#but also like. I so distinctly remember having this realization when I was like 13!!!

[sunnibits]

ok but can we talk about the transition from being the weird unattractive girl/boy as a kid to suddenly being percieved as a hot gay person bc that shit is so jarring. but also like really wholesome? like wow I don’t have to conform to cishet expectations of attractiveness and actually people find me really attractive for the natural way I look and present myself. that’s so wild.

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[eerna]

My very specific gripe with SJM that I haven’t seen anyone mention yet is how she tries to justify her characters being hot— like in ToG there’s like a whole paragraph dedicated to making sure the reader understands that Celaena is super skinny, pale, and has very long blonde hair. But then it’s revealed that those traits are a direct result of her being forced to work in a salt mine for years and so she’s insecure about her appearance. SJM wants to have her cake and eat it too, where her female lead has to be insecure in order to make her relatable to the teen girl audience, but also she has to be extremely conventionally attractive.

This results in SJM enforcing conventional beauty standards while also making them seem reasonable and easy to achieve. After all, if half-starved Celaena can look like a super model, why shouldn’t the real human teenager reading the book be able to? It also implies that starvation and other unhealthy behaviors are a viable way to get skinny which is obviously an absolutely HEINOUS message to give to teens. It also reeks of misogyny, because the only time that characters written like Celaena are able to see their own beauty is when they start getting attention from men (usually there’s some sort of intimate sex-adjacent scene where the male love interest blabbers about the female lead’s beauty and then she realizes that she’s been hot all along, actually). It’s just so disgusting to me. I read ToG as an insecure teen and I’m just glad that I realized how bad it was before I took any of these messages to heart.

I do think this issue is small potatoes compared to SJM’s racism and gender essentialism stuff, but worth bringing up anyway. And to be fair, even authors I really like are also guilty of this on a lesser scale, specifically Leigh Bardugo with Alina in TGT and Holly Black with Jude in TFoTA. It seems to have been a symptom of mid 2010s YA, but SJM has brought it into the 2024 fantasy landscape, of course…

I totally agree, SJM uses the "she's staving but DAMN are her boobs rocking" sooo many times in her books. ANd it's funny bc Aelin is supposed to be this super confident badass but also an everyday teen girl and the whiplash is so strong... I never liked Divergent all that much, but I distinctly remember that at one point Triss has issues with her clothes bc she became too thick for them and sees it as becoming stronger, and at 13 that was such a big comfort to me ahahah. But I have to say, I think Jude's weight loss isn't treated the same because I don't think it's referred to as anything other than unhealthy, and by the time book 3 rolls around she's back to looking the same as Taryn. I don't recall Alina's though so I can't say anything abt it.

[moretheta]

Honestly at this point i'm pronouncing "hxh has no noteworthy female characters" to be an ice cold, bottom of the barrel take. 

Come on a journey with me. 

Anyone who knows me in real life (which is hopefully almost no one on here) knows how insane I am when it comes to female characters getting shafted in media- and in shonen manga specifically. No doubt a side effects of being a girl who's favorite character was sakura in the 2015 naruto fandom- but that's another story. The point is I'm not coming at this from a "boo hoo why so woke" standpoint, or an "it's really not the deep" mentality. I care about this shit- truly i do. which is exactly why the way people talk about this issue bothers me so much. 

I distinctly remover being 13 or so when I saw HxH pop up on netflix (or some other streaming service, i don't remember) and looking at the title card with Gon, Killua, Kurapika, and Leorio and thinking "huh. no women?" bc damn, even nart had women (they were written misogynistically, shafted from the narrative, and treated like fucking pariahs by fans... but they were there), and at the time i had a disease where I couldn't dedicate time towards watching something unless it had a prominent female character for me to latch on to. that disease is called ~being tired of misogyny~ and i'm still a carrier to this day. so this past version of me wanted to do some research, so i looked up something like "does HxH have female characters." I saw one of two responses: 1) sadly no. and 2. no, shut up snowflake.

I honestly don't remember what finally pushed me over the edge to start watching it, but i'm so so glad i did. had several queer awakenings. a very formative time for me, etc. aaaaaallll that is to say: I get it. I’ve been there. i don't withhold criticism from a show just because i like it. 

Because it's true that HxH had no female characters... in 1998, when it's started it's serialization. like there were a few background women and also Mito, but that's it, that's all we got. and for a while that's what we would continue to get: every female character introduced seemed to exist as a cog in the wheel of one of the main male characters' storylines. even characters who i love very much and think have a lot of potential, like Canary, only seemed to show up briefly to supplement Killua's narrative and then leave. all of this is true. 

But the thing people need to realize about Hunter x Hunter is that it has been going on for a long time.  The chimera ant arc concluded it's serialization in 2012. and with the hiatuses that became necessary due to Togashi's health, it meant publishing continued really slowly. this current arc of the manga- the succession war- has been going on since 2017- (arguably longer, if you count the expedition arc as a prelude which i personally kinda do), but either way we have over half a decade of real time years that have passed. and one of the things i really admire about Togashi is his ability to grow as an author- to take in feedback and improve where he needed to improve. We can see it, for instance, in his history of writing queer characters- trans characters in particular. See this great video for a further breakdown.

There’s more to be said on this topic but that’s for another day. This isn’t an “in defense of Togashi” post, he’ll be ok. It’s the female characters themselves that I must rise up and defend. I fight an endless war on an empty battlefield, population Me, and this is my life’s purpose.

What I am trying to say is this: HxH is not the same series it was in 1998. It’s not the same series as it was in 2011. And what we have seen as the series progressed, was the introduction and elevation of more and more interesting female characters. This has culminated in what very well might be my favorite arc in the series -unfinished as it is- the succession war. and, without giving away any spoilers, I just have to say…���

THERE ARE SO MANY WONDERFUL WOMEN. DO YOU SEE THEM?!!? DO YOU SEE MY BEAUTIFUL WIVES?!? MY LARGE AUTOMOBILES MY-

I cannot fathom how anyone who is caught up with the manga continues to parrot this take. Why would you say that. Why would you do this to our women. There are soosososo sososoooo many fantastic female characters, old and new, and more are added literally every chapter because togashi loves it when I (me specifically) have to make more flashcards. There are female protagonists, antagonists, supporting characters, antiheroes, etc. women with all different kinds of personalities and motivations that don’t feel like a copy-pasted trope. Women who (gasp!) come in different shapes and sizes!?!? Women who don’t fit the traditional standards of beauty are just as important and just as beloved as those who do. and because I’m a crazy person I have gone around and calculated “screen time” (page time?) as well as ratios of male to female characters and folks the numbers are looking good. There was a point in time when I tried to memorize the names and faces of every single female character on the wiki (see above note on flashcards) because again, I’m a crazy person, and it just made me realize how incredible this ensemble cast is looking right now and how excited I am to see more of them. I am the succession war’s biggest glazer so yes, obviously I come with a bias; but here me when I tell you this: you want more well-written, prominently featured, multidimensional female characters in your little shonens (bad place to look, but unfortunately I am the biggest offender of this) please for god’s sake. For god’s sake read the manga.  

So yeah. Sick and fucking tired of seeing people say “HxH has no women” They’re there babe!!!! They’re there!!! You wanna say some shit like that, at least put a caveat of *up until the end of the anime so that people know that information is eight years out of date. yeah watch me be petty. It just astounds me that someone could look me in the eyes and tell me that Melody, Bisky, Theta, Morena, Oito, Woble, Kacho, Fugetsu, Camilla, Machi, Pakunoda, Alluka, Komugi, Kite(yes welcome), Cheadle, Canary, and now Longhi have no importance in the narrative.

It’s true that there is always a time and a place for criticism…  but why does it seem like there’s only five of us trapped in here in this room who are excited to talk about the potential for Theta x Vorksen work situationship... on the ethics of Morena's class war, or an Oito Phantom Troupe connection, or the thematic implications of the madonna being juxtaposed with the antichrist and also maybe satan. Yeah so we're trapped in this room and it's great but occasionally I'll hear shouting from the outside and it's some horrible take or the same unfunny, super gross joke, or some guy who thinks netero setting off a nuke was "peak aura" or smth. And we're still in here, beckoning, offering shelter from the storm.

All you gotta do is open the doors and start taking notes.

[scramble-crossing]

2 3 10 12 13 for the ask game!

2. A headcanon you weren't sure about at first but have come to like! Ok this is hard to answer because I forget what's canon and what's intricately-woven-into-my-brain headcanon but I'll say the "Kariya was an Angel" theory! I never disliked it, but I never liked it more than the simpler explanation of "Oh he's just been around the block a couple of times, that's why he knows more than the average Reaper but still couldn't pick out Joshua as the Composer-that stuff's above his paygrade." Even now it's not "canon to me" level of headcanon, but I can see the appeal and really I appreciate anything that inspires people to look a littler closer at characters like Kariya or Uzuki. Also it's really good when played for comedy. His ass is showing up at the Angel convention, stealing as many appetizers as he can, and bouncing before anyone can point out that he got fired 30 years ago for skipping meetings to go play Tin Pin with random Wall Reapers.

3. A character that fandom has helped you appreciate It's too easy to say Coco so Beat! It's embarrassing to admit but I kinda had a bone to pick with him when I was first getting into the series for sorta "replacing Sho" in neo. I didn't think he was as interesting (and to be fair he really isn't in neo until you take his relation to Rindo's arc into consideration; he works wonderfully as a back for Rindo to hide behind even if his own story was very much concluded by the end of the first game. Then there's also his dynamic with Neku, which is very very good, but he didn't need to be a player character for that. Anyways). Beat analysis posting made me actually pay attention to him while replaying the games and realize how much I'd missed skimming over him in W2 (the poor guy's really gotta try to compete with fan darling Joshua and Sho, aka the loudest fucking man alive, for screen time). His stint as a Reaper is incredibly fascinating. I forget who, but I always distinctly remember someone talking about Beat getting prepped to try and deaden his heart and become as brutal and merciless as a Reaper is supposed to be before ultimately choosing kindness in both his siding with Neku and sparing Kariya and Uzuki in W3 and man.....yeah. He's just such a good guy. He's easily in the top 10 favs now, if not the top 5

10. A blog (mutual or one you follow) that has made your fandom experience brighter Well....yknow....

There are a LOT of others and I'm too shy to tag but goldensunset (incredible analysis) playtwewy (fav fics ever) sho-minamimoto (awesome art + sho headcanons) dj-of-the-coven (made me love beat) purplelea (also incredible analysis) bitternami (very kind and wow I read a fic of yours once and it blew me away...I will remember to find it and leave a comment soon) leonvilasi (always leaves fun and interesting comments in my notes) off the top of my head and a whole bunch of people who aren't as active in the twewy fandom anymore or whose art I love and the people I always see leaving funny tags in my notes you're all awesome <3

12. Compliment someone else in your fandom AUGH HELL ON EARTH!!! dandelion2302 I absolutely adore the way you draw Sho your art is amazing.................

13. Your favorite type of fandom event (gift exchange, ship week, secret santa, prompt meme, etc) Yknow I've never actually done any fandom events before twewy! I had a blast during the twewybang and while I probably won't participate again for a while (I'd rather finish the fic I wrote for the 23 one first) it was a wonderful first experience with this sort of thing :]

[dat2ndaccount97]

Obsessed Barbie Doll Fan/Collector talks about their doll free childhood:

With the Barbie Movie now out, me spending the past week exclusively playing with my dolls + engaging with doll related social media, and seeing people talk about their childhood Barbies/other dolls and sharing stories, has me thinking about my doll free childhood.

For those who may not know, despite how OBSESSED I am with dolls and barbie in particular. I didn't grow up with dolls or play with dolls as a kid, because of the ol' "boys can't play with dolls" gender roles BS, and also because I didn't realize I was into dolls for a long time. And both of those things kinda played into each other.

My earliest Doll related memory (that I have shared many times already) is when I was 3-5 Years old (in the early 00s), My mother took me to the KB Toys Outlet by our house which she regularly did. for whatever reason I didn't want another Batman action figure I wanted a Barbie. She was a Brunette Princess Barbie in a purple-ish dress IIRC. My mom said no, I threw I fit, My mom tried to calm me down and entice me with boy toys, I continued fitting, she caved and got her for me. Soon as we got home Doll was taken from me, I was not allowed to have her. This Memory stuck with me for years to come.

I have another memory of having a doll of Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls (with molded on hair), and I have a vague memory of hearing the adults discuss if it was ok for me to have her. After that it's many close calls/short encounters with barbies and other dolls, where I was interested but couldn't really articulate why nor say I was interested because I was a boy, and dolls are for girls.

But I do remember distinctly playing with my girl cousin's fisher price (?) doll house at my aunts house, and a vague (possibly fake?) memory of me being at said aunt's place for the weekend while my cousins were away and my aunt saying i could play with their toys, which I didn't.

Between all of that and when I started secretly playing with my moms old dolls in middle school it was just seeing Doll Commercials on TV, and eventually discovering some photo site called Flickr and looking at doll pictures on there. But looking back on all of this and other vague memories and who I was as a kid, I'm now fairly sure I would've loved to play with Barbies and/or similar fashion dolls if I was allowed.

But because of those darn gender roles, I never really got chance/choice, to be able to even consider the possibility of me, a boy, being able to play with toys "For girls" without getting weird looks or being asked why (or possibly getting scolded or maybe even snapped or yelled at). It was something I kinda kept to myself until My parents found out I was playing with my mom's broken and ratty old barbie dolls in secret. Which they were ok with... for about a month and they said to put them away. Granted at 13/14 I couldn't really articulate into words why I liked dolls so much so they probably got the wrong idea.

And Because of the way my parents acted every time they found out about my dolls I kept it to myself for many years even as I got active on social media in the mid 2010s. But as I slowly came out about it, I realized it was really just my weird boomer parents who hated it. Literally everyone else i've told in my life that I collect barbies has been super cool/chill about it, and/or think it's really cool actually.

I'm also glad to see people are more and more accepting to the idea of boys playing with dolls, and you even see boys playing with barbies in some commercials and catalogue photos and etc. And maybe, just maybe, there's some kid out there like me with a bin of Batman action figures who suddenly wants a barbie from the toy store but unlike me actually gets to keep her and play with her and cherish her because his parents are cool.

[gh0st-eaterr]

4, 13, 18 for the (one or more) sylvari occupying your brainspace lately

(my main three are always rotating in my brain like rotisserie chicken, so wheeee)

popping this under the cut because this will be Long(tm)

Will be answering for my sylvari Abhartach (Av), Oiliphéist (Ophie), and Rhynn

4. How was their awakening? Did something particular happen? What's their first memory?

None of them had particularly eventful awakenings as such, though Av distinctly recalls coming-to and going 'Hm. Body does not match gender, the fuck's up with that?' lmfao.

Ophie is/was a Valiant, i.e 'has a Wyld Hunt', so for him awakening was mostly just...disorienting. 'What do you MEAN I have bullshit responsibilities already, I crawled into this world an hour ago!'

Rhynn remembers the first hours of his awakening and realizing that he...fundamentally had no ability to empathetically connect to other sylvari. A lot of sylvari have this uncanny ability to get a read on each other pretty well, perceive emotions a lot more readily through a shared connection to the Dream -- Rhynn didn't have this. If you asked him nowadays, he'd also tell you he doesn't remember what he dreamt, either.

13. How do they feel about death? Does it make them curious or scared? Do they wish to understand it or do they simply accept it?

Av has a...very complicated relationship with the concept of death -- not even because he's a scholar of necromancy. He's been alive for some 24 years, and dealt with a lot of shit; death, for him, used to feel like it would be a matter of 'sooner rather than later'. Now, years after making a pact of protection with a lesser deity of Grenth himself, he's afraid of not being able to die. He's functionally immortal. There were some...oversights, when that pact was made.

Ophie accepts death for what it is; if it's his time, it's his time, so long as he goes out swinging. It's something he made peace with a long time ago, after he managed to escape the Nightmare Court; if fighting back against them becomes his end, then he takes solace in the fact he went out fighting the good fight. He's had a few close-calls in the past, but the fear wasn't dying as such, it was more 'I'm not done here, yet'.

Rhynn's the sort of egotistical maniac who hasn't really given much pause to the idea of death -- he's under (wrongful) assumption that nothing could match him, let alone best him. With the backing of some of the worst kinds of power the Nightmare has to offer, he thinks of himself as nothing short of a god. There's no curiosity or fear of it, nor understanding or acceptance -- he denies death as something that can (and will) happen to him.

18. [Free space for 3 pieces of trivia about your sylvari!]

Av

He's Soundless, and takes far more solace in revering the human gods than the Tenets of Ventari and the Pale Tree...if you could call his attitude towards the gods 'reverence', even. Dream or Nightmare, he sees both sides as the same set of shackles that people cling to far too much.

He's left-handed! Though dependent on the task, he's just as capable with his right hand as the left. Can only really write with his left hand, though.

Adores cats. He has a sylvan cat by the name of 'Missy', short for Mischief. She's a sylvan cat specifically because he's very allergic to regular cats.

Ophie

He's one of a rare number of people born (or, I guess awoke) without an innate ability to use magic. At all. Which is especially strange and rare for a sylvari, whose entire being is practically saturated in magic. (In our canon we call it being 'Null' or 'null of magic'). It causes Problems.

He did actually used to be in the Nightmare Court. Canon says once you go to the NC there's no coming back, homebrew canon says 'nah' to that notion. Current hypotheses on how this is actually possible boil down to 'being a valiant' or the aforementioned 'utterly fucked and nonexistent connection to magic' making this less of a dire issue.

He's an environmental 'subtype' of sylvari that makes him particularly inclined to wetlands environments. He can hold his breath for a damn long time underwater.

Rhynn

He's something we've dubbed a 'Nightmare aspect holder' -- he embodies a particular facet of the Nightmare itself. Not unlike how Kryptis can be facets/aspects of emotions. Though, we came up with this well before we knew SotO would be a thing (by about a year or two).

He's also something we've dubbed as a 'Shade' -- a particular attunement to shadow magick. It's my take on the Specter class ingame.

(And now for something completely different!) For some reason, my brain decided he's a violinist. Couldn't tell you why, maybe it's that thing of 'asshole villain plays violin' or whatever.

[mermaidsirennikita]

What are your "she’s all grown up" recommendations?

I feel like you can either do this as "he knew her when she was a child and there is an age gap" or "they knew each other as kids". My post was prompted by my currently reading Stephanie Laurens's A Rogue's Proposal, in which the hero, Demon (no it's not his legal name yes it's what everyone calls him yes it's great) is 31 and knew the heroine, his friend's ward, when she was a little girl but meets her again when she's 20 and is like "well I feel gross for this but that ass tho". I am greatly enjoying his sexual confusion.

Other recs:

--Olivia and the Masked Duke by Grace Callaway. The hero is like 10-12 years older than the heroine and has known her since he rescued her from drowning when she was a child. He really doesn't see her in That Way until she starts coming on to him when she's like... 18 to 20. And he's like "oh NO" about it, because he is in fact her dad's friend.

--Another "dad's friend" one is Joanna Shupe's My Dirty Duke, wherein the heroine is 20 and the hero is like... 43. And her dad's best friend. She again starts coming on to him and he has to realize... she's A Woman Now.

--She Tempts the Duke by Lorraine Heath has a heroine who was the hero's childhood sweetheart; right after they share their first kiss as 12 (her) and 14 (him) he and his brothers have to run away because their uncle is literally trying to murder them. They come back 12 years later and she's on the brink of getting engaged to another man. I remember very distinctly the hero in this ballroom like "hello I am alive" and being obsessed with this freckle on her cleavage lol.

--The Rake's Guide to Seduction by Caroline Linden is a brother's best friend book wherein the hero realizes at the beginning that he sees his best friend's sister in a new way now that she's all grown up; but he's too late and another guy swoops in before he can tell her. Years later, she's widowed and depressed when they meet up again during a house party.

--Ever Yours, Annabelle by Elisa Braden has a heroine who's obsessed with her brother's best friend when she's like... 10-13, and he gets injured in this maiming accident that sends him away from her. They come back into contact again over a decade later and he's shocked by how... grown she is.

--When the Duke Was Wicked by Lorraine Heath. This is Lovingdon's (28) entire crisis when Grace (19) a family friend asks him to help her find a good husband. He was super in love with his wife and has been a mega rake ever since she and their daughter died. This is also RUM ON LIPS book, which means it Must be read. One of my top Lorraine Heath reads.

--Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas. Kev and Win were childhood friends and super devoted to each other already, but there's something extra special about Win coming back from the Continent after two years with her health restored and trying to find Kev, only for him to think she's a sex worker because she's wearing a cloak and bending her over a table before being like "WIN??????" I love it so much.

--A Rogue by Any Other Name by Sarah MacLean. Love this because Bourne and Penelope were separated for yeeeears and she super obviously had a childish crush on him, and when they're reunited as full adults he's like "she..... actually does it for me a lot...."

--Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale has the hero and heroine reunite when she's 17 (it's a medieval and released in 2003-04 lol) and he's... 27ish I want to say? After he dropped her off with her sister when she was like 5 and he was a very messed up teenager she idolized. He's very quickly Spellbound. TW: nonconsensual first encounter.

--Mercy by Sara Cate I offer as a gender-flipped version in that the heroine, 34, is matched with her best friend's son, 22, on a kink-driven dating app (he's a sub, she's a domme). She really only saw him as a spoiled brat (and he is) but begins to view him in a verrrry different way as they get to actually know each other.

Eyes On Me by Sara Cate--LOL WHOOPS. This one is a stepbrother/stepsister romance with a decent age gap--10ish years I want to say? They didn't live together long, and he accidentally finds her on a camgirl site (he's a major voyeur). He starts watching her cam while also dealing with falling for her in real life.

--It Seemed Liked A Good Idea At The Time by Kylie Scott is a contemporary romcom wherein the heroine (now 25) has been effectively banished from her dad's house ever since he saw her trying to seduce his best friend (15 years her senior) topless right after she turned 18. The friend was very resistant then and is pissed at her for almost ruining a very important personal and professional relationship, but when they reunite for her dad's wedding.... Feelings and lots of tension ensues because she's like. Not a kid anymore!!!!

--Deep by Kylie Scott. The hero really met the heroine when she was a legal adult lol, but there's still a lot of this vibe because he's late twenties/early thirties and one of his best friend's college coed sister-in-law, and everyone has been like "STEP AWAY FROM THE CHILD" since they met... Even though, again! She's not a kid! But basically they have an ill-advised one night stand that becomes significantly more complicated when she turns up pregnant.

--The Arrow by Monica McCarty. Classic ward/guardian romance, medieval, the hero saved the heroine when she was a kid and took her in, and years later returns to find her all grown up.... and very interested in seducing him.

[holdonletmegetthisout]

For God’s sake start a journal already.

Somewhere along the way I was told I wasn’t great at writing. Maybe by a peer… or maybe it was a conclusion I’d drawn on my own? I distinctly remember sitting in creative writing, struggling to conjure up a story from the one sentence prompt on the screen. I’d stare at the lines on my paper for a few minutes, write down a sentence, find it lack luster, erase it, repeat. The timer would go off and we’d sit around reading our stories aloud. I’d sit in awe listening to the unique plots everyone had written. The teacher would call my name, and I’d go red in the face as I read my story that typically started with: “One day _____”. The class would clap like they did for everyone else, and the teacher would ask if anyone had questions (as if my tired writing could’ve left anyone wondering?? Honestly a sick joke on her end). No one would raise their hand, and we’d move on to the next person. Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure if I ever moved on. It seemed I checked off the box labeled “not a writer” in my head and never looked back.

I’ve always loved to read. Fascinated by beautiful pieces of literature, and the brain that thought to write it down. It was as if they had an endless bank of words waiting around in their mind, effortlessly turning to poetry the second their pen touched paper. That was such a foreign idea to me. I would sit for what felt like hours, trying to scrounge up ideas whenever I was faced with the task of writing. It always felt like such an impossible chore to me. I also have a very strong love for music. It’s gotten me through every point in my life, both good and bad. I can make a playlist for any occasion, any person, any season. I’ll sit for hours listening to my favorite songs, dissecting the lyrics, relating them to my life. Easily finding hidden meanings to the words echoing in my headphones. My favorite songs touch places so deep in my soul that it brings me to tears. All this admiration for words… but no urge to write. It never made sense to me, and I never dug deeper.

One day (hehehhahah) I got a journal. I had seen a video of a girl who had been keeping a journal since she was 13. She was in her mid twenties and had years and years of her life documented. I thought about how amazing it would be to be able to read my 15 year old thoughts. They’d be immature and uneducated, and not all that great I’m sure… but being able to know exactly what I thought, on a random Tuesday in my 15 year old life, that would be amazing. I thought about how my 50 year old self might appreciate my 20 year old thoughts in that same capacity. I started writing as often as I’d let myself. I struggled to write when my handwriting was too messy, when I felt I had nothing to write about; nothing that important to say. Every small insecurity I had subconsciously tacked onto my writing abilities now glaringly obvious in the pages of my journal. Finishing off my entries with “P.S. my handwriting looks horrible today…and I know this was kind of a boring entry! Sorry!” Apologizing to myself?? For my own abilities?? For my own thoughts and ideas?? That’s when it clicked. I didn’t hate writing; I wasn’t bad at writing; I was scared of writing… scared of being judged. Writing in any format showcases your inner thoughts…your original ideas. I didn’t want anyone, myself included apparently, to be able to judge my mind. Is there anything more personal than ones own thoughts? More specifically a journal? Theres no form of writing more intimate than writing in your own journal. I had written for months with so much anxiety and restraint before I realized just how much I was holding myself back. I wrote about love; thinking I had found it, and the harsh reality of finding out I hadn’t. I wrote about friendships, work, good days, and bad ones. All with such apprehension. Holding back from pouring out anything I deemed “too dramatic” or “ too deep”, as if this wasn’t the exact place I should feel safe doing so. It’s sad really. Looking back at the problems I was going through, and realizing how much quicker I would’ve been able to get through them, if I had given myself the grace to write freely. You can heal a lot of pain by writing it down on paper. But not if you leave out all the terrible parts.

I don’t consider myself an incredible writer now by any means. I don’t consider myself a writer at all. But I know now that I actually do like to write. I still struggle to find the right words, and I know for certain my journal is full of grammatical errors. But I’ve decided my thoughts mean more than any mistakes made while I express them. That’s progress for me. My new goal is to find beauty in my own writing. I’m really not asking for much from myself this early on in my writing journey. Something as small as the gratification I feel when using a favorite word (some examples: drat, superfluous, somber, ennui, rats! (Yes, used as an exclamation)) Is enough. It just feels good to let my thoughts be free, I’ve got far too many of them to let them fester inside for too long.

[fitgothgirl]

Long write up about some issues of mine and the past, been wanting to get this out. Will probably send to my therapist lol... TW emotional abuse.

The more I think about, the more I know my dad and my ex really messed me up. I still defend my dad that overall he was a decent parent and he was only human. I had a very comfortable and happy childhood. He tried to be a good dad and was caring, but he also messed up a good amount of times. My ex on the other hand, fuck him. For the sake of whatever unknowing victim, I hope he never dated again for whatever reason, death included.

But they both contributed to one of my biggest weaknesses. Nothing is harder for me to do than speak my mind, stand up for myself, set boundaries, and so on. In my mind, a serious talk is synonymous with fight. There are always tears. I now know that ADHD can cause one to cry ridiculously easily or to just shutdown into silence during discussions because we can't handle the emotion. Makes so much sense, I do both those things. But it wasn't just the ADHD. Every important conversation didn't need to be an argument, or me getting shutdown, or something negative. So I have it lodged deeply in my brain that my interpretation of things is wrong. I'm always wrong, wrong, wrong. It's a mantra that often plays in my head.

My dad wasn't as bad as my ex. He was a single dad who worked a lot, who had two daughters that probably just reminded him so much of his crazy ex, who both ended up being a handful in their teens. He was just always stressed and had a short fuse and would scare me when he was pissed. He didn't do anything to me, just the way he talked through gritted teeth or how he yelled (or what he yelled) or how he was strict. I remember certain things would trigger both me and my sister to go to our rooms to be on our own - his car pulling up in the driveway, the sound of the garage door; we just wanted to stay out of his way when he first got home since we knew that's when he would be most on edge. I can also distinctly remember the sound of him walking up the stairs, when I would pause to listen if he would be turning left to our rooms or right to his room. I'd try to gauge his energy/mood in the subtleties of his step. Anyway, it wasn't the best atmosphere for standing up for myself or speaking my mind, etc. Parenting today has taken such a good turn where people are trying to move away from anger and yelling and punishments for mistakes, and instead treat their kids like people and have a more understanding and guiding attitude. But still, my bf is my age and I look at his family and they're just amazing... I know many people who felt like they could really talk to their parents. I know my situation was by far not the worst possible, but it also wasn't great.

And I went straight from that to some full on grade A emotional abuse for 3 years with my ex. Life was constantly walking on eggshells... Things I didn't know could be a fight were a fight. All I wanted was for him to stop criticizing me and yelling at me and I didn't know what to say to make it stop, which wouldn't happen until I was in tears (although not like that's hard). I couldn't win no matter what I said so I just shutdown and said whatever to appease him in the fewest amount of syllables. He had the final say with everything. No seeing friends without him, which was rare for him to agree to, unless I wanted to have it held over my head forever (along with any other "nice" or "lenient" things he did or "let" me do). Had to work 6 days a week but also be responsible for the cleaning of the apartment since I made less money than him. Panicking at work when I realized I left a dish out and he was going to be home before me. Trying to be as small as possible while he punched a hole in the wall. Not able to spend money without his approval. Sitting home alone before a 13 hour shift while sobbing and holding my cat about how utterly trapped I felt. And he didn't even fucking drive, I was his chauffeur... Oh and of course, at the end of every lash out, I was reminded how it was because he loved me and cared about me wanted me to grow as a person, etc. (If you're wondering, yes I'm embarrassed that I let myself put up with this.)

All this to say, the thought of any form of serious conversation is almost paralyzing. And I get so distressed that I forget things I want to say. And it always ends with me being wrong in some way anyway! This is not something I've imagined, this is learned from experience. It's not even me yielding to end the discussion - by the end I do see that I'm truly wrong and I wasn't thinking. So why should I speak my mind about things when I know I'm going to somehow end up in the wrong or otherwise judged or dismissed... And if something gets brought up by someone else with any tinge of anger or irritation or even seriousness? I just shutdown. If I have to speak then just have a one track mind to appease.

This all leads to me being the mediator (INFP-T for sure), the one to keep the peace. Always adding smiles and laughs to what I'm doing or saying to keep others at ease. Trying to steer things back when any negative emotion rises, silently begging against any conflict. Just fawn response all day everyday.

I've now been with a wonderful guy for almost 12 years and yet I often still feel so trapped inside myself.

[vincentsleftear]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers :)

(You don't have to send it on if you don't want~)

Hi again!! Thanks for the ask!!

Also, a thank you to @thursdayinspace and @casuallycryingoverbooks for sending similar asks :)

1. Music!!! Little else can lift my mood quicker than putting on a good song to jump around to🤗

2. A good breeze. I know this sounds corny but here me out. I live in the American south. Where I live it gets *despicably* hot. This past year was the worst I’ve ever experienced (thanks climate change!!). My family and I have compared stepping outside during that time to the feeling of opening an oven that’s been cranked to the highest setting. Just a blast of *PURE* heat straight to the face. Or even worse. This heat + humidity?! You can’t escape. Just completely engulfed in an oppressive, suffocating, sticky heat. So. Needless to say 😅. When I’m outside feeling like I’ve just been teleported to the 10th circle of hell, even a brief moment of a nice breeze makes my heart sing.

3. Iced coffee. No explanation needed there.

4. Water!! Let me tell you. There is not a single feeling in the world that can compare to being so deep in the ocean that your body is lifted off the sea floor by the waves. Now. Is that the safest situation to be in? Hey. Probably not. Would never recommend if you don’t have lots of experience being in and around large bodies of water (and even if you do, never go that deep alone!!). But my goodness. Just relaxing your body and floating in the water around you?? Just allowing the water to carry you up and down?? You’re not able to touch the floor but it’s truly the most grounding experience. The first time I had ever gone that far out into the ocean I was with my dad. Must have been around 13/14?? I distinctly remember thinking that it may be the happiest I had ever been.

5. Honestly. When my math work makes sense. 😭. I’ve realized recently that math can actually be really fun!! I enjoy the rhythm of it. Formulas to remember and plug in, clear steps to follow, rows and rows of work down the page, a precise answer in the end. So yeah. math can actually be really fun and really cool…when you know what you’re doing that is… *cries is calculus student*

[gotjacobian]

Thinking about how I distinctly remember the moment I felt like I 'got' what abstract art was. Like, up until around age 13, I really didn't understand what the point of it was, and got frustrated when asked to analyze or interpret anything that wasn't clearly representative. Then one day, the english teacher put a painting up on the screen and asked us to write about it and I just... finally understood what I was supposed to do? It wasn't a painting I feel or felt particularly strongly about, but suddenly I was like "oh I see, non-representative styles, depictions, and expressions can be evocative, impactful, deliberate, etc." When I definitely was not on that level before.

I had a very similar experience with music, actually, but younger, maybe 10 or 11 - kid me cared a lot about the lyrics of music and preferred stuff that was grounded and fairly literal. But then my parents were listening to The Wall - which I had absolutely heard before! - in the car at one point, and got to Comfortably Numb, and all of a sudden I had to go lie down for a while about it to process the affective experience I'd just had. And then every song after was like that - I recognized that music could make me feel things, that that was the point.* Obviously there was and always is more to say about art, but both times for me that first step was like flipping a switch, to the point I legitimately think it must've been some kind of developmental stage. *tbf my parents do also have a lot of stories of kid me like, crying at the cinematic parts of orchestral pieces and things, so obviously I was capable of being Affected, but I think I couldn't articulate the intentionality behind it before that. Like, best I can explain it, I thought that music made you sad because it was or would be the soundtrack to something sad happening? Or that it was a fundamental trait of the music itself, that certain sounds were magic spells that Caused Crying. Not that someone could, and would choose, to make a song that felt and sounded like depression so that I would then hear it and respond to that. The shift was half theory of mind, half realizing that symbols can mean things that aren't purely, completely grounded.

[zodiariesworld]

| day 2 of living with zoe

tw: discussion of passive suicidal ideation and depression.

living is something that’s honestly been hard for me to do these past few years. i’ve been alive, but truly i’ve been actively trying to undo for that for years passively.

the harmful words i would throw at myself as i stare into the mirror comparing myself to others. anyone who breathed was competition to me.

i went into high school used to being the best. i went to a small prep school where our 6th grade class was filled with 26 people, the most it had in years. and there i was the best.

my high school classes at from 30-40 people in there. not to mention i also competed against everyone in the grade.

i hated anything with games and competitions. i hate how people acted during it, and how angry and aggressive they got. so to enter an environment where everyone was competing against each other was not for me.

that’s when i developed anxiety to an extent that was unhealthy. other girls too had this same anxiety (i went to an all girls’ high school. one of the best in the country.) but they were used to it. they thrived in competition. they encouraged it. me? i feared it.

when the anxiety hit me and i lost control of my own body to where it envolved into shakes. shakes i’ve never experienced, hospitals and tests i had to do. blood tests to the point where the needle was comforting to me. learning how to swallow pills as at least of nine of them had to go down my throat for the day.

that’s when i started to struggle to want to live. that’s when those words i’ve never said before, the voices in my head encouraging me to give up. and i did many times.

i’m not a fighter.

i don’t like to push myself past my limits.

i distinctly remember the moments when i gave up. not actively but passively yet it was still actively. i still actively hated living. i hated waking up and having to drag myself to do tests and hoping i can find some validation in them.

but now i’m pushing. slowly, but surely i’m pushing. i’m a second year uni student who is trying to figure out what the hell to do with her life. i’m trying to push to get my degree. no matter what it takes except. i’m actually taking care of myself.

doing little things like saying, “it’s okay to go to sleep if you’re tired” or “it’s okay if i don’t understand. i understand other things.”

by actually being positive, instead of saying “there’s no way i’ll pass this test.” i say “i can do it. i’ll pass it and if i don’t. i’ll do better next time and move on,”

granting myself those graces that i never gave poor 13 year old zoe is healing.

though sometimes it hurts me because i do have stuff to get done. but i allow myself to slack off a bit, because i’m tired. and my body deserves rest.

i’ll keep practicing this. it’s just me against me in this competition. being healthy is what’s best for me. i’ll keep trying my best. and i’ll keep trying to be happy. i want to be alive i realized. no matter how much it’s painful to keep trying to keep that want. i know it’ll pay off to where i’m content.

i’ll keep finding these small but certain happens in life. ☁️🩷

[wait-still-rendering]

here is the original outline of The Strange Case of Kairi Uchida (which probably needs another title at this point). It is unfinished, but I wager it would have been like 50+ chapters long if I did finish writing it out lol. :) Enjoy what may never be.

@kessielrg @coffeetime88

Terminus

OUTLINE

The Strange Case of Kairi Uchida

1: Autumn - Strange occurrences are happening to Kairi so she goes off in search of answers and is now missing.

2: Downpour - Sora attempts to gather as many clues as possible that are related to Kairi’s disappearance.

3: Wayfaring Streets - With the help of Riku and Selphie, Sora heads for Radiant Garden to look for Kairi.

4: Catacombs of the Mind - Kairi attempts to piece together what is happening to her. The girl from the mirror guides her to Hollow Bastion’s castle which leads to a shocking discovery. 

5: Terminus - Kairi has a choice to make and it isn’t an easy one. Sora and co find Kairi, but both parties are torn away from each other at the last moment. The shadowy monsters from before appear within the castle which triggers a lost memory for Sora, Riku, and Kairi.

6: The Mirrors of Time: As Sora and co explore the castle and its various traps, they come across a room full of mirrors and learn about an urban legend—the Heartless. 

7: Astray - Kairi and Xion attempt to find a way back to Sora and co, but instead stumble upon a library that Kairi distinctly remembers visiting. The only problem is Radiant Garden and Hollow Bastion were separated before Kairi’s birth. They find a new ally in Roxas.

8: Murky Waters - Stuck in the room of mirrors, Sora, Riku, and Selphie must find a pathway through the mirrors. 

9: Torch - It's a race against time to find the exit before the castle is overridden by Heartless. Kairi attempts to find a way to communicate this sentiment to her friends on the other side (Sora, Riku, Selphie.)

10: Bindings of the Undercity - Both groups fight their way out of the castle, but with no way back to Hollow Bastion’s entrance. They soon stumble upon a ghost train. The party is split on whether or not to get on or try to find a way back to Radiant Garden. In the end, Kairi boards the train leading to the rest of the other members to also get on. The train leads them to what they soon learn is the Underworld.

11: Tidal Waves - As they have no choice but to move forward, tensions rise. Kairi finally learns why strange things have been happening to her.

12: Storm - A fight breaks out within the group which leads to an accidental teleportation.

13: Clockwork - The gang finds themselves out at sea in an unfamiliar airship. It isn't until they land that they find out they have traveled into a foreign reality.

14: Shards - The flickering starts up again for Kairi who now knows the flickerings are memories of different lifetimes.

15: Childhood Pathways - The gang comes across a photo album filled with memories from different lifetimes. Endings. They have a choice to make. 

16: The Door to Oblivion - Heartless appear once more. Kairi sees flashes of the Keyblade Graveyard. 

17: Celestial Affairs - They land in Scala ad Caelum, a bustling city full of spirits from all times. Five houses rule over them—Bear, Snake, Unicorn, Fox, Leopard.

18: Walls of the Silver Palace - The group splits up in order to investigate the five houses. When they uncover a new discovery, they must either prepare for war or find another reality to jump to. 

19: Paradigm Madness - Fearing the uprising, everyone flees Scala ad Caelum and finds themselves in unfamiliar territory once again. It isn’t until they gather their barings that they realize they are centuries back in another reality in a place called Gaia. Selphie remembers scraps of another lifetime in Balamb Garden. 

20: Breaching Threads - As the gang travels through Gaia (FF9), they attempt to find their footing. They soon come across a familiar face. Roxas grapples with the unhappy memories he has of his past life.

Characters

Kairi Uchida

Selphie Tilmitt

Riku Miyano

Sora Irino

Xion Hikari

Roxas Uchiyama

Don't trust blindly. 

Sora was never one to wake up early. His thin blankets lay on the ground as they always did no matter how many times he attempted to wrap himself up in them at night. Destiny Islands was hotter than the blazing sun on its worst days and mildly chilly on its best days. 

It should have been indicative to him that something was not quite right when he looked at the time and saw the red numbers spread out. 

5:02 in the morning.

Tangles of clothes were strewn across Sora’s bedroom floor. When he awoke at exactly 5:02 that morning, he let out a string of curses as he stumbled over the combined mess of dirty laundry and a half-read book aptly placed near his bedside. 

Most days Sora wouldn't dream of getting out of bed at such an ungodly hour, but it was as if an unknown entity forced him out of his slumber.

He looked toward the calendar. November 3rd. Kairi would be home soon. A smile found its way to his lips. 

Perhaps Sora should have realized there was something horribly, horribly wrong, but Sora did not have that epiphany because he had no reason to believe anything was wrong. The quiet of early morning almost made Sora crawl back into bed, but when he caught sight of a streak of white, his weariness dissipated. It was snowing.

It was snowing on Destiny Islands.

He snapped a quick picture before sending it into the group chat so Riku and Kairi could see.

Hours from now, Sora would be on a train heading for Radiant Garden with Riku and Selphie in tow.

Kairi’s hands trailed alongside the smooth spine of one of the more ornate books within the castle’s library.

[saintcheryl]

i lived in a college town from 9 to 13 and then moved away and then went to college there 4 years later and it was such an odd feeling. i distinctly remember crying my eyes out on a swingset between classes because i went to my old favorite boba place and realized it wasn’t as good as i remembered. i’ve long since graduated now but it feels weird when i go back to visit and see all my old haunts that have closed and all the things i used to enjoy and be good at that i can no longer do… but also now i have better headphones and an ipad and the shoes college me always wanted and i wish i could go back in time and hand them to exhausted 19 year old me blasting music way too loud over $10 headphones trying to take notes on the most busted laptop you ever saw

its so odd!!!! time sure does keep moving forward. fucked up if true. i confidently set out to take transit like i normally did here but i got rly confused bc the name of a station has changed in the past years and i didn’t know and i suddenly felt like an outsider in a place that used to be home. but yeah like im a slightly different person now too and im in a better place mentally than i was when i lived here and yet i yearn for it but the things i yearn for are things i can build in my life again if i try. i will always have a spiritual tie to this place and still consider it a home (esp cuz so much family lives out here + my parents r from this area) but that doesnt mean its bad that im not here anymore. and thank u for sharing ur experience i love humans and our shared wistfulness as we age

[eruden-writes]

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

When I sat down to write this, I didn't anticipate it becoming a 4.5k story.

I'm also dabbling in 2nd person, so enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 - Vagina Version | Part 15 - Penis Version | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 (coming soon)

---

You wake up late that morning with a groan, sunlight trying to force its way in through your closed blinds.

Everything hurts. Your legs, your arms, your back, your head, your neck, everything throbs. Still groggy, you try to remember what happened last night. You’re still dressed in what you remember wearing yesterday. You’re even still in your shoes.

Thankfully, you're in your own bed as well, you eventually realize as you push yourself upright. The sight of your familiar rumpled comforter and room eases some initial concerns warbling about your brain. But there's still more to have.

Partying or anything strenuous hadn't been on your calendar last night, so what hap-

Your fingertips graze over something on your neck. Something that feels suspiciously like a bandage. Narrowing your eyes, you force your wobbly legs from the bed and duck into your darkened bathroom.

The lights buzz overhead after you hit the switch. An anticipatory horror swells in your chest as your eyes settle on your reflection in the mirror. A bandage is wrapped around your throat. The image reminds you of an urban legend about a woman whose head falls off after the removal of a lifelong bandage.

Your shaking fingers touch it as the faintest memories shift in your mind. Last night, you went to see a movie! It was an old black-and-white movie at the vintage theater a few blocks away. While your friends had all declined to go with you, there had been quite a few bodies in the theater seats last night. And on your walk home…

Your eyebrows furrow. On your walk home, it had been dark. Strangely dark. Like the streetlights had failed to come on well into the evening dark.

And you had been walking.

Then running. You remember the sound of your sneakers scuffing desperately on pavement.

And the echoes of something behind you.

Movement behind you startles you. It takes a short second to realize it’s the bathroom door that caught your attention. It’s not even moving!

Well… until it does begin to swing.

Your eyes widen, stomach dropping, as a clawed hand reaches around the edge of the bathroom door. Survival instincts spin you around, hands fumbling for anything nearby, as the door latches closed.

Everything in your floundering mind stills as the thing behind the door is revealed.

It looks like a person. It is distinctly person-shaped. A tall and lanky person, dressed in layers of musty-smelling disintegrating fabric; the cloth so ruined, you couldn’t discern its original color. Over everything, it wore a large and far more well-kept trench coat that barely hit its knees.

But its spindly fingers are still inhumanly long, still tipped with curving claws that you remember grappling against. And how easily it restrained you. And you remember - you remember - its face shifting in the dark. Its mouth widening, its teeth growing into vicious little points, its nose becoming flatter and ears growing large and pointy and its eyes glowing red.

The sudden rush of memories nearly topples you over. This had been the thing you’d been running from last night! Your heart races just remembering it.

Oh, you had no clue when you started to run. Of course not. You thought someone was stalking you, intent to mug or sexually assault you.

“Many apologies. This mus-” The thing reaches a hand toward you, spindly fingers and claws crooked.

You scream, grabbing the nearest items from the bathroom sink to wing at the creature. Empty and full bottles of a number of toiletries hurtles in the air at it. It doesn’t even budge. Even as a toothbrush and a hefty bottle of mouthwash and a stick of deodorant and more come flying at it. The most it moves is a wince as a hairbrush smashes into its face.

Your chest heaves with panting breaths as you look wildly around, your potential projectiles now depleted.

“As I was saying,” the thing continued again, though this time they made a concerted effort to not move toward you. “Many, many apologies for this intrusion.”

Sense finally broke into your chaotic swirl of thoughts. Even with near-hyperventilating gasps, you yell, “What do you want? What did you do to me? How did we get back here?”

“I’m very sorry! I just awoke from a very long sleep and was a bit disoriented.” Its face creases with concern and misery as their hands, those fingers, grasp at one another. It tugs and fidgets with its own digits, its pathetic red gaze nothing but wretched. “I saw you at the moving picture and something just…”

It trails off and attempts to find the appropriate word by raising its hands. Its fingers wiggle, the claws catching the light of the bathroom.

At your uncomprehending look, its hands fall and its shoulders hunch near its pointed ears. “I just got very hungry.”

“And how are we here?” You demand, motioning toward the bathroom and implying your apartment at large.

“I’m assuming you’re asking how I know this is your home,” the thing mumbles, pointed ears drooping as it returns to fidgeting with its fingers. Your expression hardens as you nod, making a gesture for it to continue. It radiates wretchedness as it answers, “The blood, you see, carries memories and-”

You groan, running your hands down your face with crooked fingers pushing against your cheeks. This couldn’t be real! This was some sort of hallucination or even a dream! You couldn’t imagine why you’d be hallucinating, though, and you knew you weren’t asleep.

You weren’t ready to accept what this thing was telling you. You weren’t even ready to accept it actually being a physical entity! If you did, then you’d have to come to terms with a blood-sucking, bat-like creature existing in this reality and you- Nope! Your brain shut down the line of thought, like steel doors shutting out an invasion.

“I left penitence at your bedside,” they mumble, their red gaze once more on their own hands. With as high as their shoulders hunch, they look about ready to fold in on themselves.

You throw the creature a glare, which it seems to feel - even without looking at you - as it flinches.

Better than being terrified, you clung to the annoyance as you edged to the bathroom door. Being irritated was better than breaking down into tears as the world you knew suddenly fractured as fictitious things became reality.

Opening the door and ducking into your bedroom, your eyes scan the area. It was mostly as you left it. At least the thing hadn’t rummaged through your belongings. Then again, if what it said about blood and memories was true, it wouldn’t have to.

With a savage shake of your head, you dislodged the thought. No, it wasn’t real. It was fictional. You were hallucinating and your brain was just giving you too much to work with! That was it. Yep.

Your attention finally lands on what must be the thing’s penitence. With narrowing eyes, you slowly approach the small box on your nightstand. It appears to be made of discreet metal, dingy and old. With a careful hand, you flip the lid open. It opens easily and you stare at the offering.

Inside, a small fortune of gold coins sits in the velvet-lined box. As you sift through the coins, a small carved statue catches between your fingers. You stare at it, eyebrows raising as it reminds you of those fertility figurines you’ve seen in museums.

Pensive, you glance back over your shoulder, to the bathroom. The creature hovers in the doorway, half behind the door. Skepticism tints your voice as you ask, “You’re giving me all this for one meal of blood?”

They give an awkward cringe of a smile. You try your best to not be distracted by their interlocking rows of sharp teeth as they sheepishly answer, “I was hoping to stay until the sun goes down.”

You narrow your eyes, giving a hum of disbelief. The weight of the possibly ancient fertility statue shifts in your hand as your thumb grazes its curves.

“And maybe another meal?” They squeak, ducking further behind the door. Shame radiates from them, as if just asking for a meal with a room was the height of disgraceful. Given how they ate, you supposed it could very well be.

At that thought, your hand goes to your throat. You press your fingertips against the bandage and an injury aches beneath the pressure. Your stomach twists as foggy memories of teeth sinking into your skin as you struggle lights up in your head. Of blood dripping, tickling your skin. Of the creature giving a contented deep-chested rumble as they held you tight. Conflicting sensations knot your insides up.

“I need to do some things,” you suddenly inform the creature as you pocket the statute and heft the box into your hands. A sudden thought blooms in your head and you turn to glare at the creature, who still looks at you with doleful eyes from behind the bathroom door. “You stay there. I’m opening all the blinds before I leave, so fair warning.”

After the creature nods in acquiescence and closes the bathroom door, you go about your promise of opening all the blinds. Light floods your bedroom and the parts of your apartment that the windows’ light reaches. Thankfully, the creature didn’t acknowledge or realize your small home had pockets of forever-shadow, where no natural light hit.

Hastily, you shake the thought from your head. You don’t know what else this thing can do, like read minds or sense intent. You try to keep your mind blank as you place the box in a bag, with your keys and wallet. After a quick Internet search, you shove your cellphone into the bag and head out, locking your apartment behind you.

You try not to think about how you possibly just locked a vampire into your home, as you head toward the nearest certified appraiser’s office.

x x x

When you return, afternoon daylight is still forcefully streaming into your apartment. You check that the bathroom door in your bedroom is still securely shut, before sitting down at your computer.

Eyebrows raised at the appraiser’s office, when you brought in the coins and statute. The former appeared to be a particular mint, lost at sea to some tragic shipwreck. The latter was harder to pinpoint and required higher specialty to assess.

You’d left the office with not only recompense for about a third of the coins - the other two-thirds still in your possession, along with the statue - but a URL to a particular forum. You’d visited it via the bus’s wi-fi while en route to another destination. From the forum, you were given a list of further necessities. Whether you raised suspicions, you weren’t sure.

Hell, part of you wasn’t even sure what you were up to. The shock still hadn’t worn off. Nor had you completely accepted the fact you locked a vampire into your bathroom.

Even with the support of the Monster Research Forum, the facts refused to sink in. You thought, maybe, when you picked up the garlic from the grocer or the wooden stakes from the hardware store or even the silver from the thrift store or the holy water from the church, you’d feel more secure accepting the knowledge.

But, no. You still felt like it was all a farce.

Even signing into the highly secure, invitation-only forum felt like a joke.

Something just refused to click and you were afraid only one thing would cement the realization into place.

Sitting at your computer desk, the webcam on but not connected to any app, you unwound the bandage from your throat. Another piece of gauze stuck to where the injury had dully throbbed earlier. You stared at it through your computer screen, taking a deep breath.

There was no point in dawdling. Reaching your hand to the square of gauze, you gently peeled it away, bracing yourself for whatever you saw beneath it.

There were no blood, no scabs, no bruising.

Only two circular scars graced your throat.

The world sways under you as you slap your hand over the scars, your brain unable to understand why an injury received just hours ago was now a scar. You breathe through your nose, staring blankly at your keyboard, trying to still the panic in your head.

Fear-fueled anger rushes to your head again. Your eyes fall on the bag of accumulated safety measures; the stakes, the holy water, the garlic, the silver cross. With a shaking hand, you snatch up the bag and storm to your room, to your bathroom.

You pause only long enough to grab a stake, douse it in holy water, before yanking the bathroom door open. The thought to stop, to think, to consider was ignored by the panicked hate in your head.

It was easier to strike in anger, than wallow in fear as your understanding of the world shattered.

Thoughts of the fight to come, the tussle for survival, the shrieks and possible pain frothed in your head. But this had to be done. You wanted normalcy back. Not this knowledge.

The only thing that finally stopped you was the sight of it, hanging upside down by the curve of their feet hooked on your shower curtain rod.

Its eyes were closed and its sleeping features held a solemn expression, hands crossed over its chest. While marveling at their dignified face, you almost missed the way their trench coat ridiculously bunched up around their shoulders, the excess fabric pulled by gravity. The rest of their clothes didn’t fare much better. Ragged, dirty cloth bunched up, showing off ragged sneakers and socks and ankles previously hidden by trousers. Not to mention the way the shirt drooped toward its chest, leaving their stomach on display.

All of this detail only had the barest of seconds to register. As the bathroom door slammed open, the startled creature’s eyes flew wide. They jolted and the force of their movement made the flimsy tension curtain rod wobble.

With a cacophonous clatter, the creature and rod and shower curtain crashed into the tub.

You dropped the stake as all vicious thoughts dissipated. Without thinking, you neared the creature, alarm and concern taking control of you. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” they groan, raising into a sitting position. There was further rustling as they freed themselves from the tangle of the shower curtain. When they finally managed to free themselves and set the rod aside, they looked ruefully up at where you stood. “Bit odd of you to ask, considering the stake and all.”

They nodded behind you and you looked, your eyes catching the forgotten stake on the floor, the wood still dark with the holy water.

You bristled, realizing they knew what you were up to. Your body tensed, bracing for retaliation, as you looked back at them. “What of it?”

“Just odd,” they shrugged. The creature still didn’t move to stand. They simply sat, legs crossed but knees awkwardly folded up awkwardly to fit the small tub, as they stared up at you. You got the impression they were simply resigned.

“You’re not angry?” Uncertainty hedged into your words, your eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

“No,” their voice was soft as a sad smile teased at their lips. There was the briefest parting of lips, the smallest sight of their sharp teeth, before they caught themself. Their attention went to their hands, resting between their awkwardly squished cross-legged position. “Being irate with you would be highly hypocritical of me. I cannot be angry with you choosing survival.”

You tilt your head, comprehension settling into your thoughts. “Because that’s what you were doing.”

The creature doesn’t look up as they nod.

Silence stretches between you two as you struggle to figure out what to do with this information. It doesn’t fit neatly with your fear or anger. It hits on something else that’s been dwelling in your synapses. A quiet sort of curiosity. Which is met with a grudging sort of understanding.

“Do not get me wrong, I am not trying to excuse my actions.” Misreading your quiet as further agitation, the creature suddenly looks up at you. It raises its hands, its spindly fingers splayed but lacking its claws from earlier. “I was slumbering for such a long time and, as I said, disoriented. When I scented you in that theater I-”

Before it could babble further, your surprise makes you blurt out, “You scented me?”

“I, I…” Panic paints itself across the creature’s face, their eyes wide. Their ears droop as you stare at them and their shoulders hunch. Their eyes avert from your face. “Yes. You were the most tantalizing scent I came across, since waking weeks ago.”

You narrow your eyes, curiosity taking the reins fully from shock and fear and rage. “Why didn’t you feed for weeks?”

“I didn’t need to, at first. Then I didn’t want to,” the creature shrugs, their nose wrinkling. “Nothing smelled good.”

“Until me.” Your words bring back their shame.

Once more, their shoulders hunch, their fingers twisting and eyes watching them. The creature makes a strangled sound in their throat, not really wanting to answer but affirming your words.

Awkward fully settles over them as you think. In your pocket, the weight of the statue lingers.

“A third of the coins you gave me covers a year of rent,” you begin to say as you crouch beside the bathtub. The thought is not fully settled in your own head, so you feel it out, glancing from a blank spot on the wall to the creature. If this thing could provide you money to live off of, while you pursued more fulfilling careers, perhaps they weren’t so bad of an opportunity. “I have no clue how much the little fertility goddess is worth, but it could be a lot.”

Something in your voice must prompt the creature to look at you. You find yourself pinned by their red eyes, an uncertain hope threatening to shine in them. Their fidgeting fingers still, giving you their full attention.

“I’m not making any promises,” you say suddenly, leaning back a little from their attentive gaze. A strange warmth creeps up your body and you try to mentally shove it away. “But if you want to overpay for room and board, who am I to stop you?”

Their eyes narrow and what they must think is a shrewd expression crosses their features. “And meals?”

The place they last fed, where their lips and teeth last touched, throbs. A tingle traces down your spine and spreads into your veins. There is a thought, a realization, you can’t quite latch onto. Perhaps a memory from last night that was locked away, whether by your own shock or the creatures yet known abilities.

“Provided on the contingency they stop indefinitely when I say so.” Even as you say it, you feel it’s against your better judgment. The creature’s eyes light up, forcing you to anxiously add, “And that you don’t suck me dry. And if you do anything that makes me fear for my life, you accept I’ll end you.”

“Agreed.” They sit up so straight so fast, you nearly fall backward, forgetting how tall they are when not in a perpetual slump. An awkward hopeful smile pulls across their lips and, with their fingers twiddling once more in their lap, they ask, “I’m hungry now, if that is acceptable.”

You shoot them a withering look, but apparently they have gotten over their initial reticence. They smile, partly cheek and partly awkward, as their shoulders arch.

With a resigned sigh, you scoot closer to the bathtub and their ears perk up. They, too, situate themselves a little closer, turning at their waist to better access you.

“Do you need to feed as often as humans?” The words come out laughably calm, despite the mounting anxiety in your chest. As if you had this conversation a million times before.

“No,” they replied, just as conversationally. Faintly, you wonder if they have had this conversation before. You try not to stiffen as their hands grab your shoulders, turning you so they can see your neck better. “I think I am just particularly hungry after my long slumber and following fast.”

“I see,” you mumble, trying to shove away the feelings of being little more than a prime cut for this thing.

Whether they sense your frustration or simply ignore it, you don’t know. Perhaps they are already lost in hunger, as their lips skirt your throat and they inhale deeply. A delighted sound comes from their throat.

You shiver, biting down a whimper and wrenching your eyes shut as their lips find the same spot as last night. Their mouth and tongue are warmer than you expected, making your stomach flip. Their fingers tighten on your shoulders, those curved claws forming at their fingertips and biting into the fabric of your shirt.

They pull you closer, a hiss escaping their mouth as their teeth sink into your neck. First it’s just a prick of pain, then a hot agony as their fangs sink deeper. Instinctively, your body tries to jerk away, but they growl and hold your shoulders tighter. Against the cool lip of the tub, your fingers tremble.

Then you feel your blood being sucked from your body. A strange sensation of pressure and suction that pulls the hemoglobin from your vein. Not altogether painful or unpleasant, but unnerving.

Despite agreeing to it, despite the relatively certain comfort they weren’t going to kill you, tears still leak from the corner of your eyes. Your hands drift from the tub to their arms, your own fingers mimicking their hold on you. You don’t know if you’re trying to push them away or pull them closer as your head presses against their shoulder, exposing your throat more to their hungry mouth.

Something disintegrates in you. The pain still echoes in your body, but it’s joined by a sense of pleasure.

Pleasure that sends sights and smells and sounds and sensations all through your brain.

Grappling togas and spilled wine and wanton excitement. A litany of smiling faces, of desire-glazed eyes, of lips stained with red. Powdered wigs and skirts made of miles of fabric and sinful sweet scents. Heeled shoes clacking and full bodied laughter. The scent of the sea, the sound of a storm. The smell of gunpowder, of graveyards, of spicy-sweet smoke. Familiar and unfamiliar touches all over your body. Nails dragging across every inch of your body.

“Please, Tabaeus,” you gasp, not entirely sure what you’re asking for. All you know is now you’re pulling them closer, wanting to drown yourself in these sensations and these images. A million lifetimes of experiences, of delight and desire and pain and death and uncertainty and success.

Your words force them to yank away from your throat. They stare down at you, their chest heaving with excited breaths and eyes wide. You stare blearily back at them, confused. Your attention focuses on the red coating their lips and their chin.

The plethora of feelings flooding your head, your body, drains away. Leaving you feeling cold and hollow and more than a little confused. Despite the feeling of cotton in your head, you push your face from their shoulder. As you move, your throat twinges with pain and you feel the blood ooze down your neck.

“I-I am sorry.” Tabaeus’s fingers flex against your shoulders, as if they want to simultaneously release you while dragging you closer. “That is something that happens on occasion.”

“What was that?” The question comes out confused and perhaps a little harsher than you meant.

“The best I can guess is my past,” they release you as they answer, their shoulders once more hunching. “Or maybe the lives of those I’ve… feasted on.”

You stare at them, eye tracing along their shamed features as curiosity - more so than disgust - toys at their words. “You don’t know?”

“No. This whole thing is very confusing.” They heave a heavy sigh, unable to meet your gaze. Their hands move as they speak, putting their frustration into actions. “Despite what I am, memories do get lost to time and I never was fully, truly, orientated.”

“I see,” is all you can manage to say as your inquisitive mind fights against a sudden fatigue.

Then turn back to your abruptly, their red eyes earnest as they grip at the lip of the tub. “If this alters your offer, I understand. I-”

Without thinking, you cover their mouth with your hand, your eyes closing. A desire for quiet settles on your overstimulated brain. You miss how their eyes widen and their shoulders slump at your touch.

“Give me time to process this,” you say quietly, cracking your eyes open to gauge their reaction.

They nod behind your hand, concern prickling in their eyes. Their attention flicks to something on your face and you realize there’s still dampness on your cheeks from your tears. With your free hand, you hastily wipe at the tears stains.

“For now, we should get cleaned up,” you say even while your brain is still preoccupied with what just happened. You had finally accepted the reality of vampires, only to find the one you know may have limited answers.

Despite your preoccupation, Tabaeus seems to have more direction. They rise from the tub and tend to your wound, albeit after cleaning their bloody face. You still sit on the floor, leaning against the tub, until they are finished.

It is only when they softly say your name, you realize you’ve nodded off. Obviously, blood loss does that to one. But your brain latches onto another curious realization. “How do you know my name?”

Once more, Tabaeus gives their awkward-shy smile, the one that is more reminiscent of a cringe than a grin. “I told you, there’s memories in blood.”

“Oh,” you say weakly. You glance toward the door, the thought of your bed sounding very good at the moment. Without a word, Tabaeus gathers you up in their arms. You don’t even have the wits to fret, before you find them depositing you on your mattress.

You’re a little shocked to realize how dark it is outside. Where did the time go?

As Tabaeus moves to straighten up, likely to leave you to rest, your hand catches them by the front of their shirt. Startled red eyes stare down at you. Sleepily, your tone takes on a playful lilt as your lips pucker, “Don’t go skipping out on rent now.”

For the first time since you met them, Tabaeus chuckles. It’s soft and gentle. Just like their manner of speaking, you realize.

“On my word, I will not skip out on rent,” they reassure you, as they gently remove your hand from their tattered shirt. They press their lips to your knuckles and, though it sends a flare of heat through you, you tiredly chalk it up to sealing their promise.

You close your eyes once more, hand dropping to our bed. Tabaeus’s footfalls punctuate the air as you feel sleep dragging you further and further down.

Before the darkness completely swallows you up, part of you is alarmed to realize something.

You desperately hope Tabaeus is still there when you awake.