#but i mean i wrote it KNOWING that can happen so like

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 6

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

DEFINETLY NSFW! Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

For somebody that filled her romance novels with plenty of smut… Sky wasn’t exactly as experienced as one may expected. 

Actually…she was woefully inexperienced.

There had been Admon…and Admon it had been.

The rest of the stuff in her books…well, that was just her fantasy wildly spinning stories about how sex should feel. Informed by plenty of books she had read, other authors, and of course…there were the two people that got to read every book she wrote before it was published: Orla, her publisher, and her friend Ressina, who was nice enough to take the pen to every thing she wrote that was woefully inaccurate. 

Because nothing ever felt to her like she portrayed it in the books.

Maybe that was normal. Maybe it was because of course her books portrayed something…better than reality, an escape from it. But still…sometimes Sky had just wondered…

As Azriel carried her towards the bedroom, Sky couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this, she did, more than anything. But the truth was, she was…nervous.

She had written about this moment countless times, had described it in vivid detail in her novels. But now that it was actually happening, she felt…insecure. What if it wasn’t as good in real life as she made it out to be on paper? What if she did disappoint him?

(Sky knew that she had disappointed Admon numerous times…that she seemingly had never been enough for him…had been so bad at it in fact that he had instead slept with her sister…which was a whole other kettle of fish that she really didn’t want ot think to close about right now.)

Sky tried to push those thoughts aside, to focus on the here and now. 

Azriel was here with her, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She could feel it in the way he held her, the way he looked at her. And yet, that nagging feeling of doubt still lingered.

And then there was the fact while he had admitted to sending his shadows to search for her… Sky was still keeping a rather big secret.

“Az…Azriel…” she said hesitantly.  “There…there is one thing you should know about me.”

Azriel paused, setting Sky down on the bed gently before turning to look at her. 

"Go on," he prompted her gently, taking her hand in his as he sat down next to her and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You can tell me anything, Sky." She believed him. he wouldn’t judge her. She was sure of that as well. 

“You…You k…know how…how I…I write… ro…romance no..novels?” Sky asked him, biting her lip.

Azriel nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I do," he said, leaning in closer to her. "You told me.”

“I…I am Sellyn Drake,” she blurted out.

She had never outright admitted it to another person. 

Ressina had been the one who had send off her first manuscript to be published…and Orla had met with her…these were the two people in existence that knew that Skylar Alden was also Sellyn Drake. And Skylar had always been comfortable with keeping it that way. 

There was no need to tell anybody else. 

Which was why it worked so well, that Ressina was an artist and could paint the bookcovers for her. No need whatsoever to let anybody else see the hesitant first drafts until she was sure this was where she wanted to go. Just Ressina. Just one of her very few friends. If not her only. 

Azriel stared at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "What?" he asked, completely taken aback. "You're...Sellyn Drake?" There was no…outright disbelief in his voice, just shock. 

*We know! We made Master read your books!* the shadows cooed. *Lady Death, The Priestess and The Shopkeeper love them too!*

She had no idea who any of these people were but…

Azriel's eyes widened even further as the shadows spoke up. "You...you knew about this?" he asked them, turning towards the shadows in disbelief. "You knew. That’s why you gave me her books to read!”

This was just getting better and better.

Sky, who had been watching Azriel and the shadows’ exchange with a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment, couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

“Do…Do they always…” she couldn’t even put it into words. 

Azriel sighed. “They like to meddle,” he said darkly. “And this time they were particularly persistent.” He shot a reproachful look at the shadows, who cowered a little under his gaze. "I won't lie, they did manipulate me into reading your books. And when my shadows do something they are rather...convincing."

She swallowed. 

“Did…did you…li…like them at…at least?” Sky asked hesitantly. 

Azriel hesitated for a moment before answering. 

"I...I did," he admitted earnestly. "Your writing...it's brilliant, Sky.” Her heart soared at his words. She treasured them, hoarding them away like a dragon. But he wasn’t done. “The characters, the emotions, the way you make the reader feel everything...it's incredible. I couldn't put them down."

Sky grinned at his words, feeling a swell of pride in her chest. "I…I'm glad you..you li…liked them," she said softly.

*Master especially liked the…*

“Shut. Up.” Azriel snapped, his ears reddening and Sky started laughing. She could just about imagine what the shadows wanted to tell her at that moment. 

Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill them," he muttered under his breath.

"They…they are ju…just try…trying to help you, aren't they?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand in hers. Only now she noticed the violent scars that marred them, the texture of raised and bumpy skin…but she didn’t care. Not one bit.  

*Of course, we are,* the shadows said, like any other idea was simply blasphemous. *We gave Master the best information we could. So that Master would know what you like.*

Sky probably shouldn't find it as adorable as she did. But the lengths they had gone to...the way they had made Azriel read her books so that he would know what she liked...nobody in her life had ever gone to these lengths just to find out what she liked.

"I swear I am not a total creep," Azriel told her with a grimace.

Sky laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "No…no, no, you're not," she assured him, squeezing his, hands gently. "I…I ac…actually think it's… quite… sweet. In a weird, sli…slightly invasive kind of way. But sweet nonetheless."

"I think you are the only female that could possible think that," Azriel muttered, glaring at the shadows that didn't seem apologetic in the slightest.

Sky grinned, leaning in closer to him. "It’s… endearing,” she finally settled on. “Maybe even a lit…little bit charming," she promised him earnestly.

Azriel looked at her incredulously, his expression softening a little. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" he asked her.

Sky shook her head. "No. No, I'm not," she said, her voice unwavering. "I…I mean it, Azriel. It iss actually really sweet that you would go to… such lengths just to try to un…understand me better. And you ad…admitted to it. And not just after the mating bond was accepted but within hours of meeting me." 

Azriel didn't keep it a secret, even when he could have, and she would have been none the wiser. 

"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. But I'm not going to question it," he whispered. 

She swallowed. That's what she was thinking. The exact same words. 

Sky pulled him down, letting his forehead rest against hers.

"I know that...that I am supposed to cook you something...but how disappointed would you be if I gave you one of those caramel bonbons in my purse to accept the bond instead?" she asked him softly, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes widened and he stared at her in pure, undiluted wonder. 

"I could not possible be dissappointed by whatever you offered me," Azriel whispered. "But...are you...are you sure?"

"I am being utterly selfish," she whispered. "Yes. I want you." She didn't care that people would have thoughts about it...that she was rushing into this. 

They were probably right. 

But Sky really didn't care. Sky only wanted him. Sky was ready to throw caution overboard and rush into this headfirst without a thought about the consequences, if that meant that she would get her mate.

"Then let's be selfish together," Azriel whispered.

With shaky hands she reached into her purse, finding one of the caramel bonbon she kept in there...unwrapped it out of the paper and then...then she offered it to him, lifting it to his lips.

Azriel looked at the bonbon, then at her, and for a moment she thought he would say something. But then his mouth opened and he took it from her hand... He chewed it, swallowing carefully, his gaze never wavering from hers. For a moment, they stayed suspended in that moment of tension, the only sound their breathing. And then, he leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her as if she was the most precious thing in his entire world.

A Mating Frenzy had always been protrayed as animalistic in every book she read. So of course, Sky had written the exact same thing.

But it wasn't...not really.

Not for them. 

And being with Azriel was also a far cry from being with Admon...mostly because then it had often been...embarrassing and painful. 

Admon had always found something to criticise on her body...foreplay had been nonexistent, even when she had tried...and while he had been more than willing to use her mouth to find his own pleasure he had never returned that favour.

With Azriel it was different. Every touch, every caress, every kiss made her feel things she had never felt before. It was like her body was coming alive for the first time.

All her senses were heightened, every nerve in her body singing with pleasure, and Sky couldn't get enough of him. She wanted more. No, she needed more. As Azriel trailed kisses down her throat, she arched her back, pressing herself against him, her hands roaming over his body, exploring every inch of him that she could reach.

"Can I...Can I touch your wings?" she asked breathlessly, not wanting to...cross some unsaid line.

"Please," Azriel breathed out. "Yes, Sky, please." He lifted his wings, extending them out behind him, giving her free rein to touch and explore to her heart's content. As Sky's fingers brushed against the contours of his wings, Azriel let out a low, guttural moan, his wings twitching and shuddering at the sensation. They were massive and pitch black.

"They are beautiful," she whispered, running her hands over the silky black skin, feeling the warmth radiating from them.

He shuddered at her touch, his wings arching and trembling beneath her gentle caress. he leaned his forehead against hers as he gently tipped her back against the bed and she went willingly, wrapping her hands over the gleaming talons at the tip of his wings as she kissed him.

Azriel growled softly in response, his hands sliding up beneath her dress, opening the lacing in one fluid motion. As the dress fell open, revealing her body beneath, Azriel pulled back for a moment, looking down at her with dark, hungry eyes. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, his gaze roaming over her body.

She didn't even have the time to feel self-conscious, not when she was drowning in the waves of desire that shot across their bond from him. Not when her whole body seemingly trembled against his and she kissed him again, opening her mouth to his tongue.

He slipped open the dress and she opened her mouth, halfway ready to tell him how he could get the corset she wore off, but he already opened the lacing. "Why?" he asked her softly, as he saw the red indents left on her body, and she grimaced.

"Claire," she whispered.

She wore corsets usually for support, because her breast could get heavy and painful without the proper support...but she never laced them as tightly as she did when she saw her family. Or her sister. Then she pulled them tight, trying to squash her body to be something…something her family could stomach, something they maybe wouldn't comment on...she always failed.

Azriel hissed softly, his fingers lightly tracing the red marks on her skin. She knew that they looked horrible, and yet he looked...angered? Almost furious. His expression softened as he looked back into her eyes, his fingers gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Why would you do something like that to yourself, Sky?" he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "You are beautiful. You don't need to change anything about your body." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to a particularly hard imprint the corset had left.

Sky swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in her throat as emotion welled up in her chest. No one had ever said something like that to her, had ever made her feel like she was good enough just the way she was. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she just nodded, feeling a single tear slip down her cheek. Azriel wiped it away with his thumb, his other hand coming up to cup her face tenderly.

"You are perfect," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Just the way you are. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Not even your family." Sky leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and just focusing on the closeness, the warmth, the feeling of being cherished and protected.

With every word he spoke, she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders, her fears and insecurities melting away. She realized that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly saw her, the real her. Who accepted her exactly as she was, flaws and all.

It was so easy to sink into that. So easy to trust him. So easy to just kiss him, as she pushed the shirt he wore over his shoulders...to feel acres of gold skin, dotted with scars and dark markings...to bare him for her view and see how utterly gorgeous her mate was.

He growled softy as she ran her hand down his chest, tracing the scars that marked his skin. His body was a tapestry of pain and survival, yet she wasn't deterred. She only found him more beautiful for it.

"Mine," she whispered, pressing her lips to his chest, to one particularly nasty scar. "All mine." She could feel his heart pounding beneath her lips, the steady beat matching the rhythm of her own heartbeat. Her hands trailed down his chest, his stomach, until she reached the waistband of his trousers.

It was so easy.

So easy, to shed clothing until they were bare...so easy to press against him and feel warm, perfect skin...so easy to relax underneath him as he stretched over her...so easy to simply cup his face as she kissed him...as her legs wrapped around his hips and he groaned and she whimpered as she felt him...hot and hard and huge, pressing against her...She was dripping wet without him even laying as single finger on her beneath the waist.

Azriel didn't look unaffected, his breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes fixed on hers as they were blown wide and dark with want. He didn't move, didn't kiss her, didn't pull her closer. He only waited. Waited for her. 

"I need you," she whimpered. "Please. Please, Az." He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, his hips rocking gently against her, teasing them both with the heat and friction between them.

Nothing hurt. Nothing ever even threatened to hurt...Even as she could feel him notch against her there...even when she could feel herself lewdly stretched open on his cock...

It was so soft and gentle and sweet and…

It was everything Sky had ever wanted. 

Not the rough kind of fucking...not the animalistic coupling she wrote half the time...but she had wanted this. She had wanted sweetness and adoration and...love...and to be wrapped up in her mate's arms like she was a precious, precious thing. She had wanted whispered praised against her skin and to be touched like she mattered...

"Sky," he whispered, his hands running up her side, his touch was soft and soothing, worshipping her body. He kissed her, slowly, deeply, and there was something...almost overwhelming about it.

About the way he made her feel. The way he made her feel loved and adored. The way he made her feel cherished. Her hands wandered up to his back, tracing the muscles shifting beneath scarred, scarred skin.

She could feel him trembling, feel the tension in his body as he held himself back, but still, he moved in slow and gentle thrusts, taking his time. He worshipped her - every little gasp and moan, every curve of her body. He traced her shape with his fingertips and lips, exploring her as though he was trying to memorize every inch of her body.

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, their bodies as one, but Sky didn't care. She was surrounded by him - the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath, the way he whispered her name like a prayer. Sky could feel the love and devotion pouring through the bond, washing over her in waves, and she knew that this was exactly where she was meant to be. With him, in his arms, completely and utterly whole.

It nearly came as a shock as she came.

A breathless moan fell from her lips as her orgasm rushed over her, her body arching as she called out his name. He kissed her through it, murmuring praise against her lips as he held her close, his own release following soon after.

They stayed there for a moment, tangled together, both of them breathless and sated. Azriel's wings slowly wrapped around them, cocooning them in a warm, protective embrace that made Sky feel safe and cherished in a way she had never experienced before.

***

There was not one inch of his mate's body that wasn't utterly beautiful. From the tips of her arched ears, to her beautiful eyes...to the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist and the soft flesh of her belly and the flare of her hips...she smelled so good too...especially now that their scents had started to mix, and he could breath in caramel and hazelnuts and cedars and the sweet, beautiful scent of happiness as she laid underneath him. His head was bedded on her stomach, as she drew short fingernails through his messy dark hair. He nearly wanted to start to purr as she scratched at his scalp.

Azriel felt...content.

More content than he ever remembered feeling. He was wrapped up in her, his mate, with her gentle hands in his hair, and he felt utterly and completely at peace. He didn't care if they never moved from that bed again. He didn't care if the world outside their little cocoon burned. So long as she was by his side, he was content. He had never felt like this before. He had never felt this...happy. This...whole.

"I need to go feed Hector," Sky told him softly, trailing her fingers through his hair.

"Can I just have the shadows kidnap him and bring him here?" he asked, not wanting to move.

"You can't go kidnapping my cat, Az," she chided him gently, but even as she said the words, she didn't stop drawing her fingers through his hair, and Azriel didn't move. He was far too comfortable.

"Why not?" he complained.

"You'll terrify him," she said with a laugh. "Besides, do you have cat food here?"

"I'll have the shadows find some Tuna," he mumbled.

"Do…Do they just ac…acquire whatever you tell them to?" she asked him with some amusement. 

And lots of things he didn't tell them to, as well. They thought he didn’t know. 

Azriel raised himself on his forearms, looking down at Sky with a glint in his eye. "You have no idea how many things I've acquired that way," he told her with a grin.

She lifted her hands, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down towards her, resting her forehead against his. "You're a menace," she murmured against his lips.

"Your menace," he replied, kissing her softly.

Sky smiled, a warm, slow curve of her lips that made his chest feel tight. "Mine," she agreed, her voice soft. "But no kidnap…kidnapping my cat. He's at home."

"We could make this our home," he protested softly. "Move in with me."

Azriel had no fucking clue what was even coming over him. They should have slowed down, stopped to think...but neither of them seemed to want to.

They just…they seemed utterly content to crash through what other people considered a normal timeline and just be together right now. 

He just wanted to be near her. He wanted to share a life with her, a home. He wanted to curl up with her in front of the fire on a cold winter's night, and spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed with her. He wanted to take her flying, and watch as she wrote and listened to her read the words she wrote. 

And he wanted - Gods, he wanted her to want that too. He held his breath as he waited for her response.

For a moment, she was silent, and Azriel wondered if he had stepped too far, asked too much too soon. 

But then, Sky smiled again, her eyes sparkling with emotions. 

"...Al…Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll…I’ll move in with you." 

Azriel couldn't help but grin as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Really? You mean it?" he asked, still unable to believe his ears.

"Really," she echoed with a laugh, before her expression turned serious. "But I…I have one co…condition." 

Azriel raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "What is it?"

"If I move in with you..." she began, wrapping her arms around his neck. "All my books need to come to," she told him seriously.

Azriel laughed, leaning back in to kiss her softly. "All your books can come, if that's what you want," he said. "As long as you're here, I don't care what else you bring."

And then the shadows unceremoniously dumped a screeching demon on the bed with them.

Sky let out a surprised yelp as Hector landed next to them with a thud, quickly scrambling away from the cat - and from under Azriel's weight. Azriel, for his part, sprang up, his wings flaring out in alarm. For several long moments, the three of them just stared at each other. Hector, his mismatched eyes glowing, his fur puffed up to twice it’s normal size, and Sky, her expression a mixture of surprise and affection as she looked at her pet. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Well, that's one way to introduce the two of you. Az, meet Hector."

...Gods, the shadows had really not been lying when they said that the cat was the ugliest thing they had ever seen.

Azriel slowly lowered his wings, eyeing the creature that was half-cat and half-demon. "He...looks like he wants to kill me," he said slowly.

Sky laughed, reaching out to scratch Hector's head. "He's just grumpy because he got teleported here so suddenly," she told him. "And he's not used to strangers." Hector's fur slowly flattened, and he began to purr, rubbing his head against Sky's hand. "Besides, he'd never hurt anyone," she added, looking up at Azriel with a smile.

Somehow Azriel highly doubted that.

Sky picked Hector up, cradling the cat in her arms as his purring grew louder. "See? He's not so bad," she told Azriel, moving towards him, and Azriel had to resist the urge to back away. "Hold out your hand, let him sniff you. He just needs to get used to you."

Azriel hesitantly held out his hand, trying his best to ignore the way Hector's eyes seemed to glow with an eerie light. After a moment, Hector moved forward, sniffing at Azriel's hand. Azriel felt the soft brush of whiskers against the palm of his hand, and Hector nudged his head against him, purring louder.

"See, he loves you!" Sky said enthusiastically

Azriel let out a laugh, slowly scratching the top of Hector's head. "I think he's just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before he scratches my eyes out, you know."

She rolled her eyes, "You are the most handsome cat I know," she cooed at him. "And you won't ever scratch out Azriel's eyes. No, you won't.”

Azriel would not quite go as far as describe the cat as handsome...but then...his own scarred hands weren't particularly beautiful either.

So Hector and him had that in common.

And the fact that they both wanted to cuddle with Sky. Actually, he was pretty sure that the cat hated him just for taking away his monopoly on that.

But Azriel would have shared a house with the King of Hybern if that meant that he got to have Sky in his bed.

She smiled at him, her eyes warm and adoring. "I knew you two would hit it off," she said, holding Hector in the crook of her arm. The cat stared at Azriel for a moment, as if sizing him up, before leaping off Sky's lap and disappearing under the bed with a soft patter of paws. "He'll warm up to you eventually," Sky assured him, but Azriel wasn't so sure about that.

He pulled Sky in closer to him, slipping back underneath the sheets with her, kissing her forehead. "I'll win him over, eventually," he promised her. At least, he hoped he would - he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of having to wake up with his throat being sliced open by an angry cat.

He would buy that damn cat all the Tuna in the world if that made Sky happy.

[stellardeer]

I feel like a lot of people in various reblog chains of this post have kinda lost the plot, so I'm reblogging this version to bring the emphasis back on the AI "detectors".

Whether something like Grammarly is considered AI or not is a little irrelevant, but most people consider using a spelling/grammar checker to not "count" as AI (despite the fact that you may be able to write out a bunch of nonsense and have Grammarly correct it over and over until it passes as a sentence)

And what a teacher will generally use an AI detector for is to check if the student wrote the paper or prompted an AI to give them a paper. As far as I know, Grammarly can't finish your entire document for you based on prompts (but I haven't used it so feel free to correct me) so I feel like a lot of the notes trying to argue whether it counts as AI or whether auto correct is useless now are just getting away from the point this point was supposed to be making:

You can't trust an AI detection software to accurately predict whether something was AI generated.

And part of the reason for that is that AI-detection software could ALSO be considered a form of AI. It is limited both by the dataset being fed to it to determine whether something is or isn't AI, and by any biases of the human who programmed it. If the programmer writes a program that says "look for anything that isn't perfect English and flag it as AI", they are showing that they don't trust anything written in broken English. I'm not sure why it might flag a word like "devoid", but if the AI detector is looking for patterns amongst known AI samples and the word "devoid" comes up a lot, it might just assume that any text using the word "devoid" has a higher chance of being AI generated.

Let's go back to the Both Of These Are Bad part.

It shouldn't need explaining why AI detectors falsely flagging ESL writers' works as AI is just bad and just contributing to systemic racism, so let's talk about the ways in which it can be harmful to native English speakers.

As stated above, it's interesting that an AI detector might flag words that seem "complex", while much of mainstream writing is trending towards simplification, for better or for worse. It could mean that since a lot of non-AI writing is so simplistic, anything that deviates from that is considered abnormal. Or it could, again, just be a programmed bias of the author of the program. I think this is more the point that thebibliosphere might have been trying to make, not that Grammarly specifically is evil AI that's making everyone write bad, but that a larger cultural shift to more simplistic language is happening and when things like Grammarly tell you to simplify your phrases or an AI detector tells you that your essay was AI generated because you used a big word, it's encouraging this simplification at a much faster rate than if human editors and teachers were directing their writers/students to do so.

Grammar software is perfectly optional for professionals, of course, but if a student is going to fail a class because their essay can't pass an AI detector, well, they can't really opt out of that. They have to change their wording to something that might not be as vibrant as what they originally wrote, or risk failing and potentially worse action depending on a school's plagiarism policies. It's essentially going to train kids to write in specific ways to get around it, and they might not understand why their paper was flagged or what AI even is yet, they're just going to assume that their writing was wrong and needs to be fixed. And let's not assume that only the kids writing their own essays are doing this, either. If kids can write a whole paper using AI and then change a couple of words so that it passes the detector, they're going to do that too!

Again, the point here is that the AI detectors are not infallible, often make racist assumptions, and cannot be the only method used to check whether something was AI generated.

I don't really have a good conclusion because I don't have the answer to this problem, because it goes beyond students in a classroom and you won't always get a document history to check. I just felt like this post was losing it's direction and I needed to clarify it for my own sanity.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Alex: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! [wheeeeeeze] Byrd: Woah, lady-.. I know karate! Wren: No, you don’t. Byrd: [whispers] She doesn’t need to know that. Wren: It’s Alex, dipshit. Byrd: Ohhh-.. wait, really? Wren: Sure looks like her.

Alex: Oh my god, I found you-.. and I followed your CAT! I missed you so much!! I hope you’re not mad at me-.. I’m so SO sorry for not writing! I thought I was being organised by printing some labels out to save time, y’know? But then I forgot them at home when we went to my uncles and dad said we’d only be gone for a month, so I figured it wasn’t a huge deal, but then we stayed for what felt like it’d be FOREVER and I couldn’t for the life of me remember your address which is ridiculous ‘cause I SHOULD’VE had it memorised by now and I felt so awful as the months passed. I tried to remember it a couple times but you never wrote back so I figured I obviously got it wrong-.. then I tried finding your house on a stupid online map but the internet was crappy at best and the Bay is WAY bigger than I thought it’d be and I’ve never really seen your house in full view from the street either so, like.. I barely knew what I was looking for, and what if that camera car didn’t even map your house, y’know?!

Ava: That was.. a lot. Alex: Sorry-.. you’re not mad, are you? [Robin shook his head and took a breath, but nothing came out] Wren: Oop. Byrd: Yeah, I think he broke. Ava: Ooh, do you know sign language? Alex: No-.. I totally should’ve learnt! I guess I didn’t know I’d be coming here though… Byrd: I can teach you! Well, some, I’m still learning, but Robin knows a bunch. Ava: He’s not mad, by the way. He was just worried. [Robin shot his younger siblings a look, fruitlessly warning them not to embarrass him] Byrd: I’m sure he’d say hi, if he could. Wren: I bet he’d say you look pretty too. Byrd: He’s been extra mopey without your letters-.. or maybe that’s just what puberty does. Ava: He has to wear deodorant now, otherwise he STINKS! Wren: You should stay for supper, dad’s baking something.. again. Alex: Ough.. I was supposed to be home ages ago, dad’ll kill me.. wait, what school do you go to?! Byrd: Bay C-… Wren: Not us-.. he goes to Copperdale. Alex: Ohh, yay! I promised dad I’d finally unpack tomorrow but the day after that is Monday, right? Wren: Well done. Alex: Okay-.. ahhhh! SEE YOU AT SCHOOL!!

…

[Robin deflated as soon as Alex liberated him from another bear hug and sped off, releasing a breath he’d kept tucked beneath his ribs for an uncomfortably lengthy amount of time] Robin: Ouuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Robin: Why-.. why am I like this? Wren: You’ll spew something out eventually. Oscar: Alright losers, pie’s-.. what’s up with him? Robin: I’m fucking BROKEN. Wren: I mean.. you’re a little fucked, but still good! Oscar: Quit it with the swearing-.. what happened? Wren: Alex showed up n’ he broke. Robin: I didn’t even get to say hi or ask why she’s here, or for how long-.. and you just had to be embarrassing! Oscar: What’d she say? Robin: She said Alex was pretty on my behalf and I’ve never said that and she’s a DICK! Oscar: That’s tame-.. for Wren. Robin: I hate you all right now. Wren: Not as much as you hate yourself. Oscar: Hey, too much! Robin, c’mon-… Robin: SHUT UP! Oscar: Right, you’re on dish duty. Wren: Seriously?! Oscar: You reap what you sow, honey.

[3liza]

everyone arguing with material analysis/assertion about how art is a "luxury" has rarely if ever spent rent or food money on art, if they even pay rent or buy their own food, and if they did that would be considered extremely dysfunctional, and thats what i/we mean. artists are not providing a necessary service.

our plane crashes in the Andes and you are not particularly excited about my "can draw that Playboy centerfold of Marge Simpson from memory" like that is not an essential survival skill. lots of extremely skilled workers work in luxury artisan and craft jobs, it's not an insult to say even a very famous and very talented and influential artist is not producing a commodity necessary for the furtherance of human life. none of us are doing that, no matter how we stretch and strain the definitions of "essential" or even things like "morale" or "group identity". i will burn my copy of Finnegan's Wake to stay warm and thats what it comes down to.

i get foamy crazy snarling and biting about the idolization and obfuscation of what artists actually do because it is a labor issue! the public conception of artists as people possessed of a divine talent they dont consciously work to develop like any other skill, and the public idea that we are simply pleased and privileged to make art all day and "not work", something people say to my face every time i get asked "what i do", is largely responsible for the absolute dogshit reality of how subsistence and working class artists have to survive. we usually dont have health insurance unless we're so poor we qualify for medicaid AND live in a state that will enroll us. most of us are too disabled or crazy to go to a real job every day. most of us have tried, over and over, to enter the normal workforce, and have failed, and been forced to develop alternate skills that allow us to make rent in the ten hours per month we're actually functional. many of the artists i know work from bed because standing up is dicey. this has been turned into a charming eccentricity of famous artists and writers instead of people wondering why a person would need to stay in bed all day and take the enormous bother of bringing their stupid pens and paper and writing board or typewriter or whatever to their bed instead of just getting up and getting dressed and going to work. ive done this, i spilled ink in my sheets. its a huge hassle.

and artists play along with this mystique because people dont want to buy paintings from sadlords! they want to buy paintings and books and marge simpson nudes from cool guys who get a lot of chicks and wear rockstar outfits and party a lot, because of the transitive properties! of course!!! this is basic marketing!!!!! and if the artist doesnt play along they turn into Sad Story Artist where they're doing emergency commissions and posting about how sick they are all the time. this is not cool or fun or sexy. it's a sand trap and its very hard to recover from. im struggling with this right now!

famous and successful artists and writers are constantly ending up 60-90 years old with cancer and multiple sclerosis and dementia, being the subject of some sort of public, last-ditch, humiliating GoFundMe because painting paperback covers fr 60 years means you dont get a pension, you often dont even have kids who can take care of you, you dont have life insurance, you dont have health insurance. 'died penniless and alone' is one of the stereotypical artist endings for a reason, that is not fiction. this happened to more artists than i can list on two hands. look up what happened to Peter S. beagle, the guy who wrote The Last Unicorn. you write a book like that you should be set for life, right? NO. thats not how it works

i'm not saying 'all artists are disabled and working class or poor' because that isnt true, observably. nepo babies and trust fund artists exist, obviously. but they take an outsized portion of the spotlight when the public thinks of the concept of "artist". they are not actually the norm. the average artist is probably making under 40k and living in extremely precarious circumstances and has had periods of homelessness, illness, extreme debt and/or bankruptcy.

this is true even for the 'successful' artists. having one or two or ten good projects and being a household name does not save you from just not having the safety net provided by a normal career path. i was very close with a major, famous 2000s network television creator and team that you have heard of. they won awards, they changed culture entirely, they were a big deal. one of them was turned down for a half dozen projects by the same network that made millions or bilions on their franchise over several years (each pitch is completely unpaid btw, imagine carefully preparing a PowerPoint for morons for months at a time for no reimbursement and thent he morons ask you if you can put a teenage witch looking for her lost cat in the alps in it and you're like, haha, well, it's a 4 part hard sci fi miniseries set on Europa and takes place entirely inside a pressurized lander settlement, i mean Ridley Scot said he was interested already and he pitched a bottle episode about a carbon monoxide poisoning, soooooo....and the executives look at each other and they're like "it's jst not really what we're looking for right now, thanks for coming in" and you go to coffee bean and tea leaf and kill yourself and thats sort of what its like. i made that example up it didn't actually happen i'm using an illustrative example), worked on a canceled film, and just. gradually ran out of money. thats what happens. that guy ended up slowly selling off all his belongings, getting roommates in a one bedroom apartment, and then eventually having to just live on a friend's couch for years. famous guy. you probably know his name. another major member of that same team ended up in GoFundMe/commission hell for years (might still be there) because they had to take care of their two dying, dementia patient parents by themselves. these are people who go to GenCon and sign autographs for four hours at a time. THE PUBLIC IS NOT AWARE OF THIS SHIT and i'm sick of it. im sick of going to a gallery opening night ("vernissage") and drinking bad wine and having a guy with an email job that pays six figures and benefits tell me being able to push "undo" on the computer is cheating. that's a real example, that has actually happened to me. more than once.

artists currently have zero labor protections whatsoever. all of us are undercutting each other in an unregulated market and relying on welfare and private insurance and not having families or buying houses. zero security until we get so old all our illnesses and dysfunction finally ground us permanently and then we get turned into a charity case by fans (humiliating) or just fade away into ghosts and die

whats my punchline? idk i dont have one. it's possible and likely that any given artist you meet is permanently in precarity and will be until they die, even the famous ones. the culture of selling art demands that artists do not admit to this in public unless shit gets really really bad. i guess my point is you should know this, as a person who looks at or listens to or reads things that people have made for your amusement, not for your survival

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Cabin - Logan Howlett x ftm!Reader

A/N: Written for this request. I hope I did it okay. I left a lot of things vague, but I didn't wanna make up a situation for this one. Also, if anyone saw this post early, no you didn’t

I hope Logan doesn't come off as too ooc. Writing him getting angry around Reader didn't feel right for the request, so l wrote it like this instead

CW: crying, unsafe driving (due to crying), family fights, Reader has a toxic mother, I think this counts as hurt/comfort?, more crying, quiet comfort, cuddling, kissing, hugging, Logan's more of an actions guy than a words guy, hopeful ending sorta?, ooc Logan

672 words

You were crying while driving. It’s a little bit disheartening; how well you know this road by now. How easily you can navigate it, even with your tear-blurred vision.

But you don’t stop. You can’t. Where else do you go?

It’s not the first time you’ve driven up this road after a fight with your mother. But this time was different.

You’d finally gotten the courage to come out to her. To set her straight about who you really are. And of course, everything had fallen apart the moment you’d spoken the words, “I’m trans.”

Hell hath no fury like your mother. Even now, you flinch at the memory. You push it out of your mind forcefully. The last thing you want is to start bawling and have to pull over.

Pulling over means stopping. And stopping means facing the fact that you have four boxes in the back of your car, filled with everything she let you take.

All too soon, you’re arriving at your destination. Logan’s house. It’s small. Tucked away in the mountains. Cozy, with a beautiful view.

It’s become your safe place. The one place your mother’s too scared to venture. It’s home.

And now it may really become your home.

You take the time to clean your face up. Making it look a little less like you’ve been crying. He’ll be able to tell; you already know. But it helps you focus on something.

Finally, you exit your car. You leave the boxes in the back, taking only yourself as you walk up to the front door. His truck is in the driveway, so you open the door without knocking.

“Logan?”

“In the living room.” His voice is gruff and immediately soothing. Just the sound has a weight lifting off your shoulders.

You go further in, toeing off your shoes at the doorway.

He’s lounging in the living room, comfortably sprawled on the couch. He’s reading a book, though he puts it down once you enter. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Something breaks in your chest at his question. Your heart, maybe. Tears spring to your eyes and your voice comes out shaky. “I got kicked out.”

Logan sits up, beckoning you to come closer. “Come here. Tell me what happened.”

You make it into the safety of his arms before everything spills out with a sob. And oh, you tell him everything.

You can feel him tense as you speak, but he never gets angry. He never says anything. He just holds you.

Once you’re all done, he rubs your back. Quietly soothing you into soft hiccups of breath. Your tears have all dried up, leaving your eyes itchy and sore. You feel like shit, except for the fact that you're with him.

“Say something?” You whisper.

He rumbles out a sigh. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need. A place to stay, a voice against her. I’ll do whatever it is you want me to.”

You think about what you want. What you need. “I want to stay here. Will you help me get the boxes out of my car?”

He pulls you in for a gentle kiss and nods. But he hesitates before getting up. “No matter who you are, you’re always safe here. You’re always safe to be yourself.”

It’s gruffly said, but clearly heartfelt. You know he’s rarely so direct about it; preferring unspoken ways of love to words. But he’s doing it for you.

You hug him tightly, a silent appreciation of his words. He’s never been one for grandiose displays of affection or comfort. Instead, he’s your cabin in the mountains. Quiet. Steady. Always there when you need it.

It gives you hope. Confidence. Logan’s got your back. Whatever you decide to do, whatever ways you choose to continue on, he’ll go with you.

It gives you the strength to stand up, gather your shoes, and lead him out to finally face the boxes in your car.

No matter what, you’ve got Logan. And she can never take that away from you.

Logan Howlett Taglist: @yhlqmdlg @alekkkkssss

[bi-bi-buckleys]

Here’s a quick fic I wrote when I was meant to be working. I refuse to accept this new version of Maddie the writers are trying to sell us. Posting before the episode airs so I can live in denial a little longer ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maddie had just walked out of her favorite local cafe with a modified version of her favorite latte (decafe, low fat sugar free vanilla, ugh) when she sees someone familiar sitting at one of the outdoor tables to her right.

“Tommy!”

Maddie forgot. Just for a second. Just for the split second it took her to say his name. Oh right. You’re not dating my brother anymore.

Oops.

Tommy looks at her like a deer in headlights. He recovers quickly enough and stands from the table.

“Hey, Maddie! How are you?” He’s trying to sound chipper, but after he hugs her she sees the sadness haunting his eyes.

“I’m doing well, how are you?”

“I’m….I’m ok.”

It’s a lie and they both know it.

“How’s Ev-Buck?”

“Heartbroken. Baking every time he thinks to call you. His fridge is packed.”

Tommy smiles sadly and Maddie feels a stab of guilt for telling her brother to move on. She thought Tommy left because he didn’t love Buck, but that’s not the feeling she’s getting right now.

“He asked me to move in with him. But he never said he loved me. He said he admired me.” Tommy blurts out like he hasn’t had a chance to really talk about it.

“Oh.” She didn’t know that part.

“Yeah. And the thing is, I love him. So much. I would love him to be my forever. He’s sweet, and funny, and smart, and ridiculous, and even covered in boils he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s everything to me. But how can I commit to moving in with a man who asks me to move in because he admires me? Because what happens when he realizes he doesn’t love me the same way I love him? It wouldn’t just break my heart, Maddie: it would destroy it.”

Maddie can’t see through the tears in her eyes. She’s never heard anyone talk so earnestly about loving her little brother before. She can tell Tommy really means it. He broke both of their hearts that night.

“Sometimes my brother thinks that by saying one thing, the other thing is implied. He gets ahead of himself. I’m sure you’ve noticed that, for as smart as he is, his train of thought can be kinda all over the place.”

Tommy laughs, but it's sad and full of just how much he misses Buck.

“He says he can see a future with you, and I’ve never heard him say that before. He also said your happiness is as important to him as his own. Tommy, he wants to call you so bad but he’s terrified of you turning him down again. He’s been hurt before, but I’ve never seen him this miserable. You should talk to him. I’m not saying move in with him, but I think you should hear what he has to say. And I think you should believe him.”

“Is he working right now?”

“Nope. Last I heard he was making a pineapple upside down bundt cake.”

“Wow.”

“I know. Seriously, his fridge is packed. It’s concerning.”

“Thanks, Maddie. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Maddie gives him a hug and watches as he practically runs to his car. She laughs and wipes the tears from her eyes. She starts to think that maybe the universe did give her brother his special person after all.

~~~

Later she gets a call

“So you talked to Tommy?” Buck whispers.

“I did. I told him to talk to you.”

“What happened to ‘move on’?”

“That was before he told me all the things he loves about you and that ‘even covered in boils, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Buck gives a small laugh, and she can tell he’s blushing. “He uh, h-he really said that?”

“Yes he did. Word for word. So, did you talk?”

“Yeah we uh- we talked. For a long time. About everything.” His voice was even quieter now, but she could hear his happiness.

She knows the answer before she asks, “Why are you whispering?”

“Because Tommy’s asleep next to me.” Maddie can practically see the smile on his face.

“I’ll let you get some sleep, too then.”

“Yeah, I think I probably should,” Buck laughs and Maddie rolls her eyes at the wink wink tone of his voice.

“Goodnight, Evan.”

“Night, Maddie. Oh, uh hey…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

After they hang up, Maddie can’t stop smiling. Knowing her brother is happy and loved by someone who was willing to put his heart on the line for him. Someone who loves him so much it scares him. Someone who realizes what he walked away from, and went back despite knowing it could end in pain.

Yeah. She’s pretty certain Tommy is Buck’s special person.

[astrababyy]

someone on reddit wrote this analogy in defense of tamlin’s magical outbursts, and i felt inclined to share it:

It's hard to picture this because magic powers don't exist in the real world, but how about this: imagine you're trying to deal with anxiety or anger by bouncing a ball against a wall. Thinking of something that made you really angry, you throw the ball super hard and it bounces off the wall and hits someone you love. Did you mean to hit them? No. Are you suddenly abusive because of it? No, it was an accident and you lost control of the ball

The second time it happens, the person you love is egging you on, despite knowing you have lost control of the ball in the past, but then they purposely get in the way of the ball so they can hurt themselves and go around telling people you're abusive because they hit you with a ball.

another person mentioned the difference between an action and a reaction, which i also think is important:

The only problem I have with this example is that throwing a ball is an action, whereas Tamlin's outburst is a reaction. During his outbursts, Tamlin was completely frozen, unable to move, therefore unable to act. So I came up with a bit of a different analogy a while ago: I imagine Tamlin, in severe emotional distress, taking a step back and accidentally pushing a bookshelf filled with books, which then falls on Feyre, hurting her in the process. That way we can somewhat maintain Tam's frozen state, which I think is important for the context of the outburst, since many people like to argue that Tam basically hit Feyre, which is impossible to do in a frozen state.

[theeoriginals]

“It was- not love at first sight, but familiarity. Like, oh, it’s you.” With Klaus or Elijah please! Something to make me feel better while I do this awful assignment 🥲

deep breaths | elijah mikaelson

pairing: elijah mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

warnings: noneeee this is just sweet

author’s note: i wrote this at work on my phone just now so sorry if it’s not the best <3

The thing is, Elijah Mikaelson has lived many, many lives. He has had so many names, faces, stories, and voices he can hardly remember them all at this point. That, he supposes, is just part of the curse of immortality. Esther likely didn’t think that far ahead out of her grief when she turned them all into monsters. She didn’t think to consider that she wasn’t saving herself anymore loss, she was cursing her children, leading them to damnation and then blaming them for what she did.

Elijah would likely live another thousand years before he was able to fully comprehend all of the tangled, contradictory emotions that came with vampirism. A gift and a curse, like most things.

What he could for certain say was that he’s loved just as much as he’s hated. He would even argue that you can’t possibly know what it means to hate someone unless you loved them before, unless you still loved them. And although he believed that, he was not someone to give second chances often. At least not to anyone besides his siblings— though that was a different beast altogether.

Elijah knew that even if he hated someone, someone else could love that person just as much. He’d seen it often enough, felt betrayal in his gut like a stake to the heart.

Love, in all of its glory, was not often kind to Elijah.

So whenever his siblings found it necessary to tease him for being so uptight and closed off, he did nothing more than roll his eyes, because it was much easier than telling them that he was scared. Truly, deeply, in his ancient bones, he was scared. Not of love itself, but of the continuously growing sense that he would never truly find real love. And perhaps it was entirely too human of him to think that way, and perhaps it made him weak to some, but Elijah knows that his brothers and sisters more than anyone crave love just as much as he does. He knows they feel it just as deeply as he does, that want in their bones that rushed through their blood, the want for someone to just come in and never leave.

It’s hard to find that when you outlive most people. Harder than one might think, even if you fall in love with an immortal being. It’s not just that he’ll outlive most everyone he could fall in love with, either. It’s that every time it seems he’s done it, he’s fallen in love even knowing it won’t last but letting it happen anyway, it doesn’t— it doesn’t fill that void inside of him.

It doesn’t flood his mind and his body, it doesn’t fill him with life, it doesn’t make him want to breathe.

Elijah doesn’t have to breathe, but he wants someone to make him feel like he has to.

For the past thousand years he’s fought and won and lost, and he’s done his best to keep his family alive despite everything they do to drive him insane, despite the fact that they try to kill each other more than anyone else. He has been holding his breath for a thousand years, fighting and fighting and fighting. He wants to exhale.

He can’t explain this to his siblings. They would understand, he knows, but it’s something he’s never said out loud to himself let alone anyone else. Saying it out loud makes it real, and he can’t— he can’t admit it. When you are drowning, when you are holding your breath, you don’t realize you’re drowning for a long time. And the moment that you do, you realize that you can’t breathe and suddenly you’re gasping for air and you’ve all but killed yourself.

Elijah can’t admit that he’s drowning.

He sighs loudly, and it’s not an exhale and it doesn’t lift that weight off of his shoulders. It’s an expression of his annoyance with his siblings, because this far into their collective immortality, all they live for is getting on each other’s nerves.

And here at Rousseau’s is the last place he wants to entertain their petulance. You never know who could be listening, and Elijah really doesn’t want anyone less than favorable to hear about his love life, or lack thereof.

“I wish you’d just bring someone home to meet us at least once!”

“I wish I could go out and have a drink without being harassed by you people,” Elijah says moodily.

Rebekah pushes her bottom lip out in a pout and widens her eyes in a way that has always gotten her anything she wants from anyone ever. Elijah is, in fact, very aware that he and his brothers have worked overtime in making her as ridiculously spoiled and entitled as she is and yet he still manages to be surprised when she behaves like this.

“We aren’t harassing you, Elijah, we want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

He sighs again and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again and fixing them on Rebekah and Klaus. “It’s not wrong. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about my lack of prospects, it’s not like the perfect person can be conjured at whim.”

Klaus lifts a finger and Elijah knows that he’s going to say something ridiculous before he even speaks. The gleam in his eye never bodes well for anyone. “I bet we could find a witch to do just that. We could compile all of your wants and desires in a partner and get a witch to mix it all together for you. Problem solved, Elijah has a soulmate!”

Elijah gives his brother a deadpan look. “Is this witch Victor Frankenstein?”

Rebekah snorts in amusement, and Elijah dutifully ignores it.

“Be creative, Elijah! Open your mind,” Klaus swipes an arm out dramatically, sloshing his drink over the side of his glass, splashing a few drops of bourbon onto Elijah’s suit jacket.

Elijah’s lip curls in distaste and he gives his brother a look of disdain that goes ignored.

“I have an open mind, what I don’t have is an open schedule,”

“You are not as busy as you like to believe,” Rebekah drawls out, finishing off her own drink. “Your life will never change if you don’t go out and do something different! You’ll be stagnant forever, and I do mean forever, brother,”

“I will never be stagnant with your dramatics, Rebekah,”

She rolls her eyes at his avoidant response. “Your love life is stagnant. I don’t even think stagnant is the proper word, it is downright nonexistent. It is extinct.”

“Thank you, Rebekah,”

“Even if you have a sleazy, completely forgettable one night stand, you need to do something. You’re constantly dealing with us, you need to focus on yourself!”

Elijah pours the rest of his bourbon down his throat, barely tasting it as he swallows. “Maybe if you did less idiotic things that I have to deal with I’d have a more active love life. And truly, I’m not sure why I’m being lectured when you two are the furthest thing from romantically successful.”

“I have a child, I’m plenty romantically successful!”

“She was conceived during a drunken one night stand with a werewolf who is now married to someone else.”

“The details don’t matter, I have a child to show for it. I have a father’s wisdom now, you should listen to me!”

Elijah raises an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I am not part dog and therefore am actually incapable of reproducing much like you thought you were. And considering the trials and tribulations we went through with Hope, I can’t imagine I’d have any better luck in my own venture to fatherhood.”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse,”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Elijah simpers, gesturing to the bartender for another round for them.

“I have a challenge,” Rebekah cuts in before Klaus can continue their bickering, and Elijah narrows his eyes at the determined gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t like this,”

Rebekah dismisses him with a flutter of her fingers. “The next person to walk through that door, I want you to go and talk to them. You don’t have to have a one night stand, you absolute prude, but you need to speak to someone that you’re not related to, and that isn’t trying to kill you.”

“Rebekah—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Just do this one thing for me, for your darling little sister,”

“My darling little sister—”

“Shut up, look! Someone’s walking inside, get ready to go be your charming self,”

Elijah groans and turns to look at the door as it opens and someone walks through. He sighs again, weighted, empty, scared.

When he lifts his gaze, though, he finds a woman. He takes her in— eyes, nose, lips, hair— and thinks beautiful.

The bar is as crowded as ever, no breaks in sight for the bartenders and waiters, and he’s tucked away at a table with Klaus and Rebekah in the back corner because they are particularly antisocial and Klaus really just wanted to use this outing as a way to remind everyone that they are still here, and that New Orleans is still theirs. The exit is across the room, Elijah has not paid much attention to the distance at all, and yet now.

Now, the crowd of people in between him and the door is frozen and endless. Elijah’s standing before he realizes, and it feels like he’s stepping around the people frozen mid-laugh, mid-drink, mid-bite, because the world has stopped just long enough for him to cross the room.

He parts the crowd and stops before her, eyes roaming over her face. Committing it to memory and vowing to keep it there for the rest of his eternal years.

She looks at him with a smile, blinking at him slowly like she’s got all the time in the world. There’s a necklace sitting on her chest that has a familiar blue stone hanging off of it and he inhales sharply.

He thinks vampire, perhaps a coincidence but things rarely are for him and it’s something new to think that she is immortal, too, of course more fragile than an Original but if she’s smart, and he knows that she is, he can feel it, then she’ll last just as long.

“Hi,” She speaks first, and the world starts up again, the noise comes back and people unfreeze. Now that he’s stood here before her, the world can keep spinning, but it had to wait— it just had to wait for him to catch up.

“Hello,” He responds quietly, too quiet for the bar, but she hears it anyway. “I’m Elijah.”

Her smile widens and she says, “I think I knew that already,” and then she tells him her name and Elijah repeats it for himself, and then for her, and then he turns it over in his head a hundred times over so it never gets lost.

She tilts her head slightly, looking up at him. “Were you trying to leave? Am I in your way?”

“No,” He responds quickly, almost rushed. “Not unless you’re leaving, too.”

She seems pleased at his response and the longer he looks in her eyes, he thinks he’s found a new favorite color.

“I’m not leaving,”

Elijah exhales, and the weight is gone, and the void is no more. And he thinks— oh.

There you are.

[mejaemin]

who cooked here?- na jaemin

wc: 1k

summary: jaemin wants to pick your next nail design, but why the sudden interest?

warnings: crack, fem reader, getting nails done, suggestive themes at the end

an: maybe the nail tech in me felt like yapping a little about my knowledge because i wrote this in like 40 minutes which never happens.. anyways the design nana picked is the middle photo !!

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

it’s been two weeks since your last set, and honestly you hadn’t really paid attention to how they were holding on because of how busy you were. thankfully, you didn’t have to worry too much because jaemin definitely noticed.

you were sitting in the mall’s food court with your boyfriend, sharing a plate of food while you took a short break from walking. you’re about to reach for another bite when jaemin grabs your hand, gasping as he calls your name. with an unfazed look, you wait for him to share what he’s so shell shocked over.

“angel.. your nails are so grown out.” he turns your fingers that rest in his palm, examining the old and grown out design.

you playfully roll your eyes. “i can’t really afford to re-do them right now, so i’ve just been waiting for them to come off.”

jaemin softly shakes his head, looking up at you. “you really should’ve said something. i mean, i would’ve paid for you to fill them, get something cute put on. i still will, but- what’s that look for?”

with a raised eyebrow at the fact that he knows what a fill is, you shake your head and gesture for him to continue.

“well anyways, i’ll pay for your next appointment because you look so cute when you have your cute little designs on there right? and the babies seem to like it too when you scratch them with them on.”

with your free hand you pull out your phone and begin messaging your nail tech about another appointment. thankfully, they’re free two days from now so they ask for a design. “well.. since you like them so much, what design should i get? i just asked my nail tech and we’ve set a date but i need to send a design.”

at this jaemin perks up, his signature smile showing as he grabs his own phone and begins scrolling. “i’ve been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea. so first, i was thinking you could get almond because you just did square ones. and of course, i already saved a photo and the design is a pink one. everyone’s gonna know i picked it out for you.”

he pulls up the photo he saved of his design of choice and flips the phone over to you. “it’s cute right? i love how there’s chrome and the pearls are almost in the shape of a french tip. they would look really good on you. what do you think?” he smiles, looking at you expectantly.

it was hard to tell whether to laugh or cry at your boyfriend’s knowledge on nail art terms, your jaw dropping a little more the longer he talked about his design. obviously there’s nothing wrong with him learning about such things, but it’s a little random since you never shared them with him and he hasn’t expressed an interest in them at all.

you pulled yourself out of your thoughts to finally respond, “sure, they’re cute and we can do that, but why the fuck do you know so much about nail art?” you ask, letting out a bit of an awkward laugh.

“oh! well i remember i came and watched when i took you to get them done for your birthday and it looked cool so i looked it up a little and learned some about it because i wanted to pick for you one day.” he explains simply, leaving his photos app and showing you his tiktok search history which was full of ‘nail art’ ‘pink nails’ ‘cute nail art’ ‘nail art tutorial’. when you look back up at him you see his flushed cheeks and his gaze set off into the distance.

“that’s so cute nana, of course we can do your design. thanks for taking the time to learn about this stuff for me.”

he huffs, leaning back in his chair. “please, any good boyfriend would learn about the topics you care about. and this is nothing. you should’ve seen the lengths i went to before we met so i could find something to talk to you about..” before you can question him, he takes a forkful of the food you were sharing and pushes it into your mouth.

—

when the time for the appointment comes, jaemin’s elated and absolutely begs to come with you. your nail tech was a little apprehensive being that they had policies about visitors but he swore he wouldn’t talk the entire time so you were able to come to an agreement and brought him along.

the nail appointment starts and jaemin is sitting next to you, watching intently as your old design gets filed off and your new growth gets prepped. thankfully he stays true to his word and keeps quiet, but when you look at him you can see the gears turning as he studies the tech’s techniques.

once the nails are filled and have been shaped correctly, his smile grows as they begin being painted and his photo starts coming to life. he’s not being necessarily disruptive but he does start asking questions about the process and is truly watching in awe as your nail tech replicates the design with ease.

once the set is done, jaemin pays for the set and you leave. it makes you laugh how he’s nearly more excited than you are with the outcome, with your fingers locked and his hand swinging yours back and forth. once you leave the nail studio he lifts your intertwined fingers and begins snapping photos of your new set with a bright smile. once done, he lifts the phone camera up to your face, recording a video.

“so, angel.. i may have lied a bit about why i researched all this nail stuff and im ready to tell the truth now.” his smile turns into a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“don’t tell me, na jaemin, that you were talking to other females about this stuff or i swear-“

“no, no! i promise it’s not bad. just listen.” he laughs before continuing. “i really do think the designs are cute and i did want to pick one out just for fun.. but i also really wanted you to re-do them just because a fresh set on you looks so hot when you wrap your hands around my-“

“oh my god jaemin shut up!”

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[prismatoxic]

I am too tired and too depressed to deal with it right now, but sometimes it drives me absolutely insane how people perceive the purity culture debate in fandom.

it's nice that it's not a big deal for you. it's nice that it just looks like petty squabbling to you. I'm glad you get to worry about "real" problems instead.

but I was harassed for multiple years by people who doxxed me, tried to call the cops on me, systematically ostracized me from the only social groups I had, and ultimately left me with a tremendous amount of trauma--and this was because of the fiction I consumed and supported.

I've known people whose lives were ruined. and I mean RUINED. I mean jobs lost, relationships severed, complete mental breaks from prolonged persecution. over fiction.

on top of it all, the freedom to depict anything in fiction is important to me, and I'd be on the side of that whether all the trauma had happened or not. but listen to me. I need you to understand that this isn't just ship wars, that no matter how insignificant the root issue of what people find acceptable in fandom seems to you, that you're not seeing the full picture.

people love an easy enemy. they love a valid target. it's so easy to moralize your discomfort to the point that you see people who make you uncomfortable as subhuman. do they really believe art can be equivalent to real life abuse? sometimes. but plenty of the time it's just a handy justification to be the boot on someone else's throat.

do you understand how damaging it is to be chased out of every community you care about, and every one you try to join after? do you know how terrifying it is to see your personal information in someone else's hands, to know they think you deserve the worst, to fear SWATing or accusatory calls to your employer or landlord or what the fuck ever? do you know how exhausting it is to fear every new relationship you make, every new community you join, worried that if their stances on fiction don't align with yours it might happen all over again? do you know how much it hurts to be called all sorts of monstrous things, things people BELIEVE about you, because of the fucking fanfic you wrote?

I get it, internet battles over fiction seem ridiculous. please look at the bigger picture. it's fascist controlling of the art other people can make, and it's a handy excuse to enact horrible abuse on people who ~clearly~ deserve it. do not belittle victims of these things just because it's all online, it doesn't seem like a threat to you, it seems pointless.

and it probably goes without saying that if you think anyone deserves any of that for the fiction they create or consume, get the fuck away from me.

[turntechradiohead]

I wrote down everything we know about our special new character and their mysterious pals on page 707, mostly so I can try and figure out wtf is going on, so I figured I'd post my notes

We’ve seen that Vrissy had unread messages from GC on page 456, so I am assuming this was that conversation since it happened 801 minutes (13.35 hours) ago 

Also worth noting is that she thinks they're "not anyone worth talking to" lol rip

Maybe it’s just because of the inane rambling while their friend isn’t answering but I am getting serious Dave vibes lol The command prompt of page 707 isn’t in parenthesis, so that means were back in the Meat timeline. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was Rose’s species! I really can’t wait for the reveal hehe, look at those claws!

Here's what we know:

gavageCunctation [GC]: gavage /ɡəˈväZH/ noun the administration of food or drugs by force, especially to an animal, typically through a tube leading down the throat to the stomach. cunctation /kəNGkˈtāSHən/ noun (rare) the action or an instance of delaying; tardy action.

Typing quirk is a bomb that diffuses through the conversation o-------* Types in all lowercase, usually ends sentences with ellipses Hex code #8e5594

Friends with:

adamantGriftress [AG]  It’s literally just Vrissy Maryam-Lalonde

TC  they/them Discovered this version of SBURB very excited to play the game

AA that’s oomf she/her Hobbies include bugging and fussing and meddling Seer? Sure does seem like one to me "um anyway she's like an oracle... except she's not an oracle. she's some other shit..."

[lacrimosathedark]

The Radioapple Haters™️ are at it again.

This time they're attacking shippers with the newly released Playbill.

There's so many issues with that. Beyond harassing people for ships is dumb.

This is what people are pointing at.

This is on the cast info page. It says Lucifer misses his wife.

So, three things about that.

Firstly, We Been Knew, babe.

His very first appearance, after his daughter says her parents split up, he's in a room covered in pictures of not just said daughter, but her mother too, and he's still wearing a presumed wedding band. If that's not "showing not telling" with a goddamn airhorn, idk how more clear it could get without Lucifer flat out saying he misses Lilith. So like...this is not new info. So there's nothing to really rub in. We knew this.

Secondly, this is in-character Lucifer saying this.

I'm not a professional, but when I was in high school performances, we wrote our own little Playbill bio info things. That seems to carry into professional ones too. If you can read the actual cast, some of the the actors less entrenched in the fandom culture have basically an IMDB of their relevant previous roles, while the ones you see at cons are more personable. Those were written by the actors. So, logically, the character bios are written as if by the characters. This could not be made more obvious.

So, logically, you can read that little above as Lucifer himself actually saying he misses his wife. Which leads me to--

Third, break-ups are messy and painful and Lucifer not moving on, unwilling to remove his ring or call Lilith his ex, doesn't mean they are still together. Hell, they could still even be technically married, doesn't mean they're still romantically entangled.

Look, I know the only seeming one-sided relationships in the show is Vox/Alastor and Adam/Lilith and every other "pair" are together or at least friendly (Chaggie, Huskerdust, Cherrisnake, Staticmoth, Guitarspear) but not every separation has to be a violent resentful split. Lucifer is explicitly Depressed™️ which can be hard for any partner to deal with, especially someone as ambitious as Lilith. It wouldn't be surprising if she, not even cruelly, thought she'd be more successful away from him even if he still loves her.

And all this is on top of the fact that most Radioapple shippers don't expect their ship to happen (some hope it does, some hope it doesn't, I'm personally neutral on the concept), and that a lot of writers and artists explicitly acknowledge and use Lucifer's love for Lilith in Radioapple because people love the drama.

I have several posts listing why one might ship Radioapple so I won't go off about it here, but suffice to say the entanglement between Lilith and Alastor and how the two are similar and different makes interacting with Lucifer interesting from any angle.

This also hurts me personally a bit because a lot of these people are Lucilith shippers and, yall, I'm one of you. I don't want them to get back together for many reasons, but I would love to see endless flashbacks of them obnoxiously in love. Most of my favorite works of fanart aren't even Radioapple, my primary ship, but Lucilith, in large part because of how adorable they are. How indulgent or smitten Lilith can look. How adorably excited or flustered or just happy Lucifer can be.

I love Lucilith. I adore Lucifer. I just also think his interactions with Alastor are funny and intriguing.

We don't need to hate each other. We can try to keep our little sandboxes separate, but we can play nice when we spill into each other, can't we?

I am really just so sick of the silly in-fighting. It costs zero dollars and zero energy to not be a dick. Need to type out a rant to get it out and off your chest? cool. But you can post it privately or delete it instead of going into peoples' ask boxes and and posts to be nasty. Not having the self control and wherewithal to not go out of your way to be a dick to people is honestly pretty pathetic. If you think you're so much better, prove it by being better, or being smug in your space. Making people feel like shit for a nonexistent fictional relationship does literally nothing for anyone and makes YOU look worse.

Dislike the ship all you want. No one cares either way. Just don't waste your limited time in this life making your distaste everyone else's problem.

[sandersea]

Kevin, who is apparently not gone but is, you know, a golden retriever, wriggles his entire body practically into Neil’s lap and lets out a series of joyous barks; Andrew’s left ear translates the noise into an exuberant You wish you were rid of me that easily, you son of a bitch that is just affectionate enough to have him feeling almost teary over their quasi-reunion, despite the fact that he still has no fucking clue what the fuck is going on. “Hey, so,” and the headache has mellowed into a full-body ache, but at least he can think just hard enough to realize that nothing happening makes any sense to him. “What the fuck.” It’s another few minutes of wiggling and almost crying and stoic man-dog hugging later before either of them pull away from their shared world of seventeen inches of dirty pavement to answer him. “This is Kevin Day,” Neil tells him like it means something, “and up until last week, he was the True King of the Fourth Dominion.” What the fuck, he thinks. “What the fuck,” he also says, because certain things are just deserving of a few extra what-the-fucks, and this is definitely one of them. There was not a single part of that sentence that made sense, not really; he might only have half of a high school education, but he’s not an idiot. He knows what each and every word in that sentence means individually, and a little bit in their smaller pairs, but strung together like that? In that order? What the fuck. Kevin’s ears perk up as his tail drops low, a very doggy expression of distress, and he lays on the ground and rests his head slowly and sadly on his front paws. “It’s a very long story,” he says very, very sadly, and not surprisingly that is the least of Andrew’s worries right now. “True king,” he repeats, because okay. “Of the Fourth Dominion.” In the world of suspended disbelief where all of this is actually happening and not, like, some late in the game aftereffects of a series of concussions in early childhood, Andrew accepts this at face value. There are at least four dominions out there, one of which has a dog for a king, and somehow no one on earth has ever heard of or questioned this. Even his suspension of belief requires a suspension of disbelief. It’s a five what the fuck sort of story. “Yeah, I feel like there might be more to this story.” There is. And they tell him.

okay so what if i wrote another insane aftg au

[pancho-pinto]

Android Ranchers AU

rancher girlies get 3 (unedited) snapshots i just wrote on a whim, no context and no lore other than they are both androids, prompted by THIS INCREDIBLE ART by @daily-tango-doodles

no warnings. everything is pretty safe (if i say so myself)

Tango glances over, and his eye twitches. The red tint overtakes his vision, the world suddenly behind a curtain of sheer red fabric. He blinks a couple of times until the other colors return, his voice box stuttering stuck still.

Just as he regains some control of his limbs, opening and closing his fists, bending and stretching his legs, admiring the mismatched plates of body, Jimmy joins him with two pouches. Jimmy wipes some spilling blue from the corners of his lips with his thumb, offering a sweet smile on top of the drink.

Jimmy sits on the other swing, turning his head to the night sky and the thousand stars. He looks perfect, in a presentation way.

Hair brushed and fair skin, ironed clothes and not a wrinkle to be found, eyes bright and warm smile. Inviting and friendly and safe.

He speaks just as nicely too, "It's easy to find you."

Tango tilts his head slightly, his eyebrows not working still it seems.

"I mean, it's all blue. The lights and everything, just—" Jimmy waves his hand, the other holding onto the pouch. He brings it to his lips to take a sip. "You're red. It's, I don't know, just makes it easier to find you. Like I can't lose you."

Tango makes the motion of a huff though his lungs and air vents only whir. The corners of his lips twitch though, all for him.

"It's whatever," Jimmy dismisses, waving it off this time. He turns his head, lips on the straw breaking into a smile when their eyes met. "Not like I can my eyes off you anyways."

Blues to a brown and a red, the sky meeting a valcanoe. Briefly, Tango sees red reflected in his eyes, and he wonders how hard Jimmy is looking at him for that to happen.

His voice box squeaks then clicks, and he clears his throat to test the sound. Somehow, Jimmy smiles even more when his voice returns.

"Hi, Jimmy."

"Hi, Tango."

there is also this ADORABLE PIECE LIKE HELLO??? CUTIES by @mellioops

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

"Hey! Tango, can you give me a hand!"

As soon as the words leave Jimmy's lips, he grimaces, regret setting in as something flies by on the edges of his vision. The clank against the wall and subsequent thud as it falls to the ground zips the barn of all sound.

Slowly, he turns his head to it, just staring at the metal arm laying there. He breaks into a smile, however, when he sees the fingers pinching a baby blue flower.

"Huh-uh! Get in here you!" He yells as he stands up, walking over to pick up the arm. He pries the flower from the fingers, carefully tucking it over his ear, the stem piercing through his hair.

Shortly after, footsteps muffle in the hay and dirt, gears and spring-locks and pumps filling the air. A quiet huff, an amused smile.

Jimmy turns and tosses the arm back to him, crossing his arms over his chest, popping his hip as Tango re-adjusts his arm back.

Tango looks at him, guilty expression on his face, and Jimmy notices the green eye today.

"Help?"

Jimmy exhales, exasperated but there is a fond smile on his lips. Grumpily, he walks over, taking the grey arm again as Tango holds up his short sleeve. He sees flour on the fake skin, a dash of cinnamon too, and some dried egg whites.

"Cooking something?" He asks as he bends down a little, trying to find the joint. He nudges him to turn so he can get better lighting.

"Trying," Tango corrects with a small laugh. "Pix is napping so I have the house to myself! And the cats, and Benny, but mostly me."

He snorts, "Don't burn my kitchen down."

With a click, Tango's arm is secured again. Tango turns and spins his elbow, rotating it to secure it before looking beside Jimmy's arm. A bicycle is leaning against a hay stack, a wheel laying on the ground and most of the parts disassembled.

"Wanna swap?" Tango asks, gesturing to the bicycle with his head.

"I'll help you inside, then you help me. That work?"

Tango smiles, then two-finger salutes him.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Jimmy stares at the manual, Tango's handwriting denting the pages. The ink is old now, the color fading and the edges of the papers are browning. The pages are crisp and fragile, and he cannot turning the pages, reading the lines over and over.

Instructions. Step by steps. Crossed out sections, new sections, everything of Tango's. Maintenance. How to keep him alive.

The pages crumple under his hand as his vents overheat, his pump so loud in his chest cavity. It rings in his ears too, the slow release of steam as he tries to figure what he did wrong.

But his eyes drift, and prying them is hard. Too hard. He stares.

Tango lays in bed unmoving, still. Too still. He did everything by the letter, he did everything as Tango had taught him, a precision ingrained in his code to save lives.

How long had it been?

His own system needs maintenance. Every part of him is working overtime, running on fumes without fuel and lubricant. He feels rigid and rusted, and he cannot stop wondering how Tango can live like this, and he cannot stop seeing the worse.

A red light turning off forever.

That cannot be.

His phone rings nearby, shattering in the silence of the room. He focuses on nothing but the occasional beeps and steady buzzing, no real way of knowing the circuit is actually connected until Tango gives a sign. A reaction. Something.

Just as he resigns himself to look for his phone and answer Pixl, a spark flies and Tango jolts. He flops back on the bed, exhaling fumes.

In a blink, Jimmy is by his side, taking his hand, trembling though he is not sure if he is worried or playing with his own life.

"Hey rancher," Tango manages to whisper with a weak smile.

"You'll be okay," Jimmy replies instantly, squeezing his hand. He drops to his knees, taking his hand with both hands now. He presses Tango's hand to his forehead, eyes screwed shut as his words come out strained, "I did everything you taught me. You'll be okay, you hear? Pixl will fix you soon, just hang in there. Hang in there, Tango, okay? Just a little longer."

Weakly, Tango squeezes his hands back, pushing against his forehead with all the strength he can manage. "Thanks, Jimmy."

[noxrynne]

uhhhhh this site sucks i had to edit this four times to get the thing to actually do thee cut goddamn its more cuz its a block'a text no one should be forced to scroll THAT long over sheesh

Just putting it under a read more as people really hate the animation/show and the weird thing is it's one of the few times I think I've related to a character present in it (who is usually the topic of everyone's derision) in such a way where it's like looking in a mirror when I was... god, fucking 12 - 22~, and kind of it clicking in my head what was wrong with me. Not like, full picture, but. I don't know, I never really related to a character like this before and it's weird. Not necessarily in a bad way, either. Like, it makes me uncomfortable. Sure, but it's kind of... a healthy discomfort, for me at least. To see it all laid out in this way where it... and I feel pathetically stupid for this, clicked in my head why someone from my trans therapy group yelled at me after they realized how I was treating myself. I went through a lot of similar dark places. I behaved in similar ways. I got yelled at, like I deserved, but never understood why someone cared. I've been working on self improvement in this area for a while, and it's absolutely the hardest one. And a lot of it did, maybe stupidly? Begin with this character and some of the songs that followed, and now I'm really thinking back on it since my boyfriend and I watched the newly released show and. There's a scene that hit me really hard. I don't think it didn't belong there. It nailed in the idiot part of my brain the "see? other people have problems like that. Know people like that. Are treated that way, too. It's not that there's something wrong with you, intrinsically. Just a dash of rotten luck and collapsing in on yourself in the aftermath." It took it seriously, in a context that meshed with my brain to where I felt like "yeah, that's. That's at least. How I felt. Pretty much. When I was treated like that. Brushed it off and turned it into jokes, too." I don't wanna get into all the nitty gritty details, because they aren't pretty and I still have to contend with it. But it felt kinda... mmm, I don't know, like when I saw so many people shitting on it - saying it doesn't belong, in fact, this should never be portrayed, it's immoral to portray this and so on. I have such a warped view of... the topic, I guess? But I mean, it did help me contextualize a few things better that I've been struggling to. And I found a lot of comfort in that uncomfortable scene because of that. And... like, I know I have a... how do I phrase it, like a... not... normal view? Since I... like, was kinda... I mean. Like. I. I don't know. I mean I know. I just. You know. But I don't know, like. I feel nervous talking about it, because of the media property it's related to and how strongly people feel about it. And, I mean, I know the healthy answer is to just be "fuck it, you're allowed" but I guess I just think back to all the times things I liked/cared about were shit on and feel like "Should... I feel... guilty? Because I kinda do. And I don't think I should. But maybe I should? Is there something to it or... something that I don't get?" and yeah this is about Angel Dust in Hazbin Hotel. yeah this is the character story that got me to (even with the pilot/songs) try to actually tackle this shit 'cuz I still can't get myself to physically talk about these things irl. and. idk. its. mm. its hard to really feel like im. i just. i dont talk about it much at all 'cuz i dont wanna annoy people if they hate the show 'n stuff 'cuz i know ppl feel strongly and. yeah. so i over explained it because a part of me wanted to express a kinda... happiness that a story got me to think better about myself. and i dont. understand why there's so many like. snap judgments or vitriol, i guess.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”