists, which given the parallels means it make sense to end on this note. 

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honor and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

For Who I Could Have Been

Your world will fail my love, it’s far beyond repair…

Conflict is also connected to Filaments in ways I will not explain here. Something Wicked is almost the same thing it was in Filaments proper. 

(Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster…)

(A prisoner of time and space/Construct we can’t escape/A fleeting moment alive)

(When all of the forces have been overrun/you’ll whisper, serpent tongue/what you fear you have become)

Rise and Fall serves a very similar purpose to the Art of War. It ends with The Art of Bargaining. 

(You push my back against the wall/when I attack I’m taking all)

(I might be guilty but can a person change/I’ll say it like I mean it but believe it, that’s insane/You’re only making this harder/I’ll make you an offer/An offer you can’t refuse)

Widowmaker, Eon, and Reset Rewind are all about a single decision that changes the fate of the universe.

(Rise above the shadows putting forth your hands/God will shield his eyes in spite of all your prayers and he will not hear/Your hands, stained of blood/What have we become from a smoking gun?/What have we become)

(If time’s a song I won’t wait for it’s reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

(Erase bad times/create a timeline/with the pleasure/heavier than all the pain)

Frequency, Your World Will Fail, The Future is Now, and The End of the World are the fallout of that decision.

(And now the silence screams that you are gone/you’ve tuned me out, I’ve lost your frequency)

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail/If you are alive you must run for your life)

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Is everyone everywhere forsaking?/ or is there anybody else out there?)

So, in a way, is Dark Matter and A Theater of Dimensions. 

(Tear down hollows/Take back eternity)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

It’s such a quiet thing, to fall. Far more terrible is to admit it, and to fix it. But that’s what the catalyst does in Redemption, Endlessness, and For They Shall Inherit the Earth. 

(To know that your days are numbered/To know that your time is short/Death is what gives life meaning/So who will you be at the end of the road?)

(Soon, beyond the fields you’ve come to know/You will join the silent flow/Follow me, I am the spark/At the end of everything/Tip the reaper to ensure/The blade is sharp/As soon we’ll go/Follow me into the dark/To the birth of everything)

Design Your Universe

(this playlist is DM canon. But it’s not the DM canon we know and love. We will get to see at least part of it. Eventually.)

Who decides about what’s true or false? 

Dark Matter, because it’s not DM without it

(So climb up and come clean/Move back the smoke screen/It’s all here, it’s all you/Get clear on the darker view)

Divide and Conquer explains where things changed from the DM canon we know and love. It’s about how a dictator, no matter their intentions, is never the correct choice.

(Seek the mastermind/The one who’s always right/We’re searching now and endlessly to set us free/Seek the mastermind (Seek the mastermind)/There’s no one you will find)

Martyr of the Free World is a very specific piece of that change from main canon, while Black Smoke Assimilation is what she leaves behind

(If you gun down the messenger/You guarantee that she will be made/Into a saint/A martyr of the free word)

(Out of reach/I planted you, the seed/You’re learning to believe/That you’re the one that changes everything, everything)

Cosmic Vertigo is here for the same reason as in the main playlist

(Just enjoy it while it lasts/Cling not to the broken past)

The Land of Unicorns is Gloryhammer finally making a comeback, and Team Voltron meeting up with, well, Team Voltron.

(Ride far away, cross the mighty River Tay/Over mountains into the unknown/Follow your heart, let it guide you through the dark/To the Land of Unicorns)

Legendary Enchanted Jetpack is a journey into the depths of the Altean Empire. Return to Me is another fight over the Black Lion, but the players aren’t who you think, which is the final goal of Storm the Castle

(Quest for Fife to end pain and strife/in search of the enchanted engine)

(Return what you have taken from me/Rightfully mine, I will not allow this, thief/Think you know this weapon in your hands?/You are a fool, I am his only command)

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown)

Unleashed is from the perspective of The Matriarch, for once, showing a little about how this version of her was not particularly willing

(Where was I meant to be?/I feel I’m lost in a dream/Long for the day I can be myself/Free)

Hootsforce and The Epic Rage of Furious Thunder are a final battle. 

(Fight for the king, for the hammer and the ring/Fight for the ancient story)

(In the epic rage of furious thunder, legends create their tales/when the twilight calls and the dark lord falls our glory will prevail!)

Design Your Universe, as the title track of this one, is all about how a simple change can change the world. It’s also uh…. pretty literal

(We can’t undo what we have done/So show us now what we’ve become/Confront us with our viciousness/And our weakness/We can’t evade our destiny/So show responsibility/For we all surely have a sense/Of our consciousness)

[toomanydamnmuses]

((Making this a pinned post for those on mobile who may have trouble accessing the rules & muse list))

RULES & ABOUT MUN

General

1. PG-13 level is preferred, but I am willing to go NSFW level at times, depending on the content.

2. Swear words will be few and far between, depending on the muse of course.

3. Considering the fandom, violence is to be expected.

4. Open to AUs, canon, crossovers if I know the fandom, etc.

5. If you do not specify a muse in asks, you are automatically going to get Urahara as a response (unless another muse feels inclined to answer, but it’s usually Urahara anyways)

6. Highly Selective and private. If we are not mutuals, I will not interact in threads or one-liners. You can send in asks, but that will not guarantee a response. 

7. I do not interact with OCs, with a few exceptions: if we already know each other and have spoken for quite some time, and have had at least one semi-long thread together. Then, and only then, will I interact with your OC. Otherwise, please do not approach me. 

Shipping

8.Multi-ship for any gender. But there has to  be chemistry. Different muses have different sexualities as well, so make sure to discuss with me.

9.TO BE REPEATED FOR THE BACK: THERE MUST BE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN OUR MUSES FOR ANY AND ALL SHIPPING! There must also be chemistry between us muns, if I don’t feel as though we get along, then there won’t be a ship!

10. Any sexual or romantic relationships between muses where there is not chemistry are not ok with me! ALSO! Any/all ships of that sort where it may not necessarily be healthy, ie forced/hypnotism/etc are included amongst those that I am not comfortable with doing. One of the few exceptions is Gin/Izuru, and that is only because Izuru will be eagerly consenting.

11. No hypnotism interactions at all unless it is Aizen, and we have discussed beforehand. Not only that, but when I say hypnotism in regards to Aizen, I mean it in the context of what his zanpakuto does: changes your senses, but does not make you his slave.

12. If you are a minor, just leave. Close the tab, and get off of my blog. I will not interact with you. If your muse is a minor, we may have some discussion. In general, I am very uncomfortable with child muses. My definition of minor, for muns at the very least, is if you are BELOW THE AGE OF 21.

Courtesy

13.  If we start interacting and at any point you decide to unfollow, I will not hunt you down to demand a response or anything like that. Once I notice that you have unfollowed, I will just quietly unfollow in return and go about my business. In return, I ask that you grant me the same courtesy if I choose to unfollow first for any reason.

14. If you are the type who likes to plot, that is fine. I myself am someone who sets the muses loose and see what happens, but I can plot too. I am flexible that way.

15. Please keep in mind that mun is a fulltime student, and also have health problems and other RL situations that can sometimes get in the way. Replies can take a while, so please be patient.

16. When you reply to something I have tagged you in, such as a thread, or if you have replied to one of my asks, I will sometimes, if not always like it. The like is my way of letting you know that I have seen it, and that I will be working on my own reply (or moving it to a thread in the case of asks) as soon as I am able. In other words: it’s your sign that it is now either in my drafts or queue. But I don’t always remember to like it, as my memory is fault at best. Please feel free to come and ask me if I’ve seen it!

17. Another thing to note is that most if not all of these muses have a tendency to interact with each other. I will try to tag things appropriately, and please let me know when there is a muse that you would not like to interact with so I can try to avoid letting them poke their noses into threads that they don’t belong in.

18. My memory is extremely fickle, because of a variety of things that I have been through over the years. I will not always remember to tag things, between how little triggers me and the fact that I forget more often than not, so please proceed with caution. If you need me to tag something, let me know. If it is down in writing (typed) in a chat or something where I can look over it again, there is a better chance of me remembering. But also remember that it is up to you to remind me if I mess up, especially since I am warning you now about my memory. Be polite and respectful, and I will grant the same in return. I am only human and I will do my best to accommodate you, but it is not my job to remember all of anyone’s triggers, it is up to you to remind me if needed, or have them somewhere that I can find easily.

19. I myself am not triggered by a whole lot, but I will ask you to please tag things like sexual assault. On a good day I can handle it just fine, on a bad day I cannot, and if I am caught off-guard by it (IE an ask sent that talks about it) without necessarily expecting to see it, that can and will trigger me. Most anything else is fair game, though you can always come and ask me.

Blocking

19. I will reserve the right to block you if at any point I begin to feel uncomfortable, if you break my rules despite multiple warnings, or if I find out that you are a minor and have lied about your age. I may not always let you know that you have been blocked.

20. I try to live with the “3 strikes” rule. Which is to say, I will give you two warnings if you break my rules, the third time and you will be blocked. Depending on the severity and what rule you broke or whatever reason I may have for wanting to block you, it may be either a softblock or a hardblock. 

Mun

My name is Starry, she/her, and I am of age. As mentioned previously, I am a full-time student at a university. Beyond that, there isn’t much for you to know. Should we become close and I trust you, I might tell you more.

MAIN MUSES

Izuru Kira

Shuuhei Hisagi

Kisuke Urahara

SECONDARY MUSES

Renji Abarai

Ikkaku Madarame

Gin Ichimaru

Grimmjow Jeagerjaques

Akon (Squad 12)

Rikuu Togakushi

BY REQUEST ONLY MUSES

Tesla Lindocruz

Nnoitra Gilga

Ulquiorra Cifer

Shunsui Kyoraku

Sousuke Aizen

Szayelaporro Granz

Rangiku Matsumoto

Shinji Hirako

Uryuu Ishida

Kenpachi Zaraki

Coyote Starrk

Byakuya Kuchiki

Yumichika Ayasegawa

Juushiro Ukitake

Ichigo Kurosaki

Rukia Kuchiki

Kensei Muguruma

Rojuro (Rose) Otoribashi

Interest checker

[jodilin65]

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2014 My Nutrisystem journey has begun! I gained a little weight recently and crept up to 151 pounds. This will be my starting point on my way down to 125. That's my highest goal weight, anyway. At 4’ 11” I can go as low as 100, but this is not likely with my age and muscle density.

I was both pissed and pleased when the shipment arrived. They gave me more than I ordered, but they also gave me stuff I don’t like. I hate spicy foods, yet what did they do when they had to make substitutes for things they were out of? They gave me chili, Mexican tortilla soup, and a few other things I don’t care for. They should have given me other things I ordered, figuring that I didn’t order sloppy Joes, for example, because I don’t like that. What really pissed me off were the things I got that they say I ordered which I know for a fact I didn’t order. The last thing I would order would be spicy Kung Pao noodle soup. What’s the point of paying extra to customize my plan if they’re just going to pick and choose for me?

I do like the chocolate shakes I was surprised with. They’re part of the Fast Five. I thought the Fast Five kit included a 5-day meal plan cuz that’s what the kit was for that I got in Walmart several months ago, but this is actually a 7-day plan. They expect you to lose 5 pounds during this, though one woman lost 7 while a guy lost 9. After the first week, then I go to the regular plan.

I’ve had my breakfast and I can certainly say their double chocolate muffins rock! Very rich, tasty and chock full of chocolate chips.

I have logged my first 190 calories and my first 2 cups of water. I logged my weight as well, but not my measurements yet. I’ll have Tom take those scary numbers when he gets up since it’s easier for someone else to measure us.

I kind of feel bad for letting Mitch have it like I did because he is having a rough time. He understands why I went off on him, though. At least I think he does. If he’s rude again in public I will simply remove him.

I was pissed to find that Prosebox is down again. This is their second attack in less than a month. At least I think that’s what it is. I really hope that the guy’s post about how the site is a little more responsibility than he would like since he didn’t expect it to become what it has, wasn't really a warning of sorts, like some kind of farewell. I did find it a bit odd that he would only accept private comments on the entries. I've never known him to do that before. I would hate to see the site go because it’s so unique and I love the way that we can create different books for different things, but whatever happens, happens. I don't think it's been shut down, though, because I get a message saying that the site administrator has been notified of the problem and not a ‘page not found’ notice. Time will tell. What sucks is the timing. If he hasn’t intentionally shut it down it could be a few days till it’s back up again what with the holidays and all that.

Unlike some folks, I’m smart enough to keep copies of my stuff in other locations, but what would really suck would be if I couldn’t access my Dreams book. I add my dreams to a single draft post throughout the month that I publish at the end of it, and then I copy it elsewhere. Worst case scenario I search “dream” in my Word copy to weed out the dreams, but that’d be a hassle I hope I won’t have.

This is the second time in less than a month this has happened and it’s already getting old. Let’s hope the guy either sells the site to someone who’s more into the idea of keeping it going or that he gets his shit together. And damn the person who attacked the site, if it was indeed attacked. Kind of makes you wonder who the hell the guy could’ve pissed off bad enough, but maybe the provider was the target and not Prosebox specifically.

If it’s gone for good, I wonder if any of my friends and followers there will look me up on other sites? Either way, I’m like most people in that I’m easily bored with tales of things that don’t interest me. Can’t say I’ll miss the pregnancy/baby stories. Just how in the world do so many mothers find the time to sit and write and read on blogging/journal sites as often as they do anyway?

Later…

So NS didn't mess up after all. The unordered items I got are part of the free week I received. So I've got 5 weeks of food here, not 4. Next shipment launches on 1/29.

Tom and I worked out and he took my measurements before leaving for work, which he hopes to escape from early. What scary numbers! My thighs are as big as my waist should be. It’s like I’m proportioned well, but I’m not. I’m still an hourglass; I’m just a rather half-assed one. I need to lose half a foot off my chest and hips and a foot off my waist. I doubt, however, that I’ll be the 35-25-35 I used to be with 18” thighs. Instead, my measurements are:

Arms: 12, Chest: 41, Waist: 37, Hips: 42, Thighs: 25

Got a direct hit to my Blogger blog from San Antonio with what I’m pretty sure was from Molly who does have family in that area. She’s not in Austin now but is soon heading back there.

So she does revert back to her old ways in cases of idle hands? This is what I worry about when she leaves Marbridge. When she doesn’t have that place keeping her busy and she’s no longer being stalked by Josh, does she then revert back to Aly and I? Still can’t believe she’s gone this long without mentioning Aly in her blogs. That just doesn’t seem like her at all and I don’t care how much she may’ve changed. Something’s gotta be up with that. I sometimes wonder if Aly is still her friend and has somehow gotten her to keep her mouth shut about it and are hiding their friendship, but Aly swears she’s not in touch with her.

So then where is the “I miss Alison… Please forgive me… You’re a wonderful person… I hope we can move on and be friends…” kind of thing?

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2014 I was surprised to get up to find that my Nutrisystem order is to arrive tomorrow. That fast?! I never would have gotten as many groceries as I did had I known it would come this fast, but it’s only shooting over from Reno, so it turns out. This is good timing as my weight was starting to climb. I’m still working out, as usual, but I’ve been overeating more often lately.

Looking forward to a healthier me (but not the hunger as I get used to the smaller portions), and now I have to decide if I want to start tomorrow or the next day.

Gotta make some preparations first. Gotta make some space in the pantry and get my NS profile ready to go for weight/food/measurement logging and all that. It will be torturous but fun! :)

I was swimming in a pool, and then I was standing on a deserted shoreline in my dreams last night. I wanted to take a dip in the ocean, but the waves were too big to trust.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2014 For the first time since I've known my cyber friend Mitch, he was actually pretty rude to me on Facebook. I sometimes share some questions and answers from my first Ask account, and when I got up I found a rude comment asking if there was any way to block this “Ask crud.”

Is there some reason he couldn't ask me this in private? Being blunt is one thing, being rude is another. It's sad to see this once fun and creative guy turn into a little more than a political drunk. No wonder he's always complaining that people badmouth him, and he even said something about being hit with a slander lawsuit. Well, he can either be more polite, or he can take a broom handle and shove it up his ass hard enough to knock his amazingly yellow teeth out.

Yesterday we made the Nutrisystem order I was planning to make. It was fun picking out all the foods since I got the custom Core Plan. Tom cracked me up because knowing how much he’d hate most of the foods, he said, “This would be easy for me. For breakfast, all I’d have to do is just order 21 chocolate donuts.”

The order is actually for 28 days, but it includes a free Fast Five in which the food is preselected. I'm looking forward to popping out these muscles and getting healthier, but I'm definitely not looking forward to the hunger part of it. As with any major change, things take time to get used to.

Their site seems pretty amazing with lots of support as well as fun tools to help keep you motivated. You log your measurements every month, your weight every week, and every day you check off how many cups of water you drink, as well as what you did for exercise, and then what you ate.

They also have blogs, journals, and a support community. You can even contact a counselor when the going gets tough.

We also ordered a couple of toe rings for me, and then Tom told me he wanted a new scale. I said, “Why do we need a new scale? The one we have works fine.”

But this one measures more than just your weight. Using an electric current that runs through your feet that you're not supposed to be able to feel, it also measures your water bone and muscle density. Sounds pretty pricey, but it isn't.

Had another dream of my dentist for some reason. I was gift-wrapping a long box that looked like it may have contained a couple of long fluorescent bulbs, LOL, much like what we just replaced in our kitchen. I knew that she knew that the gift was for her, and so when I tried to move it out of her view until I got it all wrapped, she stepped back so that it would be harder for her to see what it was. Then she said something about wanting to do something special for my birthday. I smiled like a happy kid, jumped up, ran and threw my arms around her.

"Aw," she goes. LOL

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2014 Gonna be ordering Nutrisystem’s Core Plan later on, but I still wonder if my metabolism is alive enough to do this. I sure hope so! It says to expect to lose 5 pounds the first week, then 1-2 a week. I’d just hate to spend the money only to lose 3-4 pounds despite sticking to it faithfully. That is, after all, why I haven’t dieted in so long. I got sick of the initial few-pound loss and then how my body would stop losing even though I would keep dieting. If I’m going to work really hard I want to see results for my efforts!

Realized I haven’t had backaches in a while now. Wonder if it’s cuz I switched pillows or because I added back flies to my workout routine. Fucking winter, though! I want to exercise outside yet it is too cold. I miss the fresh air. We’re going to be in the high 20s in a few nights. Ugh!

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 27, 2014 Yesterday I had some random memories pop into my mind of my mother. One of them was about the way she would taunt me about my weight as a child. I have pictures throughout my entire youth yet where the hell was I “fat?” The only fat spells I had was a brief one when I was in my late teens, then after I quit smoking, and then when my thyroid crashed. But even at my fattest, I was never literally huge or anywhere near as big as she was.

It never ceases to amaze me how full of hypocrites this world really is. Lonely is the one who picks on those who prefer not to have tons of friends. Poor is the one who picks on those who don't have much money. Fat and ugly is the one who picks on others for the way they look. Deceptive is the one who insists others are always bullshitting them.

Another memory I had which I have written about in the past is definitely the worst memory I have pertaining to my mother. I don't remember exactly how old I was but I couldn't have been more than 10 or so. We were at the beach at our summer cottage when I decided that I would go on a starvation diet that also included not having any liquids. At that age, I sure as hell didn't know any better.

On the second or third day of this “diet”, I awoke incredibly weak and unable to get out of bed. Our cottage was tiny and I called to my mother for help who sat in the next room playing backgammon with her best friend Charlotte. She refused to help me, saying that I got myself into that mess so I would just have to be the one to get myself out of it. I can tell you for damn sure that had that kitchen not been right off the bedroom I slept in, there's a damn good chance I may have died. I don't think she ever even realized just how much of a risk she took by carelessly ignoring my cries for help. It took me hours to muster up the strength just to jump up and grab a devil dog, which was the closest thing I could grab from the kitchen. Then it seemed to take me another hour just to open the damn thing and eat it.

If she could materialize long enough I would absolutely torture her. Forget about all the other millions of things she put me through. I will never ever forgive her or the God above that sat back and allowed her to do the things she did to me. Must’ve been pretty fucking funny in His eyes. They say that when we go through shit in life it’s only God “testing” us. Yeah, how fucking tough do you think a 10-year-old kid is, you bastard?! How tough should she be?

Well, if there truly is an afterlife where we all meet up with dead family members, and if there truly is a God, not even He can stop me from inflicting my own brand of hell should we meet beyond the pearly gates.

My nieces are already having problems at their new apartment. Kids throwing sticks and balls at cars in the parking lot, I guess. I can just imagine the noise.

In one dream I had last night, Tom and I went and got a bunch of rats. We assumed they were all male rats. Then it hit us that some could be females that could also be pregnant. We were wondering how we should handle all the babies and if we should just try to weed out whatever female rats we could find right then and there and return them to the store or what.

In another dream, I might have won a house, but my dream self didn't seem to know for sure. Well, the dream didn't go on long enough for me to find out. Meanwhile, my parents were present – again – and I was trying not to get ahead of myself and let myself get all excited in case I was wrong.

Later…

They weren’t kidding when they said that keeping a journal could help us to see things more clearly later on down the road that may’ve flown over our heads when we wrote them. I’m not just referring to how naïve and stupid I could be when I was younger, but how utterly stupid I was when it came to Maliheh. shakes head in disgust When she finally contacted me in 2010, she said she hadn’t contacted me until then because she was instructed not to. At the time I took this to mean because I had told her not to contact me when I thought she was messing with me online before I learned it was someone else. I then apologized for accusing her and contacting her friends and told her I hoped to hear from her. Well, in hindsight – and I can’t believe I missed this knowing how vindictive she was/is – I can see that she probably went right on the legal defensive when I first contacted her about a book loosely based on us with a major twist of an ending. In blunt English, she was no doubt hoping to “get” me in some way being the totally unforgiving, hateful, spiteful person she can be, which means she probably consulted a lawyer who told her not to contact me (until the lawyer saw she had no case).

She even paid to get a copy of the old police report, and of course, she stated “facts” when she first contacted me on the old MyOpera site that was totally false. Whether or not her memory was just messed up or she was intentionally lying, I do not know. All I know is that she asked me to dance the instant I walked into the place and not the other way around. She voluntarily gave me her number. I did not ask someone else for it. She kissed me on the cheek on the way out that night and not the other way around. My pranks to her went on for less than half the time she claimed they did. I never pranked her after I was summoned to court as she also claimed because I was too afraid to. Lastly, never did I order Fran to call and threaten her. If he did, he did that on his own and that was very wrong of him. The guy’s dead, so he can’t speak for himself. I can only speak for myself.

So she states facts, half of which are incorrect or not quite right, then she goes on to make all these demands of me and I could really kick myself for being too nice and too forgiving like I was all in the name of how she looked. If anyone’s learned a lesson about seeing past some people’s beauty and into the coldness of their hearts, it’s me. Damn me for kissing her ass like I did! Really, I could kick myself for that and all because she was hot? Well, inside she was the cruelest, hateful, deceptive, mean, vengeful person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. Maybe she did come to care for me for a while – I don’t know. Only she knows that, but that doesn’t matter anymore. The fact is that she befriended me under false pretenses and that was to see to it that her name was kept out of the book, which it has been.

That much I can see a person wanting. That much was pretty reasonable; wanting your name kept out of something someone might profit from, but who the hell was she to tell me not to use her name in my own damn blog? To what did she think I owed her that much anyway? And if she was oh so innocent all those years ago, then what was she so afraid of? Huh? What was she so afraid of? What did Little Miss Victim have to hide that she wanted her name kept out of this and kept out of that? And how could I have been so blind to see that that’s classic behavior of one who knows they did something wrong and wants to keep it hidden?

Well, she can rest assured she’ll never be named in any past or future books of mine, but not mention her in my own damn journal? I don’t think so! She’s out of my life and I seldom refer to her, but that’s my right to do so as long as I keep it within the law! I have read up on blogger’s rights and there is nothing that says I can’t use first names. Nothing. I have two rules I always abide by – no full names or other sensitive info and no threats. If you’re not a friend of mine, I’m not going to cater to your privacy wishes. Period. There is no law that says we can’t use first names as long as it’s not a public figure we’re insisting we had some wild affair with or something like that.

I’m sorry I let her appearance cloud my judgment. I normally see right through people’s bullshit. Had I not been so damn stupid where she was concerned, I could’ve seen what she was really after when she contacted me a few years ago, promising to always be my friend until she one day disappeared forever, realizing she’d gotten what she wanted and that I was no longer of any use to her. The dumb Jodi put up with her shit. The smart Jodi would slam the door in her face if she showed up here starving and homeless. She is just an absolutely miserable person that will no doubt continue to alienate people through her poor treatment of others, and I’m sure she still loves to use the law to get at those that piss her off, be it neighbors or anyone else. Probably still reads my blog here and there always looking for ways to screw me. shakes head sadly Some people are just born haters. I’m gonna end it right here. Thinking about her any more than I have to makes me sicker than sick. Why do some people hate themselves so much that they feel the constant need to make others just as miserable as they can, be it through the law or just by playing with their heads?

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 26, 2014 Last night I had a long detailed dream involving a visit to my still very much alive parents who wanted to pay to move us to Florida where they had a ground-floor apartment. The only catch was that we were still living in Phoenix, Arizona, and we had to stay with them until we got our own place. In reality, I would go back to Oregon before I stayed with them! I could stand my father but not my mother.

My dream self was torn because it isn't very often that somebody offers to pay you to move you long distance, but I didn't know how I could deal with having to sleep with Tom and the sleep schedule thing. Tom suggested that I simply explain it to my parents. I laughed at him and said, “You know how it is with people. When they don't get it, it simply doesn't exist. Period.”

I asked my father if it was quiet as we all sat in their living room. My mother said nothing and kept her eyes glued to the TV while Dad confirmed it was quiet. Pointing at the living room wall, I asked, is there somebody behind that wall? He nodded, and then I pointed to the opposite wall, which was in their kitchen, and asked if somebody was behind that wall as well. He nodded again.

In private I asked Tom if he thought maybe they were tired of us being so far away and if they liked the idea of us being closer to Tammy. He said he thought that could be part of it, but that we had to really be sure that's what we wanted to do since it wouldn't be that easy to get back out west once the move was made. Realizing we may never be able to move that far again until he was retired, I thought it through in my mind and decided we should go for it.

Suddenly, Andy and I were talking outside my parents’ place. He went inside the front door to wash his hands in the bathroom. A minute later, I followed, darting through the living room and by my dad who sat watching TV. I ran through to the back of the place, loving the feel of the solid floor beneath my feet that was on a concrete foundation, and then we slipped out the back door to go wherever.

I woke up for a minute, fell back asleep, and the dream actually continued with us returning to Phoenix to discuss things in further detail, and to Nane, who rented a room in our house for a steep $1200 a month, LOL.

Tom was taking a nap and Nane was packing her truck, telling me she planned to move on soon as well. I pretended to feel indifferent towards her as we spoke, but then I felt a twinge of sadness and I quickly kissed her goodbye before I turned and went indoors. I sat down to play a keyboard that had what I thought would be various sound effects programmed in it. Instead, they were simply clips of popular songs.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2014 Very disappointed in my bronze Tamsin statue of a sitting nude lady. She’s half the size of the other two I have from that series. The figurine is a fine sculpt; it’s just way too small.

As they say, we can’t just eat right and work out, we have to eat less in order to lose more than just a few pounds. So I cut back the last two days after I’d begun to climb and lost 5 pounds. Ah, but they will be back real soon, for we are going to Denny’s in a few hours for my final eat-out meal before Nutrisystem. I tried their peanut butter and fudge pancakes when Andy visited and they were so damn good. I must have one more round before the diet begins! Nutrisystem does allow for snacks; just snacks that are 100 calories a pop and not over 1000.

So the video backs up the officer’s claims of self-defense, huh? So what. People are going to pitch a fit over it anyway seeing that some people obviously believe they should be allowed to be the thugs that they are without repercussions.

Not much in the way of dreams last night. Just something about us still being with the Jes pest and him saying he would put the dogs in a spot that would bother the hell out of me when we left. He would never be that considerate in person. When it came to his mutts, he was going to do what he was going to do, and to hell with those it may’ve put out.

Later…

Just got done playing with the rats, one of whom did not want to go home and is utterly obsessed with my slippers. I was sitting on the couch and the slippers disappeared one by one underneath it. Then we played our chase games and I got some laundry started.

It's been a very quiet Christmas for what parts of it I've been around for. I thought there'd be lots of traffic coming and going and that people would have tons of company but it's pretty dead around here.

Last night we went to Denny’s and I had my last pre-Nutrisystem gourmet feast. A handsome young black man who was rather slow waited on us, but it was still nice. Well, with the exception of the homeless man nearby with the cough from hell. I guess it's safe to say that after all these hours whatever it was he had wasn't contagious.

I ordered pancakes smothered in peanut butter and hot fudge, eggs, bacon and French fries. Everything that’s fattening and unhealthy whether you have high cholesterol or not.

This weekend we will be ordering the Nutrisystem plan I have chosen and I will begin in early January. Tom wants to lose weight too, and wants this new high-tech scale that measures your body fat, lean mass, water weight, and bone mass. Not sure it’s worth it, though. I mean it’s just going to tell me I’m small-boned, have more muscle than the norm, get watery once a month, and aren’t that fat but could still stand to lose a little. I’ll let Tom decide if he wants it or not.

The best news is that it’s been one whole month since I needed a chill pill! Yeah, Doc C, I really needed a shrink to get to this point. spoken with sarcasm I couldn’t possibly have been on too high a dose of levothyroxine.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2014 So another black kid, Antonio Whateverthehell, got shot he was supposedly unarmed and as innocent as a newborn babe. And of course, it won't matter if the kid turns out to be a criminal who was actually threatening the cops into believing that their lives may be in danger because he was black, right? I mean so what if white people get shot too that don't deserve to be shot. After all, they're only white, and these days white lives don't seem to matter nearly as much. Do you see anybody rioting and looting for them? I sure don’t.

But I'm also the last person to be a fan of the cops. I know without a doubt the corruption that goes on within any law enforcement agency in the world. Remember, once upon a time I saw it firsthand. Many, many times. As soon as you deal with anybody with any kind of authority, you're almost always dealing with corruption. Despite the corruption out there, I know that color has absolutely nothing to do with the reason the vast majority of those get shot. They get shot because they’re criminals. Period. Act like a thug and you shall be treated like a thug. Are there some who are framed, or brought in on exaggerated, trumped-up charges? Absolutely. But that’s about power and control, not about color. The problem with most cops is that they want to “get” somebody. Anybody.

Yet in truth, if that many cops wanted to shoot people simply because they were black, there would be a million times more shootings going on, and I don’t have to be a legal or race expert to know this. Anyone with common sense could see this, but I realize most aren’t going to want to. A small handful of cops may be genuinely prejudiced, but the vast majority of them aren't, and if they are, they're not about to act on it. Not in this day in age where it’s not “politically correct” and people want to kill you for it. 50 years ago, sure.

I also realize that people are going to believe what they're going to believe. No matter what evidence is turned up along the way as they investigate this case, once people make up their minds about what to believe, nothing is going to change it. If it turns out that this cop is married to a black woman people will still run around saying that it was all about race.

Do I feel guilty or ashamed for what my own personal opinions and beliefs are? Nope. Absolutely not. I make no apologies for how I feel, “normal” or not, and neither should anybody else. As far as who’s right and who’s wrong in this particular case, I guess only time will tell. Or maybe we’ll never know. Maybe the only ones who can ever really know what happened are those involved, and one of them is dead.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2014 Signing in on what's a quiet day that will hopefully stay quiet. Didn't get up till early afternoon, so I don't expect that much noise anyway between now and when it gets dark. The only annoyance is that they just turned our water off. I’d have been pissed if I were in the shower.

All I remember from last night's dreams had something to do with Doc C and her parents and my parents all getting together in the same house. My parents decided they had to leave as soon as her parents got there, and I was hoping that her parents wouldn't think they left because they didn't like them or anything like that.

Suddenly I realized I was hungry and I looked in her refrigerator to find slices of bologna and a package of cheese slices. I didn't want to raid what little was in her refrigerator so I just peeled some of the edges off the bologna and ate that.

Then I saw a map of a floor plan lying on a table. It was the house that I knew she intended to get that was over 2000 square feet. Next to a room on the corner of the plan, she wrote, “Me and queer.” As I pondered who “queer” was, it then hit me that the party I was at probably had something to do with her getting this house. I wanted to chat with her but she was always talking with somebody else and I didn't want to rudely butt in and interrupt them. And so I remained more or less in the shadows watching the people mingle.

Cutting back my food intake yesterday paid off since I'm down 2.2 pounds. My weight had been starting to climb, though it could have been water retention. I'm trying to take it easy anyway and sort of prep my body for Nutrisystem. That's coming up in a couple of weeks or so from now.

Tom will be home in a couple of hours, and I wish it stayed lighter longer because then he might be more tempted to go on a bike ride with me. You know I think indoor working out is incredibly boring. It's better than nothing, though. I guess I'll go post this and then decide when I want to do today’s housecleaning.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 22, 2014 This isn’t going to be a very long entry since I don’t have much to say. I don’t even remember my dreams from last night. It seems my dentist and her assistant may’ve been in one of them, and then there was something about packing.

Well, Andy should be done packing and on his way back to winter after enjoying a week of summery weather. Our T-shirt weather came back yesterday, though today’s not as sunny.

I looked on Amazon and Walmart for ring holders, and sure they have some cute ones with nice shiny colors. But when I saw one of a cat whose tail is used to hold rings, I thought to myself, bet I could save $5 - $20 and find one of my animals has a suitable tail to hold rings. Sure enough, I have a cat and a dog with tails sticking straight up. Decided the Siberian husky would make the best ring holder. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to end up with 20 toe rings anyway. Not with how hard they are to get on and off and adjusted properly. They don’t slip on and off like rings, and if they do, you won’t have them for very long.

Later…

I love Andy like a brother but I hate so much of his personality these days. I'm trying to think of excuses for not checking in with him as much that he'll actually buy and be okay with. Well, he may not be okay with it, but he’ll at least get it. I don't want to get into any kind of sophisticated lie, of course, but I’m trying to come up with something that's simple and believable. If I just say I don't feel like being online as much he's not going to buy it. He will suspect something is up and that it has to do with him personally. I know him.

So Kim got mad at Aly and didn't talk to her for a while today. Aly was trying to point out that she has reading comprehension problems that she can get over with time just like she did. Well, she took it personally. Honestly, though, I think Kim is naturally dumb, maybe even retarded. I'm sure there's some kind of mental defect in her brain. After all, she's got to be on disability for a reason besides the fact that she's crazy.

I still don't understand why Aly, or anybody else for that matter, would choose to surround themselves with people that are that fucked in the head. I know it’s her life and all that, but she says that they go back 10 years and her feelings for Kim are complicated and not so black and white.

I know I did the same thing myself when I was younger as far as mixing with the wrong people. Stupidity and instability were all I seemed to attract, and I was too nice and too forgiving to walk away from it. But then one day I grew older and wiser, and walk away was exactly what I did. The older me would never in a million years be friends with the likes of Fran, Nervous, and probably not even Andy.

Why would anybody want to be friends with a known liar and stalker, though? With people that are so damn selfish that they lack empathy and don't care to pay attention to what their friends say. The constant stupidity alone would drive me crazy. Forget about all the lies and lack of sensitivity.

I know my growing pickiness has made me less tolerant, but whether or not my frustrations are right or wrong, I have no tolerance for brain-dead, selfish people who can’t shut up and haven’t an ounce of compassion for others.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 21, 2014 When I got up I heard people talking outside and thought the phone company was back, but nope. Then the landscapers came around that got rained out last week, and then the guy in the garage on the opposite corner began working in his garage. Although his sawing isn’t as loud as Bob’s since he’s a few houses away, it can still be heard on this side of the house. I swear every other garage is used as a workshop here. As Andy asked, what’s the point of having a retirement community if they’re going to allow such loud sounds? And damn the cock neighbors! Never have I had a female neighbor that sawed and hammered like this. Never.

I realized next door isn't on vacation after all. It later hit me that last year they also left their garage light on as a reminder so they would remember to turn their Christmas lights off before they went to bed.

Tom and I went out riding. I threw a few pieces of bread in my basket and we went down the “rollercoaster” and to the lake. We fed the ducks, then I sprinted off and really gave Tom a run for his money that left him out of breath, LOL. I’m gaining confidence as I get back to my old self. In less than a week, it will have been one month since I needed a chill pill and all the more reason I want to slap both my old docs for not recognizing that the problem was the meds and not me. I don’t care how hot one of them might’ve been! Again, it’s why I canceled the friend request if she even got it in the first place.

As I mentioned the other day, I sent Paula a letter. One of these days I'll give her a call, but right now I’m not in the mood to listen to her ramble on and on about the same old shit for an hour or so, and then realize when I hang up that all I said was “yep, uh-huh, yeah, oh, okay, sure.”

I was browsing Amazon Prime for new music. How is it that today's music has gotten to be so utterly boring as it has?

Safari was running awfully slow so I went back to Firefox. The only thing I'll miss is the autocorrect.

In last night’s dreams, I was dying my hair with a dye that dried instantly and required no rinsing, then I was living in my grandparents’ house, and finally, I was watching footage from long ago of a bunch of people being captured. I don’t know why or who they were, but we watched one little girl try to run off before some guy caught her. The people I was watching the footage with were trying to guess where they’d been taken. I seemed to think they were somewhere in Europe.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20, 2014 What is today’s annoyance? Oh, just the phone company searching for bad wires around here somewhere, probably next door since they’re digging under their house. At least they aren’t running any loud equipment. Not yet anyway. I hear voices in the master bedroom, but nothing on this side of the house. That’s part of why I moved my office into this room; they’ve usually got a little too much going on over there between projects and services, though I haven’t heard any sawing or hammering since I last talked to him. I’m sure that’s more because of the weather than because he suddenly got hit with a dose of common courtesy.

The green waste people did pick up our green waste after all. It really looked like the truck just drove on by and ignored the bin. I'm glad they did pick it up after all.

Now the phone company people are gabbing on this side of the house and they just slammed something on one of their trucks 8 or 9 times. Packing up their equipment, I guess. What will it be tomorrow, the electric company again? The cable company? Or will someone have a tree cut down?

My hair is continuing to thin out and I wonder when it is going to stop. I suppose I should be glad since my hair was already so thick and thinner hair is certainly easier to manage. But I guess because I'm not used to having it thinner, I just don't feel comfortable about it. I hope it stops before I have to consider Rogaine for women.

I looked at the different Nutrisystem plans they have to offer. There are three of them and they range from about $260 a month to $330. I decided I'm going to go with the middle plan. This one lets me choose my own foods. I just don't have as much to choose from as with the third plan, but it’s enough.

When Tom told me our grand total of income for the last year and a half I was nearly blown away. $54,000! I couldn’t fucking believe it! Us, the people that were forced to live on just $1200 a month for two years! We have come a looong way! Can’t mention the specifics online. All I’ll say is that Maui's looking more and more possible, even if a million things could happen between now and when he retires. Still not sure if he’ll work till he’s 70, though. Not if things keep looking as good as they have been. Not sure if he’ll retire at 62, either. We could make it, but not as comfortably.

Last night I dreamed I was with 2 or 3 Italian women who looked like characters from a book I wrote years ago. Steve, this wonderful black guy who lived across the hall from me in an apartment building in Springfield, MA in 1990, was also in the dream. He was one of the greatest people I ever knew. Very smart, very friendly, very helpful. Had looks not mattered to me (he wasn’t ugly, but he was just there), I’d have married him. Glad I didn’t, though, cuz Tom’s even smarter and friendlier and even more helpful.

Anyway, I was trying to help the Italian woman with a computer problem but was only getting so far. So I called upon Steve and was so glad to see him. I ran to him for a hug and he lifted me off my feet during our embrace just like he would in real life. It sucks that I’ve never been able to find him. I’ve always wondered how he’s been over the years.

In the second dream, I was in Maui. I had gone with Aly and didn’t seem to know Tom. The hotel room looked like a regular room, only there was also an enclosed bedroom. I was asleep in the enclosed room and woke up in the middle of the night. When I stepped out of the room, it was pitch dark in the main room. I thought I saw movement in the darkness, though, and worried someone broke into the room, not thinking Aly would just walk around in the dark like that without saying anything. I turned on the light and found I was alone.

I heard a hotel staff member walk by outside and asked her what time it was. She said it was 4am and it worried me that Aly wasn’t back yet from wherever she’d gone off to when she dropped me off at the room earlier in the night.

I thought I overheard her mention fugitives to someone else and once again I wondered if something had been in our room. I quickly found my purse and made sure everything was intact, and it was.

Then I stepped through a part of the wall that only had a curtain hanging in that section of it and marveled at the perfect temperature and breeze. I realized how cold it would be back home at the moment. I could see people roaming about down on the beach despite the hour and looked up to see a surprising amount of stars visible in the night sky.

Then my worries went back to Aly’s whereabouts. I realized I had no idea how to get home on my own since she was the one who had been taking care of the ground and air transportation. Convinced I may never be able to get back to the mainland, I realized this was my chance to live in the perfect climate. Then I told myself to stop kidding myself. I said, “You can’t go without a place to live or without food. You can’t survive on the streets in an ideal climate any more than you could in a colder one. That’s why you nearly killed yourself, remember?”

Desperate to find Aly, I was off in search of my smartphone so I could see if I could get ahold of her, wherever she was, and that’s where the dream ended.

Later…

Just thought I would take some time to write down some thoughts, even though I'm actually speaking them right now. I just have to keep this private, since it’s about Kim. For the thousandth time, why the hell is it that this stalker is acting like she's the victim? Why has she blocked me on Twitter when she's the one that stalked me for many years?

It started when I checked out Aly’s followers out of curiosity. I found many of Kim's so-called fan pages in dedication to her celebrity obsession. That was when I noticed that she had blocked me as if I actually gave a shit. I don't know why it bothered me to see this, but it did. I really hate being treated like somebody I'm not, and I really hate to see others act like somebody they're not. I dumped this woman for lying to me and then she stalked me for years all the while playing the victim. Again, I know this shouldn't bother me and that I should just ignore it since it doesn't affect anything I do online, but for some reason, it really bothers me. Why do some people flatter themselves by thinking that people are giving them the attention they're not giving them? I just don't understand this, but if she’s as crazy as I think she is then she would really believe I’m watching her every move. Or maybe it's just one of the many roles that she likes to play. After all, she does love role-playing and she has admitted this herself. A part of me was tempted to make my tweets private, and then I decided not to let any of these trolls control my online actions. I'm not going to do anything because of what somebody else does, but because I want to do it.

The questions on Ask have stopped, so if it was Kim, she got scared off by my hinting at her street name, though I doubt it was Molly. Molly seems to have FINALLY let go and moved on from me. The reason I doubt Molly is because of the lack of blog views and because she’s so obsessed with Josh right now that she doesn’t even mention Aly. If she’s not focusing on Aly, then she sure as hell isn’t focusing on me. She wouldn’t go to Ask without going to Blogger.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2014 I "talked" out a 722-word letter to Paula, made some minor edits, then hit print. Amazing!

I was surprised yesterday when I heard Tom come home early. Well, they were having a Christmas party at work and he didn't think the food was very good so he left early.

After he came home we took the bikes out and rode for about a mile. He has an ear infection and I had cramps so we didn't want to go much further.

Last night I thought that next door might be on vacation because their garage light was on which they rarely ever have on. When they went on vacation last year the people that housesat for them left it on all the time, but it later went off so I guess they are not away.

Got some goodies in the mail (hey, I always do). Another one of those erotic figures made of cold cast bronze. Plus I'm going to put some of my work money towards a couple of new toe rings (which Google wanted to tell you were “toll rates”). One is blue glitter and the other is purple with a green vine-like design around it. I almost got a pink one with a dolphin, but wanted a design that wraps all the way around the ring. I hate it when the rings are upside down. I prefer rings that can never be upside down even when they are upside down.

Andy texted me to let me know it’s gorgeous in Pompano Beach. Not here. Here it’s raining, but I love how quiet it’s keeping things. Instead, Bob annoyed me in my dreams. I dreamed were actually attached to him and Virginia. Tom was taking a nap and I was just finishing up the dishes when I realized it was getting late in the afternoon. This made me hopeful that it would be quiet for the rest of the day, but sure enough, I heard what sounded like a drill start up. I woke up wondering if I should take the nicer route and say, “Hey, look. You can’t be doing shit like that around here with people so close to you.” Or should I just smash him over the head with the damn thing?

I am so fucking pissed! Last week they didn’t pick up our green waste. Tom called and was told it was recycle week that week. So we put our green waste bin out this week and the guy ignored it. I am going to be so fucking pissed if we were the ones that were right and they were the ones that fucked up!

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 18, 2014 The instant I got up and clicked off my sound machine, I could hear Bob’s blower next door. This is the third day in a row too, that I got up at 9am. Guess something up there wants me to hear shit around here.

After his blower, and what might’ve been a few seconds of hammering, he got up on his roof to hose leaves off his carport roof.

I’m sure the park landscaping frenzy will begin any second now. I'm going to have to accept the fact that as long as we live here and as long as it's not raining or really hot, this place is going to be noisy whether I like it or not and whether I think a retirement community should be like this or not. We're going to be here for at least another decade unless we lose the place, so I am just going to have to learn to adapt once and for all. Quiet places may exist for others but they simply do not exist for me. Never has, never will.

My waste of time chat with Joy proves I need to just deal with it. After nearly two hours of something really loud running yesterday, I called and asked her why it’s a daily thing here while other places do their landscaping just once a week. I was surprised when she told me it was because if they don't keep up on it on a daily basis they not only get behind but they get calls with a lot of pissed-off people complaining. I am really surprised that people would rather hear all this racket for some pretty visuals. Of course you don't want the place to get too shabby looking but every single fucking day still seems a bit extreme to me. I realize, though, that the majority rules, and since I seem to be the only one here who’s bothered by it, they’re not going to change their routine anytime soon.

I realize that some of the racket could be coming from houses outside of the park as well as the golf course or the cemetery, but I really think it was inside the park.

Now I hear a car alarm going off. I may have to do my “talking texts” later in the evenings because it is just too distracting here in the daytime. At least it’s peaceful at night.

The “red lady,” as I have been referring to the woman across the street with the red SUV, has returned from wherever she was for a few days.

Later…

LMAO! I was trying to tell Aly via speech to text that I didn’t mind the parakeet we had over a decade ago singing when I was doing dishes, but would long to take a bat to the thing’s head when it would go on and on while I was trying to talk on the phone, and Google keeps saying I wanted to take a “bath.” LOL

Andy's on the plane now and on his way to his brother’s place in Pompano Beach. Hoping he forgot the damn Kindle! He should be busy having fun and doing things he doesn’t normally do, not playing online.

Tammy called yesterday and I decided to answer, figuring I wouldn't feel guilty about ignoring her as much as I hate chatting live as long as I answer at least every month or two, LOL. Most of the time I’m not even aware it’s ringing anyway.

She and Mark are doing the best they've done and probably what's years. They are now looking at manufactured homes for what I guess will be a retirement community. I told Tom that I warned her about having to deal with daily landscaping, but he had a good point in saying that maybe not because they don't have trees that lose their leaves there during the winter like we do here.

She is also continuing her work as a victim's advocate and says that her place is still quiet and the people are very friendly. I joke about moving in next door to her and how all that would change, and it's true, it would change if I moved in next to her. Noise loves to follow me wherever I go.

Anyway, she has Haitian neighbors that cooked dinner one night for them and she says it was really good.

I didn't know this but she almost died when she had a hysterectomy. I know she had a hysterectomy several years ago because of cancer, but I didn't know that she also had a staph infection that nearly killed her. So something up there likes to tease us both with death, I guess.

Last night I dreamed that I came upon a brown rat that looked like Tinkerbell, a rat we had about 8 years ago that was the best rat we ever had. She was just as friendly and playful as Tinkerbell was. She’d just had a litter of babies and I wanted to keep some of them, including her. I was watering some backyard somewhere and all the rats were sitting on the grass and I was trying not to get them too wet while I flooded a plant that had been drying out.

Then I had a dream involving my dad. I guess I was desperate or something because he handed me a wad of cash before they were to take him to prison for who knew what. I asked something like, “Will this save us?” and he looked at me as if to say of course it will.

Those bills must have been really big then!

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2014 They said it was supposed to rain today but right now it just seems very cloudy. Last night it rained quite a bit and there was even a bit of thunder.

People have commented on how well I am able to remember a lot of my dreams. Well, the trick is to repeat keywords to yourself upon waking up, and then jot down notes as soon as you get out of bed. I have to wait for a half-hour before I can eat or drink because of my meds, so that is when I usually write these things down.

From last night’s dream, the only one I really remember is getting up in the middle of the night. I left our house and went outside. It was still pitch dark out. I walked a short distance to another building and was going to unlock the door and enter it when I realized it was already open. I saw light glowing deeper within and for a split second, I was worried that somebody broke into whatever this other building was that was supposed to be ours.

But then I saw Tom sitting by either a TV or a computer.

“It's 4:30 in the morning,” I said to him, and he started to talk but I don't remember what he said.

The only other things I remember are just little snippets of things but no details. Me standing in a shower stall, me looking at a stack of candy, me looking at a video of myself on a beach somewhere and thinking that I really didn't look that fat after all. And then there was somebody speaking incorrect Spanish saying “la gato” when it should’ve been “el gato.”

While Google’s speech-to-text is still pretty damn accurate, it comes up with some funny bloopers at times. Yesterday I was telling Tom that I heard landscaping, someone sawing somewhere, and chainsawing as well. Sometimes I refer to landscaping as Laubsaugers, which is German for leaf blower, and it thinks those are either lob suckers or love suckers. It was hilarious when the thing said, “Today I got to hear one chainsaw, one circular saw, and a lot of suckers.”

It also decided that anxiety is society, so when I told Tom I doubted that what I was feeling was anxiety, it came out as “I doubt it’s society because you were home at the time.” Haha.

Here we go right now with the daily landscaping/Laubsauger gig. Every. Fucking. Day. :( I knew the park would blow off my email suggesting they limit it to once or twice a week, too. Some people/businesses are going to do what they’re going to do no matter what.

Later…

Tammy called yesterday and yack, yack, yack, yack, yack! What is it with people not letting me get a word in edgewise these days? Do they feel I’ll bore the shit out of them or something, LOL? It was great to chat with her, but still, it would be nice if some people could JUST LISTEN at times AND care enough to remember more of what I say than just their own experiences. shrugs She’ll remember enough, though.

It seems that everyone I’ve talked to by phone or in the park rambles on and on and cuts me off, except for Tom. Jesse was like that, too. I don’t understand why people do this to me, but because there are so damn many mouths in this world it must be a common thing and not just something people feel the need to do to me personally. There are, after all, a lot of selfish people out there.

I finally heard from Paula today. She sent a Christmas card. While that was very nice of her and it’s great to finally hear from her, I dread calling her because I know I’m going to get the same non-stop rambling with her, too. There is nothing more frustrating than finally getting a word in edgewise just to be cut off in the middle of a sentence. She’ll ask me something and I’ll say a sentence or two. Then she’ll ramble on and on about how what I just said relates to her and I can’t finish whatever it was I was saying about that particular subject in the first place. Drives me fucking crazy! It’s part of why I don’t socialize much offline; cuz I know the friendship would have to be all about them and not us.

The fact that I didn’t get to tell her shit about me by the time we finally hang up (not that she would care to remember most of it anyway), seems rather sad. It just seems all wrong when I realize to myself that if I want her to know what’s going on with me I’ll have to send her a letter even though we were just on the fucking phone for an hour.

Can anybody ever just shut up and listen? Sometimes I want to talk, too. Sometimes I have stories to tell about my own experiences, and guess what? They're just as interesting as yours!

Ah, it felt so good to get that off my chest! My husband and my blog seem to be the only places I can vent anyway, LOL.

I’m also wondering why the Michigan PBer just peeked in on me. She’s the one that dumped me, so why the interest all of a sudden?

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 16, 2014 Well, I can no longer say it rarely rains here. Today is supposed to be dry and so I don't expect it to be very peaceful. The landscapers have already been in front.

Still loving Google’s speech-to-text! I just hate it when I have to clear my throat or something because then it confuses it. I like to speak-write my journal and whatever dreams I can remember from the previous night while I am waking up with coffee. It's just that for some strange reason I wake up a little congested. I have no idea why since I do not smoke.

Although I have never been a fan of holidays and I personally find them to be more of a pain in the ass than anything else, I really like the seasonal flavored coffee creamers they have at this time of year. I'm trying the Snickerdoodle right now and it's pretty good. Not as good as Crème Brulee but it is still good.

I already got this journal entry out of order because once I pause the microphone in between thoughts, it causes the cursor to jump back to the very beginning. I will have to remember this in the future and also organize this entry before I post it online.

The person who always used to say that text messaging was a complete waste of time has already sent text messages to both Tom and Alison. I would still have that very same attitude if it weren’t for the fun speech-to-text.

Tom threw away my raspberry jelly last night. His airheaded wife did not refrigerate it after opening it like she was supposed to.

After my coffee is finished I need to jump in the shower and wash my rapidly shedding hair. I just hope that it doesn't thin to the point of bald spots. Right now it is still long, thick and curly.

I paused this entry to shower and eat. My day has been off to a rough start. I couldn’t eat in peace, thanks to the landscapers, and then I felt like something was stuck in my throat, which set off my anxiety. And then I had the runs a few times. I think I’ll survive, though.

My heart’s been a little racy the last few days, or more so it’s been beating hard than fast. Really hope it’s not connected to the medication.

Tom called the green waste people yesterday but it turns out that last week was recycle week, not green waste. Oops.

Last night I had a dream that one of my Prosebox buddies nursed me back to health when I had a really bad flu. I guess Tom was really busy or something and she felt the need to jump in and help, LOL.

I also dreamed that I was held somewhere against my will. I don't know what kind of a place it was, though. It seemed like money was needed to get me out so maybe there was some type of ransom demanded. Tammy told me that she was going away for a few days and one of the things she was going to be doing was gambling. My dream self knew that somehow her gambling and winning money would help get me out of there. I started to slip and tell her that somebody (Jessie?) already told me she was going gambling and made me promise not to tell anybody that they told me. Wherever this place was, they couldn’t have treated me too poorly because I was telling somebody, “People give me tea here.”

Aly had her upper teeth pulled yesterday. Says there’s been more bleeding than pain, and of course it feels really weird. It’s going to take time for her to get used to.

Andy is to be going to Florida in a few days and he told me that he would keep in touch with me on Ask just like he normally does. This is because he is taking his new Kindle with him, admitting that he can't go a day without going online. I am so sorry that he got that damn Kindle! They obviously aren't keeping him busy and entertained enough during his vacations. I like the occasional breaks from Ask because then it makes it more special when he returns.

Starting to wonder if any of the questions on my other Ask account came from Mary. As in Mary G turned Mary D. Someone from Fort Meyers entered my blog from there last night after I received some questions.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2014 Smartphones will spoil the hell out of you. I can't imagine ever not having one at this point in my life. I love how I can use Google speech to text and speak my journal entry into an email to myself and then later I copy it into the journal itself. I’m not typing this at all. Might have to make a few edits, though I do that anyway before I post things.

This speech-to-text program seems to be a lot more accurate than Dragon’s and other software I have used. As long as you don't talk too fast and you enunciate each word as clearly as possible it really is a wonderful thing to have. Very convenient. I still hate to talk on the phone live, but I can't imagine ever living without a smartphone ever again!

When I got up at six in the morning it was raining and it still is so I don't expect much noise today. Tom is going to call the green waste people because they did not pick up our green waste last week. He still wants to trim the bushes and back but the problem is that we need someplace to put the stuff.

I noticed since I got up that the lady across the street wasn't home. In fact, she wasn't home last night either. We saw a vehicle with blinking lights in front of her house and thought it was a cop car or an ambulance at first. But then we realized that it was some sort of service truck. I just hope nothing's wrong with her and she is simply going away for vacation. She is too quiet of a neighbor to lose. It would be my shit luck to have somebody move in there that was noisy. Someone who would leave their dog out in the carport to bark during the nicer weather. Someone who would do woodworking projects there as well. I wish all my neighbors could be single females because it's usually the men who are a problem as far as noise goes.

Facebook continues to be fucked up. A friend of mine has been unable to post anything on her account and now Andy got a three-day block on his own account as well. As soon as they pull something like this on me I'm definitely going to deactivate.

Dreams: A spider was slowly crawling down the wall of the bedroom. I grabbed a tissue and went to kill it but then I found that it was faster than hell. It continued on down the wall until it hit the floor and then it ran across the floor and disappeared.

Then I had a dream that we were living in what appeared to be a duplex. There was a Mexican couple living next door. I looked out our window and saw a bunch of cars, indicating that they were having a lot of company. A split second later I was next door with them. The woman was in her kitchen and the bedroom was right behind it and adjacent to our own bedroom. She said that her husband was asleep and they were trying to be quiet so they didn't wake him up. I had to wonder how the hell he could sleep through that many guests, quiet or not.

The last dream took place by what was either a river or a canal that was about 20 feet wide. Some woman walked up and approached the stairs that descended into the water on one side and I told her to be careful. “Okay,” she said.

Next thing I know she dives into the water and swims out into the middle of the canal. I thought to myself that the water had to be absolutely freezing. She then looks down into the water as if she's curious as to how deep it is and then submerges herself underwater. Soon I can barely see her head about 4 feet below the surface. It was at that point that I started to get really nervous.

Why is it that when I have dreams pertaining to sex it is usually me getting it on with myself and not somebody else getting it on with me? In another of last night's dreams, I was super horny and I went into the bathroom to put on this really sexy outfit, though I don't know why I would do such a thing. When I got back onto the bed thinking of some hot chick while I was at it, I came before I even got started.

Later…

I am still no closer to figuring out who is asking me questions on ask. My suspicions still lie with Kim or Molly. I do have a few other theories as well. There are so many people it could be for various reasons. The person asked me why I haven't updated my my-diary lately. This is the exact same question they have asked me before. So if it isn't Kim or Molly, it is at least somebody who is connected to that site or at least very aware of it. Could it be that Noone that loved to complain that I complained too much? I highly doubt that it is Molly's mother because she still should be in pretty bad shape.

Molly doesn't often mention her mother in her blog. It is mostly about her mixed emotions about Josh and the people at Marbridge making her life hell, supposedly. The only thing that goes against it being Kim is the correct spelling. The thing that goes against it being Molly is the lack of her appearing to visit my blog.

I also wonder if it could be someone else I know or have known. Andy, Tammy, Eileen, Mitch, Aly, someone in Arizona, etc. First guess is still Kim or Molly. If it is Kim, that would mean she’s not as scared of me as Aly says she thinks she is. I hinted at knowing where she lives (Kim), so if they suddenly stop asking me questions, I might suspect it was Kim and NOW she really is scared of me.

Aly says Molly messaged her on thoughts, but since she can’t delete her account there, she’s just ignoring it.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 2014 It has been cold, dry, and at least somewhat noisy during the daytime. I have heard sawing for the last two days that is really distracting and annoying. Don’t think it’s coming from inside the park, though. This is the shit I thought I left behind in the woods of Auburn, but apparently not.

Although I know it won’t do me any good, I finally went to the park’s website and gave them a piece of my mind on the daily landscaping and the allowing of loud power tools for unnecessary work. They have sections designated for gardening, so why not for woodworking, too? And why don’t they restrict both the park and the homeowners to just 1 or 2 days a week with the landscaping? This is a retirement community. I should be peaceful! Yet in the morning, I will have to listen to the park do the same area they just did barely 24 hours ago, then in the afternoon I will hear so and so trimming bushes, and then in the evening so and so will be out to saw, hammer, mow or blow.

So last night I was packing our things in my dreams from some really big room on an upper floor. Andy came upstairs at one point and I told him to tell Tom I’d be done in 10 minutes. Yet the more I packed the more it still seemed I had tons of stuff to pack.

I then dashed throughout the room and said something like, “Thank goodness for being in shape.”

I also pulled a tiny corner shelf out of the wall and noticed that the lights kept turning off on their own.

Then my VH sister Becky appeared and suddenly it was daytime.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2014 Supposedly, Kim found me by accident on Prosebox, freaked out and is considering leaving there that’s how scared she is of me since I let her know what I would do if she continued not to leave me alone. This is what Alison told me anyway. Also according to Aly, she’s so scared of me that she doubts she reads my tweets or would be asking me questions on Ask, even anonymously.

I love it when stalkers play the victim. rolls eyes Anyway, I first thought it might be Molly, but the spelling is too correct, Molly’s only online every few days from what her Josh blog says, and she never peeked in my blog. I just find it odd that she would check me out on Ask and not my blog. Then again, I also find it odd that she hasn’t mentioned Aly in so long. Too preoccupied with Josh maybe? Molly also says in her blog that she’s only online every few days, so we’ll see if they ask things when she appears to have updated her blog.

The questions appear to be from someone who’s questioned me anonymously in the past, based on the wording, but they’ve been innocent questions like do I celebrate holidays and things like that. They do, however, seem afraid to identify themselves. They ignore me when I ask if I ever talked to them before on a blogging site.

I checked to see if gifts could be sent without an account, and they can. They just can only be sent anonymously that way, of course. Maybe this is the same person that sent me a birthday gift. Whoever it is definitely wants to keep their identity secret and I can only think of two reasons why. They’re either someone who knows I can’t stand them, or they might feel I’ll be more truthful in my answers if they don’t reveal who they are. Can’t say they’re fishing for personal info, because nothing personal has been asked of yet pertaining to my location or anything like that.

It could be anyone – Kim, Aly, my own sister, a VH sister, Eileen, Christine, Nane… anyone. Pretty sure they’re in the US based on their apostrophes, which look sort of backward in EU, though I can’t speak for other continents because I’ve had limited contact with people over there as opposed to EU.

Did a little test to see if they came to their own defense by impersonating them with additional questions I made sure appeared to be from them. Anonymously, of course. I had them say things like they would tell me who they were in time, but could I guess in the meantime? It will be interesting to see if they go along with it or not.

Maybe I’ll even do an Andy test to see if my suspicions are right about him liking to talk about something the less I want to hear about it. On Facebook, I can make a post only he can see when I start my diet, asking people to go easy on the food talk and see if he turns right around and mentions food two seconds later.

I definitely agree with a point Tom made earlier in that part of his memory issues is a personality thing. He’s selfish, as he himself admitted. Selfish people tend to only remember their own experiences.

Later…

The weekend is here! Tom’s still asleep, but later on we’ll be going to Walmart. I hope he’s up before it gets too crowded.

It also looks like the weather will be nice enough to get in a bike ride. It’s supposed to be dry all weekend. The rain is to return on Monday. Perfect timing! Our highs are only in the 50s these days and right now it’s a chilly 48°.

For dreams, I was sitting with Tammy somewhere and bitching to her about the lack of home jobs available for those unable to work outside of home.

Then I got a quick “glimpse” into the past and viewed a scene of my mother and her mother in a kitchen somewhere. My mother couldn’t have been a day over 16. My grandmother was still somewhat thin and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. What is it with this bitch showing up in my dreams so much lately anyway?

Then I had a dream Aly was in. It was as if I didn’t know Tom. I don’t know where she and I were living at the time, but we were planning to get an apartment together. She was to take care of the expenses and I was to take care of everything else.

So we were at some club and the dance floor was packed. Some German guy that spoke no English kept badgering Aly for a dance but she wasn’t interested. She told me to tell him to back off and I did. The guy took off and Aly said something about how I seemed to know a lot of German. “Well, we know who to thank for that,” I said.

She then pulled me by the arm toward the dance floor and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re not friends with her right now. Let’s dance!”

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2014 Still raining out. Hasn’t rained like this in years! I’d rather be on the beach in Maui, but it sure is keeping things quiet around here.

Felt a touch jittery yesterday, but nothing serious. I’m fine now and I hope I stay that way. It’s been two weeks since my last chill pill, which might be a record for me.

I just wish I wasn’t so torn on things at times! Should we get a kitten or stick to rats? Should I cut my hair to my shoulders or let it keep growing? It’s almost to the middle of my back when pulled straight. Do I try Nutrisystem for a month or do I just stay the way I am since I’m only a little overweight?

Had a dream that I was in the house where I grew up that was next to my maternal grandparents. The only difference was that you could see into their backyard in the dream from the cellar window which didn’t exist in real life and wasn’t as huge as this one was. Nana was in her backyard leading an aerobics class or something. She saw me looking out the window at her and she mouthed the words, “Yes, you can do this too,” with body language that hinted at sarcasm. I was busy doing laundry, though.

Later…

Sometimes I still wonder about Andy. Is he really having memory issues, or just playing with me? His admission yesterday sort of confirmed that he likes to gross me out/annoy me when I commented on a pic of a hairy guy he posted being gross. His response was that he “loves showing me pics of hairy guys.”

And other things he knows I don’t like or care for? I’ve wondered this at times. I mean it’s just a coincidence (or is it) that he posts a pic of pizza after I mentioned on Facebook that my meds were making me hungry. How about when I mentioned, also on Facebook, signs of those preoccupied or even obsessed with food and then he turns around and mentions what he’s having for dinner? There was something else he recently did that made me wonder, and well, I’ve had these same suspicions all along.

The memory issues and the OMG stupidity are getting to me, too. How many times do I have to explain the same goddamn things to him? He last asked me if there were others I texted besides Tom. Just 5 hours earlier I told him I texted with Aly. I asked if he was reading my questions/answers in haste, and I get, “What do you mean, reading in haste?” I am so ready to beat my head into the wall where he’s concerned! Just what is it with him??? Early dementia? Just not paying attention? Not giving a shit? Playing games? This isn’t just an issue of forgetfulness, but an issue of stupidity as well. He just doesn’t get things you would think most people would get.

I don’t know what’s worse at times, whether it’s intentional or not, the way he at least appears to go out of his way to offend or gross me out, his memory issues, or his stupidity. If he truly is suffering from memory loss lately, that can make him appear dumber than he actually is. I’ve thought of suggesting that he ask his doctor about it, but I figure he’ll just get offended as if I were attacking him and then counterattack by throwing my sleep disorder in my face or something.

Although it’s conceivable that he could be playing with me with the memory thing, since I know that if he can play with me on other things he could with this too, but at this point I think his memory issues are very real. I just don’t know what’s causing it. My guess is all the years of being a pothead. It really does fry the brain.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2014 Dear Levothyroxine: Thanks for making me feel better. I am no longer dizzy. I am no longer moody or anxious for no apparent reason whatsoever. I don't go from hot to cold as much. I'm not skinny but I have a nice hourglass shape and can now eat what I want without gaining weight so long as I run or ride my bike a few miles a day. My voice is no longer hoarse at times and the burning sensation is gone too. Now will you PLEASE STOP KNOCKING THE HAIR OUT OF MY FREAKIN HEAD?!

The more I get back to my old self and think about Doc Sexy, the more pissed off I get. I know she told me my ingrown toenail might grow back, but had she done it right the first time around, we wouldn’t have wasted hundreds of dollars for nothing.

Secondly, and as Tom pointed out months ago, I didn’t need a shrink (which I did not see), I needed a dose of medication that wasn’t too high for me. Giving me a low dose of lorazepam at the time was fine and even the counselor referral was ok too, but a shrink that can give me medication just so I can take a dose of another medication that’s too high for me? That’s just ridiculous! To think that she and two other so-called pros told me to keep on taking 75mcg when it was making me feel like utter shit really pisses me off.

She was good for the biopsy I had done and she was good for the rash I had as well, so I can’t go so far as to say she was a bad doctor. She was great in many ways, but definitely wrong for me as a whole. Maybe if I’d had the problems I had years ago with asthma and allergies she would’ve been just fine, but with my current situation I definitely did right by giving her up and I definitely did right by dropping Dr. D and Sutter altogether.

I also withdrew the friend request I had sent her, but I honestly doubt she even got it, or the message I sent her, knowing how glitchy Facebook can be. The message I sent never came up as being seen. Why would she read it and then mark it as unread? Most likely because she didn’t get it or the friend request, but it doesn’t matter. Hottie or not, I don’t care to be friends with her at this point, though I do wish her the best of luck in life.

The wind is whipping and I forgot to write down my dreams as soon as I got up, so I wouldn’t forget them. Damn!

We’re supposed to get 5” of rain today! That’ll keep things quiet around here as it should be for being a retirement community. All I hear is the wind and wind chimes right now.

SMUD arrived at 8:30 yesterday morning, but didn’t turn off the power till around 9:15. They replaced the transformer diagonally from us that serves something like 9 houses. Didn’t realize our electricity ran underground, but it does. For someone who’s normally observant, it’s strange that I never realized till yesterday that there are no utility poles or power lines running from house to house.

After they lifted the transformer off the truck with a crane and put it in place, the power came back on about 20 minutes later. In the meantime, I texted Tom, Andy, Tammy and Aly. That Google speech-to-text thing can get addicting! It’s fun to use, though not always accurate.

Tom read an interesting article about rats. Unlike dogs and cats, which have been pets for thousands of years (well, dogs aren’t usually pets in the West), rats have only been pets for about 100 years. Rat catchers used to gather rats from people’s homes in the early 1900s, throw them in a pen with a dog, and then people would bet on how fast it would take the dog to kill all the rats. Disgusting and cruel!

I also learned that more of the rats have names besides the hooded ones. Cream-colored rats with a spec of brown on the nose like my Sugar ratty are Himalayan rats. Dark brown rats with white paws and bellies like Romeo was are Berkshire rats. If they have colored heads with stripes running down the back like Hoodie, they’re Hooded. If they only have colored heads, they’re Capped.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 2014 After growing horribly weak and thin, especially over the last few days, Romeo finally died yesterday morning shortly after Tom left for work. I was surprised he hung on as long as he did, though I thought he’d make it another day or two. He now rests under the cypress trees.

I’m surprised Sugar outlived him after having a stroke last May, but he’s only a month or two younger, so I don’t expect him to make it to the spring.

Young Hoodie is getting to be a real attention whore, haha.

Still torn about getting a kitten. They’d be less work and I like the idea of having a pet that lives more than just 2-3 years. They don't catch on as fast as rats even though they can learn some things. One thing Tom recently read is that they have an inability to think things through and will do things like climb to high places without making sure they can get back down first. A rat, however, is intelligent enough to think before climbing, and they will. I also don't know where I'd move some of these breakables to, so we'll see.

Completed Dutch Basics 1, Basics 2, and Phrases, and now it’s on to Food and then Plurals.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 9, 2014 I rejoined Tumbler a couple of days ago and couldn’t think of a creative username at the time, so I grabbed one of their suggestions – ButteryHappyLand. Tom got a kick out of it. I’m backing up entries by the month there. Meaning that a whole month’s worth will go in one long post. The posts will be separated by giant HD photos for those with large screens to enjoy. I’ve got the late 80s and most of the 90s posted.

It just really annoys me when people follow me there or on sites like Twitter for all the wrong reasons. Meaning that they want me to buy something from them. They don’t have a genuine interest in my blogs/tweets.

Tom and I are going to ride the perimeters really early this morning. Really hope my little heart can handle the hills! It should be ok with the gear wheel. I’m so glad he likes working out with me because I’m definitely not ready to go out there alone.

Last night I dreamed I was lost in a huge building and asked a stout black lady for directions to get somewhere. She told me to take the elevator up a few floors and exit the back door. I guess the elevator had two doors and the place I was looking for was on a back floor.

In another dream, I was at the home of my maternal grandparents. For some reason, I was terrified of Pa and believed that Nana was, too. I ran down the hallway and into a bedroom where I called the police on my cell.

They asked me for the number of the house, but I couldn’t think of it. Finally, I just said, “Look for Berkeley Dr. I grew up there and my grandparents are in the house to the left.”

It seemed like I was on the phone with them forever and I finally said, “Why hasn’t anyone shown up yet?”

Just when I thought they’d hung up on me or the connection had dropped, the dispatcher said, “Some would say you’re the problem.”

“What?!” I said with confusion and frustration. Not knowing what they were implying or wanting to deal with people who obviously weren’t willing to help me, I ran out into the living room to see if Nana was ok. She appeared to be asleep on the couch while Pa sat in a chair nearby. Although his eyes were open and glued to the TV, I thought he was asleep.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2014 Although these rats have fooled me before and have defied death, I'd say Romeo's days are definitely numbered. He's anorexic, can barely move, and is old as hell in ratty years.

Andy thanked me for not dumping him after he visited (I don’t know why he thought I would do that at such a time).

After the guilt bit me on the ass after "frivolously" dumping people years ago simply because I needed to "clear my head" or "find my way" or because I "didn't need" a particular person in my life, I vowed to be a better, more devoted friend. I may get annoyed with some people at times just as they do with me, but from here on out, in order to qualify for a Jodi dumping, you must have the following traits:

The inability to accept me as I am without trying to control, change or judge me (though this doesn't mean you can't kindly tell me the color yellow looks shitty on me).

The ability to lie to me.

The willingness to use and abuse me at will to suit your own personal pleasures.

An obvious lack of compassion and empathy should I become ill, poor, pissed, mad, sad or fearful of something be it a pack of angry wolves or the paperclip in my desk drawer.

If you do not have any of these traits then you do not qualify for me to stick my finger down my throat and purge you out of my life.

So that’s basically it! I mean there are a few other things that could drive me away – making false accusations against me, becoming overly clingy/demanding, having major trust issues, which basically means you wouldn’t believe a damn thing I (or anyone else) said, or acting extremely moody/contradictory. It has always annoyed the hell out of me when people feel one way one minute, then another the next, on a constant basis, or when they can’t follow through with their word. Excessive repetitiveness gets to me at times too, when all people want to do is discuss the same damn few subjects all the time, most of which I know nothing about and probably don’t want to. It’s highly unlikely I’d let someone go for being repetitive, though. We all get hung up on certain things at times. Oh, and I could definitely do without stupidity and immaturity at times, too.

Dreams: I had a pet snake that crawled under a friend’s chair which I pulled out. The friend ran scared anyway. I also had a puppy or a small dog and was watching a reality show where a woman met some people she’d known in her abusive childhood, and was saying she had forgiven one woman who was particularly nasty to her in school.

In the last dream, I hadn’t seen Tom for 9 years, though I have no idea why. I asked him what his best and worst experiences were during those years. He said his best was a computer program he wrote, and his worst was a foot injury.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2014 The Internet has become just as annoying as it is fun and useful. Everywhere I go I see nothing but links and comments about race, race, race! Nothing but race! Everything’s about race these days. Funny too, since true racism – true honest-to-God racism – is relatively rare these days, and the vast majority of racism claims are either fabricated or twisted in some way to be a lot more than it actually is. But why oh why are people – both blacks and whites alike – so damn blind to see this??? Perhaps they just don’t want to. Nothing’s changed for me, though, and I make ZERO apologies for my feelings either. Act like thugs and I’m going to see you as thugs. Keep on being responsible for over 80% of the crime in this country and crying racism when you don’t get your way and I’m not going to have an ounce of respect for you.

Apparently, England doesn’t have the double standards America has with allowing blacks to shit on whites while crucifying whites for shitting on them (or who they imagine are shitting on them). I don’t know the details, but it has to do with something about a black athlete being charged with a racist Instagram message. It’s nice to see that it’s not ok for blacks to do what they accuse us of doing there, but damn has political correctness gotten way out of hand! Black or white, no one should be charged for something they say or write. What they do, maybe, but for words alone? If you threaten a minor, perhaps, but because you spoke your mind in a place no one was forced to listen/read?

I’ve joined in Andy's canning excursion only we’re not going to go out driving to collect cans. Instead, we’re going to stop throwing ours in our recycling bin. I was bitching to Tom the other day that I wasn’t making as much as I’d like lately on the Turk. The Turk fluctuates, and the more you do the less you qualify for since they don’t want the same people doing the same tasks. I told Tom months ago that while I appreciate his offer to buy me whatever I want, I like to work too (other than keeping house) and don’t mind working for Amazon goodies and other fun things that aren’t necessities. So while I won’t quit the Turk completely, I will now also be saving and bagging cans and bottles instead of throwing them in our recycling bin. We were doing that just because it was convenient to do so and didn’t need the extra money. But we have plenty of room in this place to store the extra bags, so why not? Most of the things I like lately are under $50, so why not have the cans and bottles pay for them?

I have felt sooo much better since going back on the meds. Never thought I’d say that, but as long as I’m not on a dosage too high for my body to handle, I definitely feel a lot less dizzy. Even my throat and anxiety are better and I’m not going from hot to cold as much. Funny how in the last couple of weeks I’ve felt the best I’ve felt in months after this very medication caused me a shitload of problems, and then even more problems after I stopped taking it. I haven’t even thought of chill pills lately. I still have plenty on hand as I’m not about to let myself suffer if I need them, but anxiety’s been the last thing on my mind lately and I hope it stays that way for a good long time! TFG what happened a few months ago didn’t happen while we were in Hawaii. What a disaster that would’ve been!

Got my new HP 10” Pavilion laptop/tablet and it’s going to take some serious getting used to. It’s got Windows 8, so the first thing we did was beef up the security as best we possibly could. I’m no longer used to Windows, and less safe or not, it’s going to take some learning since it’s changed so much when I was last using XP and Vista. Vista was horrible, but I did like XP despite the crashing and viruses. I just hope I don’t get any viruses! This thing isn’t going to replace my big Mac but just be something I use in addition or when I’m not home. If there are any issues with it, I’ll just spend the grand or so it’ll cost to buy myself some safety and get something similar in a Mac. We didn’t pay much for this thing. It was something like $230 and $144 of it was paid for with our Walmart savings. No one wants to believe it unless they’ve had Macs for as long as we have, but Macs really are that much safer. It has to do with the way they’re built and how easy it is for people to get at your stuff. If outsiders can get in and access things, so can the viruses.

Tom is coming up with better story ideas than I am lately. I have a rainbow-covered paper journal which I bought to take to Hawaii with me. Besides using it for the trip (and any future trips) I write quick one-page updates each month. The idea is to contribute to the little library the previous owners left here when we either move or die. That way if the next people want to, they can read about our lives here.

“Should I mention that Andy said he sensed Gene?” I asked Tom. That’s when he said it’d make for a good story if someone moved into a house to find a book all about these supposed hauntings. They don’t believe it at first until they experience it firsthand, and of course no one else believes them at first either.

The electric company is going to shut our electricity off for an hour Wednesday morning, which probably means 3 hours, and I thank fucking God I’ll be up at that time. I’d have been pissed as hell if I were to be sleeping. They’re probably going to replace a transformer or something.

Dreams: First one I remember dealt with an old neighbor of mine named Jimmy. He lived below me in the late 80s back in MA. I was visiting him or something and he had an arm in a cast after a severe shoulder injury. The apartment I lived in on the 4th floor above him was also Andy's condo in part of that dream.

A fleeting glimpse of a huge, old, ugly stainless steel microwave, and then Tom pulling me down next to him on a loveseat by a set of stairs while someone knocked on the door… and then a dream that took place here.

I was home alone and in the living room. The dining room window was further toward the right than it actually is. I saw two dark-haired guys in their 30s or 40s with white dress shirts and dark pants walk by. I knew they were heading for the back door. Not wanting to be bothered, I dropped to the floor thinking I could at least observe them without them seeing that someone was actually home.

Next thing I know they’re trying to pry the door open. The idea was to scramble to my feet and defend my home. I didn’t like that there were two of them, but doing absolutely nothing at all was no alternative. However, I couldn’t seem to push myself up off the floor. It was as if I suddenly weighed hundreds of pounds. When I finally did get up, I kicked the door shut just as it opened, but there was no one there. Thinking they’d slipped into the house somehow without me seeing them, I ran through the place in search of them, but I was alone.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2014 Been getting views from Davis, not too far from here. It’s a college town. One of the hits from there said it came from the office of the president. Being a college, it definitely can’t be anyone I know.

Looks like I tweeted about last night but didn’t blog about it. Well, we went to Denny’s and Walgreens. I was surprised at just how many people were out and about so late on a Thursday night. Dinner was delicious, though I’d have preferred not to eat it to the tune of 60-year-old Christmas songs blasting away. I was eventually glad for the racket since it did drown out those disgusting eating sounds Tom loves to make. Still, not everybody likes the same music and they shouldn’t force it on customers, even if no one’s forced to eat there.

My steak was a bit tough but good. With it, I had French fries, scrambled eggs and pancakes. Tom got a cheeseburger and fries.

At Walgreens, we both got some candy, and I got a set of 18 tiny bottles of nail polish, 5 of which are glitter topcoats, for just $10! I’d much rather have more small bottles in a variety of colors than fewer big bottles.

Still doing my Dutch lessons. It’s way more similar to German than it is to English, but not quite as difficult because you don’t have umlauts.

I moved the rats back into the bigger cage, but not the skinny-barred cage. I put them in the ferret cage. This way they can have more room and I don’t have to change it every few days.

Speaking of the rats, I had a dream one of them was in a suitcase I had taken somewhere. Not that I would pack my rats in a suitcase, of course, haha, but in the dream the airline lost the suitcase and I was frantically trying to get help with getting a hold of it because I believed the rat would be dead in a day or two.

In another dream, I was either staying or living somewhere where the weather was very summery. I stepped out of what I guess was a house and toward the road. To my right, the street ended a few houses down and I could see kids playing in that direction. To my left was a pool and straight ahead was the ocean. I seemed to be contemplating which one to take a dip in.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2014 Although it puts me at risk of being stalked (since you just never know how people are going to react when you go off on them) I let one of my Prosebox followers in Michigan have it for bitching about me in one of her posts when her frustrations should've been voiced directly to me. It's ok to bitch in your blog about people. We all do it here and there. That’s what a journal is for; to write about the people, places and experiences of our lives. But still… she could have and should have come to me as well instead of being so damn rude, childish and immature about a lousy privacy error before she either hid or removed the entry! Did I go to HER? You bet. I'm not afraid to confront the source, and that’s just what I did.

Meanwhile, I apologized to those who were put out by my accidentally flooding bookmarks, and who handled it like adults without acting like it was done deliberately or like I did something a helluva lot more annoying than just flood bookmarks.

I thought about blocking her, but I usually only resort to blocking when I’m being trolled or spammed. So since I have nothing to hide, blocking isn’t necessary and hopefully, it won’t be in the future either, but that’s up to them. I know that like me, they have no children and they don’t work outside of home, so they have enough time on their hands to become a nuisance if they really want to at which time I will deal with them accordingly. I don’t expect them to make trouble for me, thus for themselves as well, but that’s what I thought about a couple of others who did just that for years. So… we’ll see.

When I’m not accidentally uploading a bunch of drafts to a private book that I accidentally set as public, I usually make an average of 1-3 posts a day. If that’s too much for you, I told them, feel free to unfollow me. :) After all – and I mean no offense whatsoever to those I’ve met there who have been super kind to me – I didn’t go there to make friends. I use the site as a means of storing backups of my writings. Friends that come of it are just a byproduct of this action. :)

I haven’t heard from Nane, and don’t care if I do or I don’t hear from her. I hope she won’t take that the wrong way if she reads my blog, but I’ve become rather indifferent as far as she’s concerned. Whatever happens, happens. I still feel she is a wee bit too hypocritical and judgmental for my tastes and I respect myself enough not to put up with that sort of thing. It wasn’t the first time I’d had this problem with her. Once or twice I will point it out to a person, let them know I don’t appreciate being treated that way, and then if they still can’t accept me as I am, I cut ties with them and move on.

It’s ok not to like fish like I do, but must I be bashed and insulted for my own tastes? Also, making fun of someone for their fears or problems isn’t the way to help them deal with it. While we had a lot of good chats and she’s a very interesting and intelligent lady, she also showed me a side of her that can be very insensitive and lacking in compassion. There are 7 billion people in the world. No need for me to put up with those who have to judge and criticize half the things I say and do, nor is there any need to put up with others who don’t meet our expectations when we can just move on without bothering to try to change them. Like trying to get a mystery lover into romance novels when there are enough mystery lovers in the world!

So… yes, I will talk to her if she can contact me while letting me be who I am, and yes, I will be ok with it should she choose never to contact me again.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 4, 2014 Slept late for my 49th birthday today and am glad I did. That way we can go to Denny’s for steak and eggs late enough for the brats to be tucked in for the night, but a little too early for the drunks.

I finished my Dreams book and will have a lot of editing to catch up on throughout the night, plus I try to take a Dutch lesson each day.

Tom and I worked out together. I’m so glad he found a form of exercise he really enjoys, but damn do I miss riding the bike around the park! It’s been too cold, too wet, or just not a good time for that lately, and of course I can’t work out alone for fear of any heart explosions. It will be a while before I feel comfortable doing that, depending on how long I can go without it beating really fast and hard.

I was surprised, delighted, and frustrated over the fact that someone on my first Ask account bought me a little birthday gift. :) The frustrating part was that they chose to do it anonymously, so I am not only racking my brains trying to guess who it could be, but I am unable to thank them. I would guess, however, that if they cared enough to buy me the gift, then they must know me well enough that they might read this. If they do… thanks whoever you are!

Later…

Spent most of my birthday sleeping, relaxing, reading, writing, eating and working out. Life is good, even though I'd skip to age 50 if I could. The number 4 is a very unlucky number, and I certainly wouldn't want to get any younger with a husband 8.5 years older.

Andy had me cracking up the other day. Right before he left I asked him for a piece of gum. He said he hated to say no to me, but was low and the gum was like his cigarettes. I told him no problem. Yesterday, though, he said he regretted saying no after all we’d spent on him. We didn’t spend that much, but I get where he’s coming from, even though I really shouldn’t be having gum with my sensitive teeth anyway. Where it really got funny was when he said, “On the train, I wouldn’t let myself have that piece as punishment since Gloria’s pool wasn’t available.”

Back in my 20s when I was into celebrities like most young people tend to be, I had a huge crush on Gloria Estefan. In cold, snowy, boring, old, ugly Springfield, Massachusetts where I lived at the time, I would often imagine to him what it would be like to visit her lush mansion in sunny, warm Florida. Andy would joke about me being her servant and how she could make me swim laps in her glorious pool to punish me whenever I’d step out of line, haha. So that’s where Gloria’s pool came from. :)

In last night’s dreams, I was at a restaurant with a few people. I don’t know who they were, but we were getting pissed that the waiter left our tray of food just sitting on the counter. I got up to let him have it just as he finally brought the tray to our table. Then a baby started screaming nearby and the mother smacked it. Literally. Only each time she smacked it, it would start screaming in a different language.

Then I had a dream I saw Teri, a Facebook friend, only Teri wasn’t Teri in the dream. She had some weird name instead, but I don’t remember what it was.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2014 I’m so wowed by all this rain! I slept most of the day and had I gotten up to find Romeo gone after the dream I had, I just might wonder if there really could be an afterlife after all.

Tom’s looking forward to once again having 4 days off. Not sure how much fun we can have together, though, LOL. We’re kind of on opposite schedules right now, but he can adapt a lot easier than I can, so we’ll see.

His BP medication makes him cough, even though it’s a low dose. I told him that if they raised the dose he’d sound like a smoker and he said that if he keeps working out consistently he shouldn’t need them much longer. That’d be great. I’m all for choosing the natural way over drugs anytime that’s possible. If giving up eggs meant never needing statins again, so be it, but my cholesterol isn’t high because of what I eat. It’s high because of hypothyroidism. No wonder my old doc didn’t take the time to stress low-cholesterol menus with me until I came to learn and understand more about this shit.

Romeo can be affectionate, but for the most part, he’s not nearly as friendly and as into cuddling as Sugar is. In the dream, though, I opened the cage door and sat down on the floor a few feet in front of it with a piece of bread in my hand. One of the rats climbed up to the top of the cage, but Romeo hobbled out and headed toward me. Instead of taking the food, all he wanted to do was cuddle. It was like he was saying goodbye or something, but he was still alive even though he was withering away to nothing really fast.

Yesterday I dreamed they were collecting the trash. Only instead of the big garbage truck, the park was collecting it on these little trailers. Realizing I was late to put ours out, I started running up the hill with this big old garbage bin in tow. Someone on a trailer saw me and drove down to fetch both the trash and me. The male driver turned into a female driver who kept telling me that in order to climb up onto the trailer bed I had to first step up onto a white sneaker that was lying on its side.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2014 Another rainy, quiet day, though I saw a service truck of some kind parked in front of next door and thought I heard scattered hammering earlier.

Gonna work out with Tom when he gets in. He does the Wii and I do the treadmill. Indoor working out is so boring compared to outdoor working out, but this isn’t the ideal weather for going outside.

Been less dizzy the last couple of days and I’m so glad about that! Those dizzy spells were really getting old. Hopefully, the meds will keep on helping without the anxiety and upset stomach.

Tonight I’ll be reorganizing my “Dreams” book. I want to organize them by dates. Thought of rejoining Tumblr for the hell of it, but I don’t know if I will or not.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2014 The test results are in and my cholesterol is off the charts at “cardiac risk,” and my TSH is 32.24. This means (for any newcomers tuning in) that my thyroid is severely underactive. It’s not totally dead but it’s close enough. No wonder I’ve been back to gaining half a pound a day despite working out and watching what I eat. Still not watching how much I eat, though, and that’s super important as I said in my last entry. That will have to be part of my New Year’s resolution, I guess.

These numbers are pretty much where I was when I was first diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I just worry and wonder how they’re going to get me normal without it damn near killing me like last time. Levothyroxine and anxiety/tachycardia don’t seem to mix well. My resting pulse is naturally high when off medication, so to be given a medication that speeds that up is kinda scary. It’s a little racy right now, but that’s mostly because I’m alone and because of the results. Not a good time to work out!

I had thought eating foods low in cholesterol would help, but as one of my PB buddies pointed out, the cholesterol that rises when you have hypothyroidism is what your body produces and not dietary. It’s mostly my triglycerides that are high.

They called Tom’s phone and he explained to them that I only started the meds on the 27th when he could be home with me a little more, and so I will have to return to the vampire after January 15th. Then he was given a number to give to me for an endocrinologist. I requested Dr. O, as was recommended to me, and will see her on January 19th.

I'm just glad they didn't hit me with some new disease showing up in my blood like diabetes or something. I know skinny people can get that, but I think that's mostly an obese thing and I'm not only just a little overweight (per ex-sexy doc's words), I'm also pretty active. Well, when my heart will let me be without making me feel like it's going to jump outa my chest.

Because I only just started the 25 mcg on the 27th, I have to go in for more blood work after Jan. 15th. Since the 50's dropped me to 12, I'm guessing the 25's will drop me to 22-23.

I figured I was due for some noise from next door. Was it the saw? Nope. The hammer? Nope. It was just their latest home improvement project; new windows. Tree-cutting, new ovens, carpet cleaning, new windows… what’s next? I’m just glad I slept in today cuz the window upgrading probably began fairly early.

In the first of this month’s dreams, I was living or working at someplace with several other people. One person had on this really nice perfume and I said something like, “Someone smells sexy today.”

Some people, including myself, were going to the store and someone asked those who weren’t going if they needed anything. A woman who might’ve been Nancy from Phoenix said she wanted to get some kind of sleeping pill that had a long and funny name. When I was at the store I was looking for it to try for myself, but all I could find were rows and rows of candy bars with some bananas sort of hidden behind them.

[vexinglyvague]

Left my annual "games I’m excited for" list in my drafts back in January, so I’ve updated it. As of June 11, 2023, here’s the games I’ve enjoyed and the ones I’m looking forward to.

Enjoyed:

1. Star Wars Jedi: Survivor (sequel to Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order). Release date: April 28 for Xbox Series X/S, PS5, and PC.

2. Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (sequel to Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild). Release date: May 12 for Nintendo Switch.

Looking forward to:

3. Dordogne. Release date June 13, 2023. Will be available on Xbox Series X/S, PS 4/5, Steam, and Nintendo Switch. A narrative game from French studio Focus Entertainment, its watercolor style and soundtrack lend itself to a thoughtful exploration of childhood memories.

4. Starfield. Release date September 6, 2023. A Bethesda entry that surprised me given their seeming focus on Fallout 76 (don’t get me started on Fallout 76). Will be available on Xbox Series X/S and PC.

5. Marvel’s Spider-Man 2. Release date October 20, 2023. Unfortunately a PS5 only release, so I won’t be able to play it for a while, but for those of you with a PS5, you know it’ll be good. From Insomniac Games who made the original Marvel’s Spider-Man and Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales for the PS4 as well as Sunset Overdrive for the Xbox (not to mention Spyro and Ratchet & Clank).

6. Jusant. Release date fall 2023. From the studio who made Life is Strange, this meditative journey game looks right up my alley. It seems like it will have a vibe similar to The Last Campfire, and we need more games like that. Will be available on Xbox Series X/S, PS5, and PC.

7. South of Midnight — announcement trailer dropped June 2023, so likely a long wait. By Compulsion Studios who also did We Happy Few and Contrast, so it should be good. Probably an Xbox Series X/S and Microsoft exclusive.

8. Mineko’s Night Market. Releasing September 26, 2023, on Nintendo Switch and Steam. Releasing October 26, 2023, on Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, and PS4/PS5. This Humble Games release is a narrative focused game with adorable graphics that simulates a community night market (and what you do to prepare for it). It looks like a very cozy game.

9. The Wolf Among Us 2 (unknown 2024 release date. Pushed from 2023 in March to avoid crunch). Made by Telltale Games. While the studio has the same name as the one which made the original, let’s not forget that Telltale had a major studio closure in September 2018 and laid off 90% of its staff. I’m cautiously hopeful for this game, but I recognize it’s not the same team who made Telltale what it was. Currently planning a wide release on PS4/PS5, Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, and PC.

10. Little Witch in the Woods (currently in early access. Full release planned for 2023). Made and published by Sunny Side Up, a South Korean Studio I hadn’t heard of until this gem entered early access on Xbox Game Pass as part of the Game Preview program. If you like Stardew Valley, this may be up your alley (I had to do it, forgive me). Currently available in early access for Xbox One, Xbox Series X/S, and PC.

11. Still Wakes the Deep. Releasing early 2024 from The Chinese Room, who made Dear Esther and Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs. Looks like the kind of game that could give you nightmares. Will be available on Xbox, PlayStation, and Steam (not sure of the specific consoles from the Xbox and PlayStation families yet, but likely just the X/S and PS5).

12. Little Kitty Big City (release date pushed to 2024. Was originally planned for a 2022 release). Will be available on PC and Nintendo Switch. LKBC will be the debut game for Double Dagger Studio, but you’ll recognize the creator of Double Dagger, Matt T Wood, who is a former Valve developer and part of the teams who made Portal 2, Half-Life 2, Left 4 Dead, Team Fortress 2, and CS:GO. This game looks cute and fun with an energetic team behind it.

13. Dungeons of Hinterberg. Releasing 2024 on Xbox Series S/X and Steam, this cel-shaded, action-adventure RPG is from  Microbird Games. Not a studio I’m familiar with, but it looks like a refreshing entry into the 2024 lineup.

14. Metaphor: Re Fantazio. A 2024 Xbox Series X/S and Steam release by Atlus, including the Persona team. It reminds me of WebToons like The Lone Necromancer, I’m the Max Level Newbie, and Omniscient Reader. Gotta love a story where the power structure of the world is turned on its head. 

15. Revenant Hill. Release date TBA, but likely sometime in 2024 or 2025. Will be available on PS4, PS5, and Steam. This is the debut game for The Glory Society, but your eyes did not deceive you with that trailer, RH is from some of the same team who made Night in the Woods. You play as a cat who becomes a witch’s familiar. If it isn’t obvious, games where you play a cat are some of my favorite games. I’m already hooked.

Potentially interested in, but don’t know enough about yet:

16. Gangs of Sherwood. Releases October 19, 2023, for Xbox Series X/S, PS5, and PC.

[unnamedelement]

Rings of Power ‘Review,’ featuring wood-elves and gender

I’m writing this for two reasons. Firstly, processing things in writing sometimes lets me stop obsessively thinking about them and actually get on with my life, which has been a major issue for me this past week. Second, people keep asking me what I think of the show and who I think The Stranger is (which I won’t actually be talking about here, but short answer is one of the Istari, probably Gandalf, which doesn’t make canonical/historical sense but does make narrative sense, though the Blue Wizards make historical/timeline sense, based on drafts/notes – phew!). Anyway, it is exhausting and anxiety-provoking to give the same thoughts to people across different parts of my life repeatedly, so I am putting it all in one place, though I would not count on this every week. So. Transitioning to the essay, which will be heavily footnoted, just like the Professor himself. I am not sorry. 

Thoughts on Rings of Power: Episodes 1 and 2

Rings of Power (RoP) has proved to be a different story than most of us could have guessed, given the scant scaffolding provided on the First and Second Ages in the The Hobbit (TH), The Lord of the Rings (LotR), and the LotR Appendices, those sources show-creators actually have access to directly use. (Admittedly, info on the Second Age anywhere is sparse, per not only Tolkien’s own admission in Letters but fans’ own scouring of the texts and drafts for scraps of lore.) In this post, I want to talk about some of the things I loved and did not love about the first two episodes of this particular adaptation. I will try not to get super into the weeds with lore here, because most people who follow me in these spaces already understand how this adaptation changed major plot, character history, and historical points. Instead, I want to talk about (a) my personal experiences with RoP, including (i) pre-watching anxieties and beliefs and (ii) watching- and fandom-related joys; and (b) my ongoing and developing thoughts about (i) Silvan and Nandorin representation in the context of intra-elven relations in the larger legendarium and (ii) concepts of gender reflected in RoP design choices.

Personal Experience

First, I want to talk about how I prepared for this adaptation, which is that I acknowledged it, ignored it, and then went feral with excitement (and debilitating anxiety) about it, all within the course of a one-year period. Anyone who knows me in fandom probably knows that–when I have enough energy to consistently engage–I try very hard to make the Tolkien world a welcoming place for people. As someone who was a child/teen in online Tolkien fandom as Peter Jackson’s adaptations were coming out (yes, I discovered fanfiction perhaps way too early), I was quite traumatized by some older, lore-heavy fans who vehemently corrected–and sometimes even subtly mocked–me as I was working my way through the appendices, the Silmarillion, and Unfinished Tales. I am therefore very passionate about civility (within reason–I draw the line at supremacist nonsense) in fandom spaces. Ultimately, I never want rejection or belittling–subtle or outright–to be how people experience Tolkien fandom, or even scholarship: gatekeeping helps no one. (Insert boost for the new blog @tolkienfandomagainstgatekeeping!).

Still, while I did preach kindness and encouraged welcoming behavior in the year preceding the release, I nevertheless experienced a lot of change-related anxiety as a neurodivergent person preparing for the potential fandom-related change bound to happen in online Tolkien communities as we processed the new show; dealt with some people’s real (and, admittedly, sometimes scary) rage regarding–and therefore their disingenuous attempts to derail the success of the show due to–race and white supremacy; and, finally, prepared for the influx of fans to the open system of online fandom. I had to take a break from actively engaging with fandom because I could not handle the constant RoP-related emotional stimulus from all sides. However, when I saw the final RoP trailer, their sweeping vision of Middle-earth blew me away–my anxiety morphed into excitement by the end of those three minutes. I did not sleep the night before it came out, and I had to take off work the days after to emotionally recover from it.[1] (I unfortunately do not make the rules for how, when, and why my brain is overstimulated.)

Appreciated Moments

At this point, I will transition to a few things that I absolutely loved. This section is less critical and lore-heavy than the following ones, but we will start with a pseudo-lore moment I loved: the symbolism of the opening scene with Galadriel and the other children. While the show cannot talk about the Kinslayings–which is hugely problematic to me from an elven relations and politics perspective (more on that later)–this scene is very clearly an allusion to the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and the burning of the Telerin swan boats.[2] Whether these children who are harassing Galadriel are actually her Feanorian cousins or not, we cannot guess for certain, as we don’t have a clear birthdate for most of the younger Finweans.[3] (Further, if we think about it too hard, things get complicated and confusing very quickly.)[4] Still, it was a nice little homage to the parts of history the show is not allowed to talk about–I teared up due to the beauty of the setting combined with the lore it evoked, which is a very near and dear part of the legendarium to me. That being said, I think that opening scene made some of the lore choices that followed hurt all the more for those of us who did immediately understand the reference, as it alluded to an imminent complexity and nuance that, for me, the show ultimately did not–and, frankly, cannot–deliver. Still, I liked it. Mostly.

Next, I appreciated moments of the dwarven representation, and every single moment of the dwarven design. Having been introduced to LotR prior to Peter Jackson’s (PJ’s) adaptation, I latched onto a few characters at a young age and, for me–for some reason–that was Legolas and Gimli. Gimli in the books is rational yet passionate but, more than anything, he is silvertongued and poetic. As much as I love John Rhys-Davies’ performance in the PJ films, the writers made some mistakes in their choices regarding his role as, almost entirely, comic relief. The representation in the dwarves of Khazad-dum/Moria in this adaptation goes some way in repairing the lasting image of dwarves that took hold in fan communities following the PJ films. I found the opening scene–in which the dwarves challenged Elrond to a…show of strength?–a little hard to follow and a bit strange and othering given the show is told almost entirely from an elven point of view thus far, but I was overall pleased. I found Durin III and Disa likable, and the scene at the kitchen table went a long way to endearing Elrond’s character in this adaptation to me, while cementing Disa as an excellent original character in her own right. Overall, the design team blew me away with their conception of Khazad-dum. The ferns hanging off the side of the cliff inside the entrance illogically moved me to tears, and the dwarven ingenuity represented by the pulley-based elevator system felt very true to how I have always imagined dwarves. My only hope is that Celebrimbor and Narvi have some screentime. Elrond can't have everything.

Finally, like almost everyone, I enjoyed the Harfoots. [5] While I have heard a lot of commentary about how “hobbits weren’t supposed to be involved in the major events of the Second Age!!”, I also think it’s worth reminding the world that (a) hobbit-like folk were living in the Vales of Anduin by the Third Age, and it would be absolutely bonkers to think they never interacted with or minorly influenced characters who do have a “documented” role if they had been out and about earlier; (b) almost everything Tolkien wrote about history is written “within” his Secondary World, i.e., by one of the characters he imagined kept historical records and, thus, there is likely inherent narrative bias to what we do “know” about the Second Age; and (c) wood-elves were mostly only mentioned in the context of the Second Age in relation to Sindarin and Noldorin migration and expansion, but no one is complaining about Arondir. (Okay, they are, but they’re complaining about him for racist reasons, not simply because wood-elves exist in this telling.)

Oh, and the music! I am not the right person to talk about the music, but that–combined with the gorgeous design and setting–will keep me coming back for the rest of the season, regardless of what happens.

Nandorin-Silvan Elves, Intra-elven Relations, and the Related Significance of Omitted Elven History

Now, on to the critique. Let me start by saying: this section is heavily influenced by the utter bewilderment I have felt over the past year trying to understand how a show can be set in the Second Age without rights to most of the material of the First. What is the point in making a show when you cannot actually adapt the material realistically? While that is not the point of this section, it is hard for me to disentangle, so it feels only right to mention it.

Since I started writing this review, I came across @itariilles own excellent review on elves in the first two episodes of RoP. I recommend reading her piece as I will not be rehashing the points she made here regarding Galadriel’s character and motivation(s) or the complexity of casting an actor of color as a Silvan elf, with particular attention to her sections “Galadriel’s Motivations” and “Fantasy Racism Against Elves.” To understand more where some of the frustrations expressed by Itariiles, myself, and many other fans come from, I would further, and selfishly perhaps, recommend reading the section Consequences of Resettlement: The “Sindarizing” of the “Wild,” “Lesser” Elves by the Sindarin Princes and Noldorin Exiles of Beleriand in my linked paper here. Because I cannot write this section without at least mentioning elven ethnicity and lore, I do suggest refreshing your brain if you are not familiar with elven cultural groups across the Ages; and then proceed while keeping in mind the following: “Within Tolkien’s elven worlds, these [elven] hierarchies are governed by (a) proximity to Aman and the Valar and, within Middle-earth, (b) proximity to the Noldor, with the Nandor and then the Avari being most distant. Characteristic phrases used to describe the Silvan and Avari are ‘lesser Elves,’ ‘lesser Silvan race,’ ‘wild,’ ‘savage,’ ‘rude and rustic,’ and ‘more dangerous, less wise’” (...me, 2021). [6]

Itariiiles’ does an excellent job outlining why it is odd Silvan elves would be reporting to the High King Gil-galad at this point in Second Age history. She additionally reviews the complexity of the showrunners placing the Tirharad (the human people we see in the Southlands parts of the episode) under Elven dominion. She notes, “A line said by a Silvan soldier reasoning their station over the men of Tirharad as ‘descendants of those who served Morgoth' is uncomfortable as it plays into the established trope of South/Eastern men being inherently evil which links into Orientalist ideas of the East being perceived as fundamentally Other.” This is something I want to take a step further. In this adapted world in which, presumably, Silvan elves answer to the “higher” Noldor, what does it mean that the Silvan folk are being used to carry out what essentially amounts to Noldorin occupation of Mannish lands?

I have a few issues with this, and it has taken me a while to really pinpoint why, and I’m still not quite there on expressing it and do not expect to be until I have more data from the show.  Still, the first thing that bothers me about this setup is that–in this adapted universe–the Silvans reporting to the High Noldor creates unique issues across multiple contexts:

If we are fans of the traditional legendarium, this choice in the adaptation puts the Silvan in an even more more subservient context that Tolkien’s explicit and implicit language originally placed them (which is highly impressive); and

It tells us that within the adapted universe, the Noldor use another ethnic group–one traditionally ranked less highly–to carry out suppression and oversight of a third ethnic group.

This approach has not been uncommon in colonial and neocolonial history and, certainly, utilizing another group of people to establish and maintain strategic governmental and military control is part and parcel of imperialism. While all elves–in the ethnic hierarchy of Middle-earth–may be ranked higher than Men (due to being valued as firstborn by Illuvatar) and, thus, this oppression is not exactly lateral, it is still using one group of people to manage another, while the person in charge essentially handles war, decisions, and paperwork elsewhere.

Of course, all of this whining and speculating could be blown out of the water by something I could never have expected in this RoP universe as the episodes progress–in that they go “on record” changing the history of these ethnic and racial groups, or they reveal that the Noldor are already integrated with the Silvan at this point–but my hopes are not high. Itariiiles’ point–one also made by a speaker on the RoP reaction panel at Oxonmoot, as well (@fernstrike​)–still is not insignificant: What does it mean that the only actor of color cast as an elf thus far is a Silvan reporting to the Noldor, while all the Noldor we have seen–in the first two episodes, at least–are white? We cannot escape the potential impact, as choices in the Secondary World/in-universe are inherently consumed by those of us in this Primary World we share.

My next issue with the flattening of elven history and culture centers on the Sindar, part of the Teleri group to which the Silvan also belong. As @skyeventide asked in her reaction thread (featuring my highly articulate response):

So then: where are the Sindar at this time? And the “Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves”? Given the fact that Durin III is alive and Eregion and Celebrimbor aren’t wasted or strung up, respectively, we can guess a timeframe of a few hundred years for the show, during which the Sindar are certainly out and about, depending on the draft/source (Celeborn in Lindon, Oropher & co. already settling with the Silvan across the mountains). And it is not as if the Sindar are forbidden by copyright to be discussed: Though Doriath is destroyed by the Second Age, it and Thingol are still discussed in the LotR appendices; there is a paragraph exclusively dedicated to how the Sindar migrated and integrated with Silvans in the woods during the time Gil-galad is High King [7]; and Nimrodel’s story and associated Sindarin and Noldorin woes are mentioned in LotR. Certainly it is not unreasonable that this is a storyline that will emerge throughout the season (or the next four, which could ostensibly cover thousands of years), but considering the placement of Silvans beneath Gil-galad at this time, I am wary. Should Thranduil emerge (as Oropher is not mentioned in LotR or the Appendices)–or Amroth or Celeborn (who all also have messy histories across various versions and drafts)–what shall happen? Will the Sindar be placed under the High King’s jurisdiction? Will the Silvans who are not already, apparently, ruled by Gil-galad be lumped in with them, under the High elves, as well?[8]

I can only hope there will be some thoughtful delineation of groups and meaningful and realistic group dynamics based on Elven history and–gasp–even informed by modern political science, social psychology, sociology, or migration studies. Even if the “why” is not immediately apparent in the show, interested viewers can easily look up the backstory and, thus, the show avoids unintentionally rewriting cultural histories (which, real history or not, is tiresome), a constant risk in stories with colonial and neocolonial settings/actors. Ultimately, my biggest concern as a person who thinks way too much about Elven ethnic hierarchy and social stratification is that instead of using the actual history of elven migration, conflict, and the long-lasting effects of the Kinslayings to explain the creation of differing elven realms, the very same effect will be attempted in another manner, i.e., by pinning a split from the Noldor as a personal flaw or choice of some yet unknown Telerin leader, or by having Silvans rebel against Gil-galad’s leadership and thereafter align themselves with certain Noldorin-type leaders (e.g., Galadriel and Celeborn) or Sindarin leaders with skeptical attitudes toward all things High Elven (e.g., Oropher Thranduil).[9] I can see these approaches making narrative sense based on some things that have already been set up in the first two episodes. However, I am still giving myself permission to be skeptical about it and to also just… not particularly like it.

Now, of course, all of this relates to that omitted Elven history, one genre of omission more glaring than all the rest: the flight of the Noldor, the Oath of Fëanor, and the three Kinslayings that followed. The inability of showrunners to incorporate, or even really reference, these events surrounding the Silmarils is disappointing. War is complicated and, to most sides, generally unjust for one reason or another, which is certainly something viewers can relate to. Furthermore, flawed characters are interesting, even if they are flawed because they participated in or failed to actively oppose actions most would now consider unthinkable. Still, the political intrigue and narrative arcs that facilitate this kind of in-universe justification of atrocity in fictional worlds has long been a compelling storyline in myth, religion, and fiction alike. Even Galadriel’s character could be complicated by acknowledging this complex history, or–given copyright limitations–at least creating some alternative scenario that evokes the same historical complexity that the entirety of the First Age embodies, pitting elf against elf against man against elf, all of which barely pales in comparison to The War of Wrath. Galadriel’s behavior in “The Noldor in Beleriand” chapter of the Silmarillion during her conversation with Melian of Doriath (about why the Noldor returned from Aman) lays the groundwork for the type of high political drama this show could evoke, regardless of copyright.[10]

Ultimately, while Tolkien is well-loved by many due to his skill–intentional or not–in creating morally ambiguous characters, perhaps the showrunners are not prepared to address such complexity on screen. As those of us in the Silmarillion fandom know, discussing the human–elf?–rights violations at Alqualondë, Doriath, and Sirion can be tetchy [11], and inviting such tension to a show in the midst of the political uproar surrounding its very existence may have been too much to expect. However, because so much of elven history and hierarchy is situated within splits and migrations directly associated with the story of the Silmarils, it does feel that we are being cheated–especially fans of the Telerin Sindar and Silvan–of the complex story the elves deserve.

This Section Was Supposed to Be: Gender in the Primary and Secondary Worlds of the Original Legendarium and the RoP Adaptation

In this section, I meant to define Primary and Secondary Worlds according to Tolkien’s definitions in “On Fairy Stories,” weave a pretty little tale, and then right-left-punch you with the historical, modern, and in-universe implications of the weird decisions the show made about women.[12] While there is a lot to be said about the racial and ethnic implications of costuming decisions, this post was going to specifically focus on gender, clothing, and gender-related roles in those first two episodes.[13] I was also going to discuss gender-related costuming and cultural-cult-religious implications in some of the other imagery here. (Rest assured, I am certain I am not the first person who did a double-take at that boat scene.) However….  I am tired, I have a project for my research supervisor due tomorrow, and I am not going to let something I love (Tolkien) give me a mental breakdown once again, so I am abandoning that original plan. Instead of a well-crafted section, allow me to ramble at you about gender and, canonically, why I think the elven women in Lindon are ridiculously designed.

Now.

Tolkien and his legendarium were never the height of gender equality and progressivism, but they were also not exactly the worst, if we ignore the fact that he didn’t particularly care for short-haired women wearing pants (Letters) and also that he thought–at least at one point–that elven woman would be pregnant (and thus secluded from larger society??) for 100 years (Nature of Middle-earth, 2021). (Yeah, that’s absolutely bonkers, I know.) However, the text most fans have relied on for years–and which is not directly contradicted in NoME–is “Laws and Customs of the Eldar,” or LaCE in fan parlance.[14] LaCE fairly explicitly describes the similarities and differences between elven men (neri in Quenya) and women (nissi in Quenya), as reported by an unknown Mannish loremaster. Tolkien (said loremaster) writes:

In all such things, not concerned with the bringing forth of children, the neri and nissi (that is, the men and women) of the Eldar are equal - unless it be in this (as they themselves say) that for the nissi the making of things new is for the most part shown in the forming of their children, so that invention and change is otherwise mostly brought about by the neri. There are, however, no matters which among the Eldar only a ner can think or do, or others with which only a nis is concerned. There are indeed some differences between the natural inclinations of neri and nissi, and other differences that have been established by custom (varying in place and in time, and in the several races of the Eldar). For instance, the arts of healing, and all that touches on the care of the body, are among all the Eldar most practised by the nissi; whereas it was the elven-men who bore arms at need. And the Eldar deemed that the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing, and that the virtue of the nissi in this matter was due rather to their abstaining from hunting or war than to any special power that went with their womanhood. Indeed in dire straits or desperate defence, the nissi fought valiantly, and there was less difference in strength and speed between elven-men and elven-women that had not borne child than is seen among mortals. On the other hand many elven-men were great healers and skilled in the lore of living bodies, though such men abstained from hunting, and went not to war until the last need.

As for other matters, we may speak of the customs of the Noldor (of whom most is known in Middle-earth). Among the Noldor it may be seen that the making of bread is done mostly by women; and the making of the lembas is by ancient law reserved to them. Yet the cooking and preparing of other food is generally a task and pleasure of men. The nissi are more often skilled in the tending of fields and gardens, in playing upon instruments of music, and in the spinning, weaving, fashioning, and adornment of all threads and cloths; and in matters of lore they love most the histories of the Eldar and of the houses of the Noldor; and all matters of kinship and descent are held by them in memory. But the neri are more skilled as smiths and wrights, as carvers of wood and stone, and as jewellers. It is they for the most part who compose musics and make the instruments, or devise new ones; they are the chief poets and students of languages and inventors of words. Many of them delight in forestry and in the lore of the wild, seeking the friendship of all things that grow or live there in freedom. But all these things, and other matters of labour and play, or of deeper knowledge concerning being and the life of the World, may at different times be pursued by any among the Noldor, be they neri or nissi.

(Morgoth’s Ring, HoME 10).

So then, why does elven gender in RoP weird me out a little bit, Galadriel–and her complicated characterization–notwithstanding? (And, yes, it was necessary to include the full quote to only point out how much more ridiculous what follows is.)

This:

Why are all the attendants female? And why are they all dressed like this in the background? Where are the rest of the women? Are they locked away, pregnant? Did we take NoME that seriously?

Bizarre.

Conclusion

In the big scheme of things, I suppose I was mostly pleasantly surprised. It was entertaining to watch for the scenery, settings, and music; and I was moved to tears by some of the beautiful cinematography–I’ll continue to be giddy about the scenery and design whether I want to be or not. I also think it is very important that BIPOC were included in casting. However, I am not going to hold out on feeling the story of the Second Age was done justice. I will–forever and always–always be hung up on Silvan representation.[15] But, unless something truly egregious happens, for now I am okay with a mediocre and mildly frustrating storyline.

FOOTNOTES

I have still not recovered, so this will be a long 1.5 months.

Not to mention the boats she will one day have in her own realm, in Lothlorien.

As Sky Eventide notes in her reaction thread on Twitter, the scene even includes one red-headed child, which may be harkening to Maedhros, though Amrod or Amras might be more realistic given I would expect Maedhros to be the ringleader of the band, were the red-headed child meant to be him.

See Itariilles’ piece and my own linked paper for more on this. It is confusing to think about in the show context because while Galadriel thinks the kinslaying are unfortunate and does not take an oath like Feanor and colleagues, she doesn’t think her Feanorian cousins are crazy for wanting to return to Middle-earth, though her motivations to return are different (yay colonialism). Again, see links.

Though an Irish Times article provides an interesting critique that, as an American many generations removed from Ireland, I would never have noticed. As someone who often complains about fandom’s jokes about wood-elf and Silvan culture/language as a stand-in for less cultured “hick” accents and cultures, the linked article really moved me and put these European-based English choices into perspective for me. And it also spoke to the odd feeling I got as I noticed that while watching, once again, an adaptation used different accents that are cultural- and class-marked in the ‘real world’ to sort of delineate place in Middle-earth.

And yes, some of this quoted language comes from material the show has explicit access to.

Keep in mind, this is only ONE version of Sindarin migration. Tolkien wrote more on this across his lifetime that is not reflected in the Appendices as published. See my linked paper for more on this.

 Dare I even ask if the show plans to somehow reference a group of elves like the Avari, given the showrunners’ interest in the Southlands thus far? I don’t know if my poor heart could handle the stress…

 Which conveniently echoes Oropher’s choice during part of the Last Alliance that left his people wildly diminished…

A political intrigue which we have seen snippets of, perhaps, with Elrond’s character–it’s just not a tension and positioning I can, yet, easily follow. I don’t ‘get’ this world well enough yet to do so.

I, too, have been guilty of this, as someone who spends way too much time thinking about the Sindar. While I am still very much opposed to atrocity crimes in our real world–obviously, it’s literally my job–I have come to see the issues of the Silmarils as more complex than I once did, taking into account cultural and political motivations for character behavior. (Though that has not stopped me from writing Sindarin accounts of the Kinslaying at Sirion to balance things out, “victors write history” and all that.) I have some patient acquaintances to thank for helping me develop a more complex view on Feanorian behavior in the First Age.

Do not judge me. I know nothing about boxing terms and I made that up.

Again, please read Itariiles’ piece (specifically the section “Neoclassical Aesthetic Given to the Noldor and its Unfortunate Implications”).

And, if you want to get really particular, one of the two drafts of LaCE is titled: “OF THE LAWS AND CUSTOMS AMONG THE ELDAR PERTAINING TO MARRIAGE AND OTHER MATTERS RELATED THERETO: TOGETHER WITH THE STATUTE OF FINWE AND MIRIEL AND THE DEBATE OF THE VALAR AT ITS MAKING”...

And yes. I have lived through PJ’s TH. I will survive it again.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to my acquaintances from the Silmarillion Writers’ Guild/Dreamwidth for encouraging me to finish writing this after I became discouraged. And thanks to my new acquaintances at Alliance of Arda for being interested in what I have to say. I would have just stewed in my anxiety without outside prompting to write this silly little thing that I actually really wanted to write.

[dancingazaleas]

eren yeager, mikasa ackerman, jean kirstein | obedience (smut)

PLEASE THIS TRIO CAN RUN A TRAIN ON ME IDC

also thank u to these sexy whores for supporting the idea and inspiring me😫: @kuroosperiodictable @tsukkeishimaa @izukine @shisoaya @erimins @rintarouss @x6nji @txzierbaby @piscesfairies @ikigaitooru (even though u don’t watch aot LMAO)

edit: this has been in my drafts for weeks so i apologize if it’s horrible i just want it out😭

warnings/notes: cursing, smut, nsfw, foursome, daddy kink, switch!mikasa, f!reader, softdom!jean, dom!eren, polyamory, fxf, mxm if u squint, impact play, spit kink, double penetration, oral sex, fingering, anal, dumbification, and aftercare

mikasa’s skin feels cool against your’s as she gathers you into her strong arms. her chest is flush against your back, a bashful pink reaching down to her neck as she stares at you and then back up.

before the two of you stand your beautiful boyfriends, jean and eren, one looking more intimidating than the other. both had rid themselves of their shirts and their pants, leaving them in their plaid and plain boxers.

mikasa’s hands spread your legs open, leaving your pussy on display to eren and jean.

“can you show them how wet you are,” mikasa whispers in your ear, rubbing circles on your inner thighs.

you oblige without complaint, using your index and middle finger to spread your lips open for view. you shifted uncomfortably at eren and jean’s intense gazes, finally using your voice for the first time you’ve been put in this situation.

“are you gonna do something or are you gonna just gawk,” you try to nudge a foot in their direction, but your thigh being held by the ever-so obedient mikasa.

“watch your tone,” eren tells you, placing his knees on the edge of the bed and leaning towards you.

“listen to us,” jean says softly, joining eren on the bed.

you roll your eyes but let out a whimper whenever eren blows cold air onto your clit, toes curling while your hips jerk. mikasa’s hands rest on your tits due to eren’s hands replacing her own. jean’s kissing mikasa on the lips gently, pulling away with a soft and approving smile.

“wanna kiss, baby,” he asks you, watching how your bite your lip at the feeling of eren’s wet tongue licking strips into your cunt and circles into your clit.

“n...no,” you pant and turn your head away.

“(name),” mikasa says quietly when she realizes the soft pouting of jean, “give jean a kiss. he’s sad.”

you choke out a moan while your hips buck into eren’s face. you manage to turn to jean, who kisses you just as gentle as he kissed mikasa moments ago.

eren sucks on your clit in the middle of your kiss, hoping to cockblock jean just a bit longer.

and it works, seeing as you pull away from the kiss with a moan, “cumming, cumming!”

mikasa nips at your shoulder and gropes your chest, eyes staring into eren and jean’s to check for permission. jean encourages the orgasm while eren looks frustrated.

“hold on a little longer,” she mumbles as a compromise, “you’ll be allowed to come soon.”

“yes... yes ma’am,” you pant, shutting your eyes.

“good girl,” jean smiles while he pats mikasa on the head.

“eren, give mikasa a little treat. she’s so good for us,” jean praises.

“you come do it since you’re askin’,” eren scoffs and pulls away, now laying down in the spot next to mikasa and lazily palming his cock through his boxers.

jean hums in agreement, but you know that he’s a little annoyed at eren’s laziness. you shimmy your body a little, trying to make mikasa’s cunt more accessible for jean. mikasa whimpers in your ear while jean starts to eats her out, staring intently at mikasa’s flushed face.

“mikasa,” eren calls while shuffling his pants off of him, “go ahead and touch (name).”

mikasa struggles to answer, but thankfully eren’s feeling just a bit merciful today—or maybe it was cause he was taking off his boxers. you watch excitedly as mikasa’s dainty hand trails down your body and to your clit.

“can i finger her,” mikasa bites her lip, trying to ignore the attention jean is giving to her cunt.

eren nods while he spits on the palm of his hand, slowly stroking his cock with lazy movements.

“please, ma’am,” you turn to look at mikasa, who’s struggling just as much as you are.

mikasa inserts two of her fingers inside of you, accidentally bucking her hips and moaning from jean’s fingers slipping inside of her. it has her fingers thrusting deeper then they were meant to, a small mewl falling from your lips.

sloppily, mikasa starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you as she cries out jean’s title.

“‘s okay. you can come, baby,” he smiles up at mikasa, “eren can decide for our little princess there.”

mikasa turns her head to eren, who fists his cock with one hand and the other resting at the back of his head. it’s almost like he’s bored and not watching his three partners fuck one another some way or another.

eren’s teal eyes drift down to your needy face, hips desperately trying to get mikasa’s fingers to thrust into you faster and deeper.

“fuck her with your fingers like the slut she is,” eren hums with half lidded eyes.

mikasa nods and before she can even move her hand, she throwing her head back against the pillows. she’s moaning out jean’s name as she hits her orgasm, pulling her fingers out of you to grip the sheets below her.

“thank you, thank you,” she whimpers when jean pulls away wiping his mouth.

“such a good girl,” eren smirks, “unlike your little princess there.”

mikasa breathes heavily when she looks at your face. her hand is shakily until she slips her fingers back inside of you and curling her fingers. you try bucking your hips upwards, only to be held down by mikasa’s stronger hand.

“patient,” she sighs, fingering you more speedily.

you nod your head and grip onto the hand that’s on your hip. the sight almost has eren and jean in awe as they can barely manage to get you to listen on their own.

“please,” you pant and try to hold down your hips.

“you can come,” mikasa slips her hand from your’s and uses it to start rubbing tight circles into your clit.

you arch your back against mikasa’s skin while calling out her name. mikasa let’s out a deep sigh as she continues her gentle rubbing, helping you ride out your first orgasm of the night. when she pulls her hands away your hips chase after them along with a whine.

jean helps you off of mikasa’s body, now laying next to her. you cuddle into her side while rubbing your thighs together, tugging on her muscular arm in need.

“(name),” eren calls and you turn your head, “daddy’s gonna take care of you next, alright?”

before you can even react, mikasa agrees for you. jean smiles and holds your thighs apart while he watches you reach for mikasa’s hand.

“‘s okay, princess. he won’t hurt you,” eren mumbles lazily and guides your other hand to his cock, “and if he does, you probably deserve it.”

jean slowly thrusts himself into you, shuddering as he throws his head back. mikasa puts her free hand onto your tummy, humming at the small bulge that she feels under her palm.

“how’s it feel, baby,” mikasa whispers into your ear.

“‘s full, ‘m so full,” you whine, looking to jean with your bottom lip jutted out.

“can you tell me who’s filling you right now,” jean rolls his hips while eren pants quietly.

“go on, tell him,” eren grunts while you fuck his cock with your fist.

“daddy,” you whimper whenever his thrusts become more powerful, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room, “full of daddy’s cock.”

eren groans at your whimper, throwing his forearm over his eyes. you buck your hips whenever jean thrusts harshly against you, the tip of his cock pecking at your cervix. he grunts and places his hand on your neck and the other next to your head, jackhammering greedily.

“pl-please...!” you cry and accidentally tighten your grip on eren’s cock, not enough to hurt, but enough to have him shooting his load onto your hand.

his groans slip into soft moans as he rides through it by grinding his hips smoothly into your hand. you can’t even stare at your messy hand if you wanted to, jean’s thrusting is too fast and intense for you to see clearly.

“clean her hand up, baby,” you hear eren say to mikasa, who jumps at the opportunity. you shudder at the feeling of her tongue against your fingers.

you throw your head back and feel tears prick at your eyes.

“‘m gonna cum! please... lemme cum ‘kasa,” you’re almost sobbing and the sight has eren laughing.

“go ahead, cum all over your daddy’s cock,” eren gripes at your tit while he nuzzles his nose into your hair.

“you can come, love,” mikasa’s voice grants you permission, “can you beg for him too as well?”

“daddy! pl-please make me cum, please,” your hips start to buck almost wildly even whenever mikasa throws an arm around them.

jean squeezes your neck a little, taking your breath away as your eyes roll into the back of your head. you moan almost obnoxiously but it makes your lovers smile nonetheless.

“fuck,” jean groans at the feeling of your pussy hugging his cock.

“look at that princess, he’s about to come in you,” eren grabs your jaw with rough fingers, shaking your head back and forth, “gonna milk all of daddy’s cock, huh?”

“you’re taking it so well, love. taking jeany’s cock so well,” mikasa kisses your neck.

mikasa’s words have jean hitting his peak with a breathy groan. his eyes flutter as he pulls himself out, watching at how his seed starts to dribble out of you.

jean scoops the sticky liquid with his fingers and shoves it back inside of you along with his fingers. you yelp from both overstimulation and surprise.

“we’re not done, baby,” you feel mikasa smile against your school as you give a confused hum.

mikasa stands from the bed, rummaging through a drawer on your dresser. mikasa pulls a strap along with some lube, tossing it to jean while he shuffles his body to lay under your’s. he catches it easily and then hands it to eren, who’s admiring the view of your almost fucked out cunt.

“prep her for me,” jean huffs while mikasa helps jean shimmy the strap onto your almost limp body.

hissing, you curl your toes at eren’s index finger covered in lube slowly entering your ass. mikasa settles herself on top of you, hovering over the strap. you’re 100% sure that jean’s losing feeling in his legs or stomach.

the feeling of eren’s finger in your ass is foreign and slightly uncomfortable, especially whenever mikasa lowers herself down on the strap with a shaky sigh. the pressure of mikasa’s body on top of your’s makes you groan due to the way it makes eren’s fingers so much more intense.

you squeeze onto the hands mikasa’s presented you with whenever eren adds another finger. you hiss at the small sting you get as eren manages to scissor his fingers.

“it’s okay, princess, eren’s takin’ care of you,” jean’s voice is laced with reassurance that has you relaxing.

you’re about to reply but are interrupted by your moan as eren starts to pump his fingers inside of you. sighing shakily, you bury your face into jean’s neck.

“does it feel good,” mikasa flutters her eyelashes while subtly rocking her hips.

“not yet,” jean scolds whenever his hand comes down on her hips.

eren laughs breathlessly at the exchange, slipping another slick finger inside of your ass. you yelp and let go of one mikasa’s hands to cover your mouth. you bite down whenever eren curls his fingers inside of you, squeezing your eyes shut while tears fell from them.

mikasa pulls your hand away from your mouth, intertwining your fingers once more, “no covering your mouth.”

you only nod wearily at her command, too focused on how eren’s fingers fuck into your ass with fervor. and after one last stretch of his fingers, he pulls them out of you while telling jean that you should be ready enough.

eren coats jean’s cock with lube, a teasing smile set on his face while jean grunts. once eren’s had his fill of taunting, he helps jean’s cock slip inside of your ass.

you would moan if it weren’t for the feeling of jean being in your throat instead of your ass. jean, however, is groaning with no abandon at just how snug your ass is around his cock.

“fucking shit,” he pants while gritting his pearly white teeth.

“feel good,” eren snickers, starting to line himself up with your slit.

eren brushes off how jean’s ignored him, now slipping his cock inside of your cunt after he’s spit on his cock. you groan loudly at eren slipping inside of you with jean following along.

“fuck, eren, i can feel you,” jean sighs and throws his head back against the pillow it rests upon.

eren’s in the same condition, completely still as his hips are flush against your pelvis.

“can we move,” mikasa rolls her hips once more, transferring more and more pressure onto your tummy.

you’re completely gone at this point, the combined feeling of jean and eren inside of you at the same time with the added pressure of mikasa is the only thing you manage to think of.

it just gets worse whenever all three of them start to move. it’s overwhelming, so much to the point of you already creaming on eren’s cock with a high pitched whine.

“barely done anything and she’s already cummin’,” eren pants, continuing to thrust wildly into you.

you can’t reply, can’t think. the only thing you can do is moan and cum over and over again.

mikasa guides your hand to her puffy clit, your muscle memory automatically rubbing circles into the nub. she whimpers and keens slightly, firm hands planted on your torso. she bounces up and down on the silicone dick that she’s strapped onto your body.

you back your hips by accident, slamming right into mikasa’s sweet spot. she moans loudly, mixing in with your own and the panting of jean and eren. you can barely move your hips, so you decide to make up for it by fastening the pace of your fingers on her clit.

she throws her head back with a whine, hips jerking back and forth sloppily as she comes closer and closer to her orgasm.

luckily, a particularly hard thrust from jean has you bucking up into mikasa harshly. it manages to make her come with pretty tears sliding down her cheeks and onto your chest.

when she’s done riding through her orgasm, she’s flopping on the bed next to jean and watching contently.

you sob at eren’s almost inhuman speed, arching your back against jean’s body. jean grunts at how you subconsciously clench around him, broken grunts and moans echoing in your ear.

“i’m close,” he pants and pistons himself in and out of you with greed.

“me too,” eren bites his lip, while you feeling yourself starting to orgasm again.

your moan is basically a wall as your hips convulse between eren and jean’s bodies.

your tightening around the both of them has them hitting their own peak, throaty grunts spilling from their lips as them pump their seed inside of you.

they pull out once they’re done riding out their highs, gently setting you down and laying you between all of them.

“you with us, love,” mikasa asks with a hand placed on your cheek while eren runs to get a warm rag.

you only blink at her words, slowly followed along with a hum. she kisses at your tear stained cheeks.

“did so well for us,” eren showers your face with smooches and you shiver at the warm rag wiping away the cum away from your body. jean hands the rag to eren when he’s done wiping off the cum off of his own body.

“such a good girl,” jean praises as he starts to massage your tense thighs.

you grunt again, eyes starting to flutter close. eren throws the now dirty rag across the room—after mikasa’s cleaned herself as well—cuddling into you after he’s pulled his hair from its bun.

“she’s gonna fall asleep, jean,” mikasa says while beckoning everyone under the covers.

jean scurries to spoon eren, kissing him on his cheek before getting himself comfortable.

and you do exactly that, bathing in the heat that all of your lovers shower you in.

[wordsnstuff]

Guide to Drafting

Patreon || Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Work In Progress

–

Planning v. Discovery

The first thing you must decide when you embark on the journey of drafting a story is how you’re going to get it done. Typically, there are two groups you can fit into, though most writers are somewhere in between. There are writers who plan meticulously before they begin writing to create a very clean first draft, or there are discovery writers (otherwise known as “pantsers”) who find more success in choosing a premise and then using a zero draft to explore the idea before gluing down any details. You are most likely someone who falls between those two methods. Some initial planning to feel familiar with your idea before you do some of the planning through the writing itself. Having some semblance of a method will help you narrow down your own process, which is immensely important if you want to get any substantial project near completion.

Consistency

Drafting is a difficult process because it’s either the revisitation of ideas you’ve already had, or the generations of ideas in quick succession. If you want to have a draft in a reasonable amount of time, you must develop a consistency in your writing. I won’t say that it must be a strict routine because time management can be a luxury, but you must make the consistent effort to write, and keep it in the forefront of your mind. Even if you don’t write every day, it should be something you try to make time for every day.

Know What You’re Trying to Accomplish

To get a draft done, you need to set expectations for yourself and they must be realistic. That doesn’t mean they have to be easy, or an amount of work you’ve been able to accomplish in the past. Considering how much time you dedicate to writing and your skillset, it should be a goal within reality. In addition, you must accept that you cannot create a masterpiece in one draft. For each version of your story that you write, you must have a focused goal, such as maintaining consistent characterization, making the plot concise and engaging, or making the prose more fluid and efficient. If you have a specific and attainable goal that you can accomplish in a reasonable amount of time with a fair amount of precision, each draft will be better than the last.  

Designate Work to Phases

As mentioned in the last section, it maximizes your time and effort to have specific and attainable goals for each draft. This doesn’t mean that you rewrite the draft each time (though that is very common amongst writers), but that you designate tasks to draft versions. I find it very helpful in clearing my mind and soothing my perfectionist anxiety to make a “schedule”, outlining what I’ll accomplish in each version following the zero draft. For example, my draft schedules usually end up something like this:

Zero Draft: Main plot line, basic characterization, key world building

First Draft: Finalize Timeline, research for world building, structure

Second Draft: (Rewrite) Plot Development Fine Tuning

Subplot development

Foreshadowing

Build up to climaxes

Tone & Pace

Third Draft: (Intermittent Rewrites) Character Development Fine Tuning

Backstory

Subtextual Development

Making sure motivations are clear

Relationships between characters

Reinforcing character arcs

Checking dialogue

Fourth Draft: (Give to Beta Readers) World Building & Prose

Descriptions & Flow

Finalize settings

Checking grammar & punctuation

Reader Immersion

Fifth Draft: Incorporate Beta Reader Feedback

Write for Yourself First

In what some call the “zero-draft”, there are no rules. This draft is purely for your eyes. It’s you telling yourself the story for the first time. So, you don’t have to write in chronological order, or know the right word you’re looking for, or take a break every time you run into a problem. The purpose of the zero draft is to get a rough idea of as much of the story as you can and avoid getting snagged on minor details. This part is important. A lot of writers like to outline meticulously before they begin drafting and if that works for you, that’s great, but the majority of writers who attempt that get stuck in the planning phase, or burnt out on their story before a word of it exists. The easiest way to avoid those two situations is to do a zero draft, which can be as long or short as you want if it provides a skeleton for you to add meat to later.

Common Struggles

~ How do you estimate the number of words/chapters?... That depends on the genre, mostly. However, that’s usually something you decide in the second draft and beyond, and it can vary because of factors you haven’t got locked down until the plot and character arcs are firm or final. This is also something you’ll probably do a lot of tinkering with, and receive feedback on, especially from beta-readers, who can advise you on where natural breaks could occur from their perspective.

~ Why, after planning everything out, do I always struggle to write the draft?... 99% of the time, it’s because you’ve either burned yourself out, or accumulated too much pressure. When you put that much effort and time into a story, you can either slip into a headspace where you feel little excitement about it because you’ve already done all of the problem solving and had all of the revelations. It’s usually beneficial at this stage to take a step back (even if you’re not burnt out) and give your story some space, so that once you come back to it, you’re enthusiastic enough to fully realize your vision. If instead you’re struggling to write because you feel a lot of pressure to do justice for a story you’ve put so much love into already, take a step back, remember that the first draft is just for you, and work on letting go of the idea that the zero draft is meant to serve any purpose beside simply existing. 

~ How do I come up with the necessary scenes to move the story forward between major plot points?... Most writing problems can be solved by asking yourself the right questions. When you’re trying to figure out what your reader needs to see next in order to effectively set up the next major event, ask yourself “What would happen between event A and event B that would add context or make event B more impactful?”. Treat it like a real situation and try to map out all of the tiny, notable moments that would take place between the major plot points, and then assess those moments on the basis of how impactful they would be to the coming scenes, and whether they can add context, set the tone, or aide in the rising action.

~ How do I balance sticking to the draft and following my own creative instinct in the moment?... This is a judgement call. Sometimes you’ll realize that maybe you should have just stuck to the outline, but remember that you can always go back, rewrite, test things out, etc. Always save every version of every scene, just in case, and go wild. Don’t be afraid to take detours just to explore. The writing process is anything but linear. 

~ How do I maintain momentum in my writing progress when I constantly have distractions or other responsibilities that take priority?... Work at it. There’s no magic trick or piece of advice I could say that gets rid of your personal responsibilities. Write when you can, don’t make excuses on top of the reasons you have no control over, and remember that you create your own deadlines and expectations. Be kind to yourself, do what you can, and don’t spend potential writing time punishing yourself because there isn’t as much as you’d like. 

~ How should I designate space (words/pages) to specific scenes/description/conversations, etc?... Trust your instinct and remember you can always cut/add later. In the earlier drafts, I’d advise you try to create as much material as possible to work with, and in the later drafts, be ruthless when determining what is necessary and adds value, and what doesn’t.

~ How do I finish a draft if I regularly lose motivation or interest in my projects?... Accept the fact that motivation is fickle, and that no writer in history has ever maintained “inspiration” for any project from the beginning to the end. There are going to be days where you’re like “ugh this is not what I want to do right now”, probably more than there are days where you’re stoked to work on your project, but that’s reality. If your goal is to finish a draft, you must recognize that writing is work, and nobody wants to work all the time. Try to supplement the lack of motivation by setting a positive and enjoyable routine so that, even when you’re not particularly motivated, you still know that your writing time will be peaceful and comfortable. 

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Masterlist | WIP Blog

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[kaijutegu]

hey, im asking this again as im not sure if my ask was eaten or not! never got a notification saying it was answered. if it was answered then just message me with the link because my scatterbrain probably missed it.

I was wondering about the proper way to look after a tegu. ive heard you're supposed to have a separate room for them that has substrate, UVB, hides, etc., and that although they can roam they cant live like a dog or a cat does in a house. what's your wisdom on this? if the internet is correct im interested in the setup you have for kaiju!!

I REMEMBER YOU the original answer is buried in half-finished drafts! This is the problem with me: i want to talk about tegus all of the time but my ADHD says “yes but what if you talked about A MILLION OTHER THINGS” and unfortunately sometimes that means I have… look, my drafts are a hot mess. Let’s leave it at that. But now it’s almost 5 am and I have BOUNDLESS ENERGY so let’s! do! the basics!

So! Tegus should not have their own room. They should not free roam full time in your house. Here is why:

You are a human being and you cannot maintain 80% humidity and 120 degree surface temperatures in your human house. If you try this, you will have severe rot. The portion of the house you attempt to keep that humid will fall apart. You MIGHT be able to do this in a basement with a drain, but honestly even then it’s just not worth it because you are still going to have hella lighting problems. See, rooms are built for humans, meaning high ceilings. But to properly use a UV light for reptiles, it’s got to be much closer to them so they can actually absorb the UV! more on that in a sec.

Tegus need an enclosure. You can do a big ol’ melamine/pvc one, or you can use a grow tent. I use a grow tent. I HIGHLY recommend grow tents for tegus because grow tents were designed to keep heat and humidity in. They weigh less than pvc/melamine and they come in lots of different sizes. You will not be fighting a losing battle to keep the substrate damp in a grow tent. And you must have substrate! (Another thing you… probably don’t have in your human house is a foot-deep floor of mulch.) Reason for this: Tegus burrow and they sleep in those burrows. They need to be breathing warm, wet air at night. It’s how their lungs stay healthy.

(Now: if you live in, say, Fl- no wait they’re illegal there

California, southern California. If you live there, you could do an outdoor enclosure OR if you had a porch, you could basically give over the porch to the tegu… provided it’s the kind of porch with waist-high wood paneling, because they will bust RIGHT through window screening. You’ll still need to give them a giant pile of dirt in which to burrow, but if the climate is right, this sort of thing is doable.)

Tegus also need access to UV lighting for several hours a day! This is so that they can properly digest their food. But tegus are often stealthy animals who want to hide under your bookcase, so even if you HAVE a hot spot with a UV lamp set up, you cannot guarantee that they will use it- and you cannot explain to them that they need to sit under this specific light or else they will die. So you gotta contain them! It’s for their own good!

And no, putting UV lights in all your fixtures won’t work. The light can only be 12-18 inches away max from the lizard, otherwise the rays are too weak.

That said: your tegu will be so, SO much happier if you let them out to explore and to hang out with you. Tegus are not social like we think of social mammals but they benefit enormously from spending time with people they trust. It helps fulfill their intellectual needs- they need to have things to get into! There’s a huge evolutionary benefit for curiosity in tegus because they are omnivorous scavengers, and an innate willingness to try new things often means they can access food sources other animals cannot. And it helps them feel secure, and that’s a big deal. Tegus aren’t domesticated. We didn’t selectively breed them for friendliness, and so every interaction we have with them can be an opportunity to help build trust. At this point, I can do virtually anything with Kaiju because she’s learned that she can trust me. That’s a big deal, and it couldn’t have happened if I didn’t let her out and interact with her a lot.

So. Compromise! Make time each day to hang out with your tegu, but make sure that they’re sleeping in their cage, and that they’re in their cage after they eat. Also make sure they don’t get cold. I’ve found that it’s better to have multiple short outings each day rather than one big long one.

Does that cover it? Lemme know, I can answer more!