#but im just done with its not worth it. im always the one getting hurt and im done getting close enough to let it happen again

[dragonfyre-creations]

I don't think I've ever poured so many of my physical attributes and so much of my heart and soul into a character design before in such a personal way before so fuck it whenever I finish the final design for Faeng and whatever I come up with I'm making her into my sona (dragonsona? Persona? Idk how this works lmfao)

(long dump in the tags and under the cut)

The last time I was even remotely connected this much to a character was when I designed Jaxsu, but honestly never truly made her my sona/main character, she was just the one I used most often in art pieces. I never really actually liked her lore and backstory enough because she was what I wanted to be instead of what I am/was. Jax isnt perfect either, but her parents love her and otherwise has friends and is loved unconditionally. She has a healthy relationship with everyone and everything. This is where the disconnect happened and where I actually started to dislike her despite her being my otherwise favorite character for awhile. Both Faeng and Jaxsu have ADHD and Autism but Jaxsu was able to put that towards a job and becoming a ship captain and winning a colosseum tournament. She's done all of these great things so even if she didn't have a healthy relationship with her parents they'd still love her because she's done something impressive and useful.

Faeng on the other hand, has to fight for everything. Her parents are important and have important jobs, and place all of these unreachable and unrealistic expectations on her and expect her to reach them with minimal effort and be perfect, but she can't no matter how hard she tries. She needs someone to explain it and break it down for her in steps so she understands what do to and how to do it so she doesn't mess it up. She's both strong and smart but it's not in practical "normal" ways or subjects. It's convoluted, It's not in the ways everyone wants her to be, she has no teachers to help her understand how to channel that strength and intelligence into something "useful" so she puts it towards the things she likes and wants to do, and thus struggles in a world that would otherwise be easy to navigate and conquer if she were "normal". Those that do understand her and try to help her are alienated by other people in an attempt to either punish both of them or force her to adapt to be somewhat passing as normal, if not then at least listen to what she's told to do. She does eventually make acquaintances but find that her twisted speech and weird explanations aren't worth trying to decipher and understand so they leave, they don't put in the effort to meet her halfway even though she's struggling and doing her best to speak in a way they'll understand.

Her parents acknowledge her differences but in a way that frames it as flawed and wrong, something that needs to be corrected, and push her to figure out her problems by herself, tearing down any support network she tries to build. She tries her damned hardest but it's not enough, it never is and never will be for them because she's not the perfect child they wanted. She showed promise in her younger years being a "gifted child" so she knows what love and acceptance lies in wait and what could be if she could just be normal and perfect. Her achievements and promise come and show in waves. She burns and fizzles out in one of the most virulent, painful ways possible after getting hurt trying to prove her worth yet again. She holds nothing but criticism, vitriol and contempt for herself because she can't claw her way back to where she was before, this time something happened and something is terribly, horribly wrong this time but she doesn't know that it is and can't figure it out, nor will anyone tell her. Whatever it is, left a mental and several physical injuries and it does nothing but deepen her self hatred and her parent's waning belief in her. She listens to false promises and praise of other people who do nothing but wish to manipulate and harm her but she stays because any form of praise is deemed good, she hungers for more and does worsening things.

She ignores the people who tell her that what she's doing is dangerous and will only end in disaster, because she doesn't believe them. If the people who are saying they're her friends are telling her that the people she hurts deserve it and that what she's doing is good, then surely she needs to believe them over strangers, right? Everything comes to a breaking point and shatters around her leaving her with quite literally nothing but her own self hatred, newfound rage and overbearing mental issues she needs to navigate once again to find out what hell it is and what's wrong with her now. She's scared of everyone and everything with the added bonus of now being hyper-aware and perceptive of people's mannerisms and behaviors, especially those who want to manipulate or harm her again. She wraps every vulnerable part of herself in metaphorical thorns and teeth to bite and maim whoever pries and digs into what she truly is, even people who want to understand her. She suffers at more than her own hand, forcing herself to deal with everything alone, until she finally meets someone that could be considered a true friend. She slowly opens up and helps them as much as they help her before everything comes crashing back down once again upon the reveal that they've been lying to her the entire time about very serious issues, and she's been used as nothing more than an attack dog once again. She burns every bridge and everyone around her in one final breakdown of rage before shutting down completely. One of the groups of friends she's shoved stay comes back and asks if she's ok. She doesn't understand why they're being kind, why they're concerned it why they care and tries to shove them away again. Every single day they still ask, talking even if there's no response from her, until she finally relents and breaks.

She's finally loved and accepted despite every fault and every flaw she has, and every time she tries to pull away out of fear of being an inconvenience they pull back twice as hard and remind her that she's able to just exist, she doesn't need to constantly be useful and that they care. She finally, finally is comfortable enough to let herself be accepted and then becomes the most clingy little shit, just as they do with her. But yeah, my own life has been very much of the same, especially the last part. Every time I go on another self-hatred spiral and drop off the face of the earth my MonHun bros give me a metaphorical slap to the face and remind me that I don't need to constantly prove my worth to everyone and prove that I'm useful, and that existing every once in awhile is more than enough. If that doesn't work then it's "you need to get your ass back over here because we're failing the Safi siege without the absolutely ridiculous amount of DPS your build Switchaxe does". I was not intending for her to be so much like me but goddamnit she's wormed her way into being my favorite now and I guess Mirage is no longer my impromptu sona

[caruliaa]

someone else when theyre in a thinking of someone as their best friend when they dont think of them that way contest and their opponent is me

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then your father by a good 100 years.. and whose in love with another.

- content warning age gap. nsfw. sh. angst. not really happy endings! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader

spoiler: horrible yearning!

note this is my first piece of work so i hope it’s okay! i love logan sm i had to write something for him — and this is really angsty :) pls ignore if there’s any bad grammar! i’m a bit lazy rn, also with the timeline for this fic i have no idea when im going for. im saying 2000s-2010s just remember its a bit scrambled timeline wise cos i wanted my favs here!🤭 enjoy!

you hated when he was around. you couldn’t stand it anymore. your longing glances to him, the yearning looks you gave him which were never returned and only thrown back into your face when you saw how he was looking at jean the way you looked at him.. it had all been getting too much. at first you acted like it didn’t bother you and part of your school-girl crush deluded brain pretend you were just seeing things but as the weeks / months had passed you realised that was the furthest thing from the truth.

recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to glance at him because it hurt too much and that wasn’t even being dramatic, the aching feeling in your heart wasn’t worth getting a glimpse of his timeless beauty so every time he was around you bit down the urges swallowed your pride and acted as if he was nobody to you, just a good friend. a father figure, a teammate.

it felt rude at first, to you since you were the only one noticing it, how you just stopped all those little things you were doing but you couldn’t help it or stop yourself from being like that because it was too hard to deal with — loving someone so much with all your heart but you knew you couldn’t have them. you hated to admit it but it destroyed you and that little part of you right now was falling into a full blown rage as you sat on the sofa alongside logan and wade — charles, hank, scott and rogue being present in the room too.

“i just don’t get her.” scott said out, repeating the same line over again, still bitching about the fight him and jean had after they all got back from the mission — everyone could hear the screaming and scott’s harsh gaze when he entered the room just confirmed it all and the second,of course, logan asked a question after wade made a snarky comment that set off scott and he hadn’t stopped mansplaining it since.

“yea’ well certain people don’t.” logan gruffly spoke out as y/n couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to him at his words, feeling a sense of hurt coarse through her like it usually did whenever he spoke about jean or implied her. everyone knew what logan’s comment meant and y/n could see how scott was biting his tongue, clearly pissed off like he always was around logan. for good reason.

the tension only grew worse when scott couldn’t help himself and made a comment right back at him, his eyebrows raised as he stood from his seat. charles attention turning right to scott instead of logan, “and what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?” scott spat out like his words were venom.

rogue rolling her eyes at his words as hank shared a little glance with y/n who was cursing the entire situation in her brain as she couldn’t stop herself from looking at logan — those very same feelings boiling in her body as she saw the way his mouth twitched and his jaw clenched. how protective he was getting over jean, a feeling y/n couldn’t help have been wishing for the past two years of knowing the man he would get like over her — sure in a friends way he might’ve done it before, at least that’s how she saw but it never like this.

y/n swore she could physically feel her heart aching.

“pretty sure you know what that means pal.” logan bit back harshly, his words falling to the same tone as scott’s did as scott scoffed at what he said as he bit back with full frustration as charles clearly wanted to get involved - a little grimance pictured on his face as y/n studied her fathers expression, him clearly knowing what jean meant to logan, as y/n looked away before her dad could catch her staring her eyes falling onto a pissed off scott who downed the drink he had in his hand, placing it on the table.

“she picked me.” was all scott needed to say as the weight in the room shifted heavily on logan’s end as everyone could see the way logan’s face dropped a little, that comment taking the little coy expression he had right away but y/n didn’t even bring herself to look, scott’s eyes taking her in as if he knew what she was feeling in this moment. his eyes meeting her own as y/n felt a lump form her throat — the tightness almost burning — as he tutted at how silent logan was before he walked out the room without another word.

with this the room fell silent. everyone knowing the feelings logan must’ve been harbouring right now, y/n especially, as she glanced over to him not expecting to be met with his brown eyes looking back at her as he took in her expression before he roughly got up without another word — going right over to the door.

chaeles couldn’t help himself as he spoke up firmly the second he watched logan head for the door, “logan—“

“just goin’ for a piss, wheels.” he roughly said back before the door shut right behind him.

“more like a bitchless weaping session.” wade couldn’t help say as he had left the room, hank and rogue not being able to help their little laughs from coming out as y/n bit down on the inside of her cheek limiting the feelings she was experiencing as much as she could before she stood up.

“—i’m going to shower.” y/n said out lowly, her words slipping out quickly as the others nodded or hummed in agreement, wades eyebrows furrowing as he clearly felt he knew more of the situation then the rest did but he kept that to himself.

“take some pics for me!” wade called back to her, earning a little look from charles as hank scoffed in reply.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

that shower was more like watching a re run of singing in the rain which y/n couldn’t help watch the entirety of for no specific reason before she eventually hoped in the shower. the faint sounds of her speakers being heard as she hummed along to the lyrics of the specific song as she felt the cold water glide down her naked body.

swallowing the pain-filled whimpers that were aching to escape her wet lips as she acted as if the water gracing against all those marks and burns on her skin wasn’t killing her inside despite her ‘little’ case of immortality. immortality sadly didn’t mean you never experienced pain and y/n was clearly the leading case proving that matter as she soon got out the shower after washing her hair and her body.

wrapping the towel around her dainty body as she took in herself in the mirror, the thoughts forming in her brain being within the ‘self loathing’ category as she exited her bathroom. her face falling once she was met with the gruff expression on logans face which turned to one of shock as his eyes scanned over y/n immediately. him swallowing his own spit as y/n hands immediately wrapped around her towel just to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

“lo— shit, i didn’t know you were here.” she quickly managed out, her face a bright shade of red as she watched as logan didn’t move his gaze off her figure.

“—wait.” not a single word escaping his lips as y/n walked over to her bed where her clothes were laid out for her.

y/n’s breath was hitched and she swore she felt all the heat rush to her face as she took in the way logan was just staring at her as she grabbed her clothes with her other hand, taking a few steps back into the bathroom before she swiftly shut the door. her mind a mess as she quickly put on her pajamas before she sprung over to the mirror to double check her appearance before she walked back out to her bedroom.

logan being in the exact same place she had left him — not a single word had left his lips and his facial expression was the exact same as y/n nervously smiled at him.

“what are you doing— uh, here?” y/n asked him swiftly, her words rushed as she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she saw logan slowly seem to come back to reality, scratching the back of his neck as his lips parted as he tried to say something.

yet it took a little for something to come out as y/n swore she felt something growing in the air as logan finally spoke, his gruff tone a little knocked back then usual, “was coming here to bitch about scott. didn’t mean to see anything i shouldn’t have.”

his words sent a little chill through y/n’s spine as she managed a little smile on her lips, no matter how fake it was she still managed it, as she looked at him. his first words being all the confirmation her heart needed in this moment as she held back her feelings as she felt her heart tense.

“it’s okay.” y/n rolled out quietly, her attention falling over to her bed as she walked over to the foot off it — sitting down on the edge of the bed as logan stayed in place, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fireplace in her room now.

“so scott, you wanna bitch?” y/n trailed off into as logan looked out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he shrugged his shoulders.

“nah, not anymore.” he said, his voice low as y/n took in his hush voice — his words only adding to the building up tension that was making the air thick as y/n looked at him. her eyes taking in every inch off him and how he looked, her mind wondering how he’d feel.. how’d he’d taste.

yet her thoughts were immediately cut short.

“—you seen jean about?”

his words were like a harsh hit round the face as she felt a lump for her in throat, her mind tingling a little as she glanced over to the door. she hated this, every inch of this. she wanted to scream, punch him in the face. confess right there and there at him but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

no matter how much it killed her inside. every second without him being like a gun shot to the heart as she plainly looked back at him, a soft smile growing on her face which was so fake it was indescribable as she nodded to her bedroom door.

“her room, i guess.”

her low words were enough to make anyone know she was hurt yet of course logan didn’t, or he didn’t show he knew as he gave her a playful wink.

“thanks bub.” he said with a nod as he went to walk out the room — his hand on the door when y/n heard his muttered words.

“sleep well y/n.”

his words fell into silence as y/n watched him leave, the door closing behind him being the utmost reminder of how her feelings will probably never be acknowledged. and that harsh reality left her alone in her bedroom for the entire night and with every toss and turn her mind was on one thing and one thing only. him.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

[catmask]

if it's not too intrusive, would you be comfortable talking about your experiences with OCD and maybe what made you seek a diagnosis?

idm it might help other people. i mean disclaimer not to use this as a diagnostic tool but if this sounds like u and u got a doc to talk to its worth bringing up

i think an important place to start and why i didnt think i had ocd is i am 1) autistic 2) a csa victim. this is pertinent because all of the things that actually lead me to get diagnosed with ocd i just kept dismissing as parts of those two other things. thinking 'surely this is all thats up there cant be anything else wrong with me' (<- thoughts of a clown)

the trouble with this is that coping skills id found for parts of both autism and csa trauma weren't working with things i later found out were related to ocd. so like, for example. frequently having intrusive thoughts about csa/sex trauma, i was told that if im experiencing a flashback the best thing i can do is try to ground myself and comfort myself. and yeah this is true, it would work if a flashback is all it was. but what it DIDNT account for is the guilt/dirty feeling id get after having them and the obsessive need to be 'clean' after.

and this trickled into hundreds of aspects of my life. 'cleaness' has always been such a vague unattainable concept unmedicated for ocd. if some things touch other things theyd become 'unclean'. if a person i felt uncomfortable around touched me or something it became 'unclean'. there were 'good' and 'bad' thoughts to have. i was constantly existing as if my presence was being monitored 24/7.

i could not fucking relax because every action i took, regardless of whether or not i was in private, i was constantly thinkin 'am i doing something wrong? am i hurting someone by doing this? am i breaking any rules?' and the 'bad thing' i was doing was like. i missed my boyfriend while he was at work. or i was going over former scenarios in which i was socially awkward in my head and wondering if i should be dead for doing that.

part of why i dismissed this as autism ofc too is yknow. being autistic i often missed social queues as a kid and was pretty brutally punished for it (physically by my parents, emotionally and socially by peers) so i was like yeah its Normal and Realsitic id have super intense fear about 'am i secretly doing something bad and dont realzie it because no one will fucking tell me until ive already done it and its too late and then i deserve all the punishment i get' but where my loved ones stepped in and were like Hey thats Not really normal. is where it waslike. other autistic people going 'brother i dont do that'

so yeah. it was like. kind of rule of elimination? the problems that wrrent getting solved by coping skills for the Other problems i Knew i had, i isolated those leftover things and my doctor was like 'this sounds like you have ocd. do you do this too' and listed out like 60 other things i didnt consider symptoms i just considered 'funny quirks' i had, like crying so hard id throw up if i couldnt get a blanket to lie perfectly flat during a picnic when i was 8 or thinking i was going to hell and my stuffed animals could feel pain so i would apologize to them iver and over while crying when they fell off the bed

you know. 'quirks'

[agirlwithglam]

becoming selfish is the best thing i ever did.

✧*. * · ~ thewizardliz 💖🕯

💖 stop going into arguments with people who are not willing to listen. it is completely useless. if your boundaries were crossed, and the other person is not willing to say "im sorry for doing that, i won't do it again", then conversation over. its done. its not worth your time or energy.

🕯prioritise your own needs and wants. fill your own cup! are you okay? are you whole? if you don't want to do something, dont do it. whatever you want, comes first.

💖 stop being always available and trying to save everyone. if you keep on being there for people- again and again and again, you are letting people use you. people will only reach out to you if they have problems or they need help. but what about when everything is going good? then what? do they come to you? you are showing them that they can always come to you and you will always be there but that shouldn't be the case. be able to say "i dont want to listen to your problems today. i have enough of my own problems and goals to worry about." the only reason they come is because YOU allow them to come.

you ask yourself why does anyone not make sure i am ok? thats because YOU do not make sure you're okay. remember that you cannot save everyone. IT IS NOT YOUR JOB TO SAVE EVERYONE.

🕯sometimes god gives you situations so you can grow. also if you are constantly trying to step in for God to help and save everyone, you may also be sabotaging God's plan. people give certain problems/ situations in their life because God gives it to them so they can grow wiser and better! why are you trying to save them? its not your responsibility.

💖 be okay with people misunderstanding you. if you have a goal or a dream in your life, NOT EVERYONE IS GOING TO UNDERSTAND YOU. people come from different households, religions, schools, etc. they will not understand you or have the same mindset/ heart as you. be OKAY with people not understanding you. they are not you.

"oh why did they hurt me/ treat me like that, i would never do that to them" honey, they're not you. they don't have the same personality or heart as you. if you're constantly gonna go through life thinking that everyone has the same heart as you, you will be hurt. i have done that so often thinking that i'm a good friend to them so they will do the same back, its not always true. you will be hurt. people are just different. and thats okay! let them be.

🕯realise that you can only change yourself. stop trying to change people. they will not change unless they are willing to. our human nature is comfort- humans love comfort. in order to change, it takes going through discomfort. it takes strength. some people are completely oblivious to themselves- they think that everything is perfect and nothing is wrong with them, etc. and yk what? let them be. you cannot change them. but you can change yourself. and if you do not want to change, you're not going to change. no one can force you to change unless you want to. by trying to change others and help them become their best version, you're wasting your energy to become YOUR best version and to create your dream life!

💖 stop needing people to validate your self worth. "i dont need anyone to tell me how good i am. i dont need anyone to tell me how beautiful i am or smart i am. because i see those qualities in myself already." KNOW who you are. if you get a compliment, say thankyou, be grateful. but don't crave it. be okay with not receiving it and not needing it because you already know that you're all that. if you need that compliment or words from other people, then they are basically in charge of you because their opinion can change your reality entirely and shake you. when YOU are the one that always creates your own reality! be strong in your ownself otherwise you'll be like their little puppet. know that you know what? im amazing. i've been through so much stuff in life but i'm still coming out strong and i'm still standing.

🕯treat yourself as your own best friend. talk to yourself! in her video, liz said that she talks to herself before bed and tells herself about her day. (for that i recommend videoing yourself! its so much fun) or when she's stressed she says to herself why are you feeling stressed? what exactly are you feeling? and then she tells herself and talks to herself. BE YOUR OWN BEST FRIEND. hype yourself up in your mind! comfort yourself, have a conversation, etc. give the advice to yourself. go on dates with yourself, hug yourself, love yourself.

💖 less chasing, more attracting. being feminine basically means letting it flow and go. being calm and at peace. being relaxed because you know that you attract all your blessings. when you're not desperately looking for things, or chasing after things, then your whole. your energy is whole. when the energy of desperation is gone, then you can attract everything you want into your life.

🕯only add great people to your life. make sure that whoever you date, are friends with, hang around- they need to add value to your life. its not only in terms of money, its also in terms of are you making me happy? are you reciprocating my energy? people that are always negative or always complaining, do not allow them into your life. do not be friends with people who are being miserable then complain about being miserable but don't do anything about it.

💖 stop seeking other people's permission to do whats best for you. you don't need someone to say "you can do it!" because you know you can. be independent- liz doesn't need to ask anyone for money because she is already making her own money. she is doing everything for herself. she has everything she need to support herself and people she loves.

like how cocky are you to think that you know be better than i know myself? lol. you have not been through what i have been through. you have not lived my life and yet you're here deciding whats good for me and what i should be doing? um, no thanks! xoxo.

[ihaznoclue]

I RAN HERE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE BC I NEED TO REQUEST READER KICKING ASS I NEED READER TO GET THEIR GAME UP I NEED READER TO FINALLY STAND UP!!!!! THE READER EVOLUTION!!!!! so basiclly 🥺 im gonna request the fan favorites lycaon, ellen, anby,Billy, I think nicole is one them.... being saved from a thereal by the reader🔥🔥🔥🔥

Also I hope you have a nice day if all your fans are dead then I am no longer alive bro I think about the stories/Headcanon you make all dayyyyy I LOVE THEM SO MUCH and you as well hehe

ILYSM! I SWEAR TO GOD YOU ARE LITERALLY THE CUTEST! T^T TYSM -v- THIS REQUEST IS BADASS >o< I'm going to try my very best just for you <3

Pairings -> Von Lycaon, Ellen Joe, Anby Demara, Billy Kid, Nichole Demara x Reader

Warnings -> None maybe some swearing

Note -> Just Reader being a badass as they save the one and true love, princess in distress and the love of their life from an Ethereal

Genre -> Fluff

Von Lycaon

Okay it basically all started when you guys were in the Ballet Twins, Victoria housekeeping making sure everything is in touch but then met other strangers that was from the cunning hares

You noticed some sense of tension when the bangboo was picking up a recoding player or a music device as the bangboo said

Then a Ballet Ethereal appeared as Ellen and Corin went to attack, it was time to fight

You were so ready to kick these Ethereals asses, they were quite annoying as they always seem to love to scartch their pointed legs on the metal ground below them as they danced

You were fighting along side with your work friends as well as your boyfriend Lycaon, you have been together for a while before you both started working as a butler and a maid.

Lycaon was your boss and boyfriend which made it more exciting for you, since Lycaon would give you raises and some compliments toward you which always makes you blush in happiness

Now here you were fighting a long side with your love, it seems that the Ethereal was only targeting Lycaon as it started to spin its way to him, it looked like he didn't reacted quickly enough

You on the other hand, took your weapon and shielded Lycaon's body behind yours as you were sent flying to a wall that was a couple feet away from where you just were

"Y/n!" Lycaon's voiced called out as he sprinted to you to check if you were okay while the girls handled the Ethereal

"Are you okay My love?" He asked, checking to see if you had any Injuries

It has seemed that your forehead started to bleed but you laughed "Fuck yeah I'm okay, I protected you and that's all that matters to me" You proudly said

Lycaon just sighed as he patted your head, helping you up

"Let's finish this fight and then I'll treat your wounds, Also Language Young Lady"

"I'm perfectly fine Babe~" You flirted

That was totally worth it

Ellen Joe (this is not with an Ethereal)

Another scenario when you two were in the Ballet Twin fighting the Ethereal, but after finishing off the Ethereal went as it scattered away by bowing

Ellen didn't realize the flying bombs that was heading her way, she turned only a second to late

But instead of the bombs crashing into her, you charged your way to protect her as your sword sliced each bomb making the bombs go off

Ellen was in shocked but also impressed

She got quite lucky to have you since you were very skilled with your sword and you also protected the master Proxy and your girlfriend

Looks you have done a lot today, protecting everyone you love and cherished the most

Ellen seemed to have grumbled on how she didn't noticed but instantly thank you as she kissed your cheek in return of favor

You smiled as you spoke "Did you get hurt?" Ellen shook her head

"All thank to you, But are you hurt?"

"Nope, No cuts or bruises" You smiled

Ellen rolled her eyes and she chuckled "Okay smartass"

You laughed, At least you protected Ellen in all way possible but now you had to handle the people who sent those bombs toward your girlfriend

You snapped you head towards the direction the bombs were coming from as you saw people scattering away in fear

"Bingo"

Anby Demara

It was the time when you and the team went to get a important item for Nicole called the strong box, you guys went all the way to only get into a hollow

You were separated form the other but you were with Anby, which was fine since you two were close as in "dating"

Anby was the one who confessed which was surprising for you but you accepted her confession as you both started dating for quite a well

Now you two were in a hollow together, trying to find the other which I mean Billy and Nicole

After a while, Billy was found and went to find Nicole with you guys, finally you all were all together again

You guys were now in front of the strong box but was disturbed by something, you heard a noise that sounded like a Ethereal

You turned around to see an Ethereal sneaking up on Anby so you went in protective mode as you went to Anby to push her away as you took the hit instead as you went flying a couple feet away

"Name!" Your name was called out by Anby as she went up to you

"I'm fine, I'm fine" You smiled

Anby sighed as she helped you up

Looks like you guys have to fight a powerful Ethereal

But at least you were together

Billy Kid

Okay now this is a tough one, you and Billy have been together for a WHILE since you and him were obsessed with Starlight Knight so you guys met on one of those meeting things for the movie

Now you guys were together in a hollow, trying to find the other members of the cunning hares, Nicole and Anby

Billy kept his eyes open just in case for any Ethereal that might come charging at you and him, but for you were like a eagle, looking out for anything valuable or any threats that might come your way

You wanted to protective Billy and you knew he wanted to protect you, that's why you loved him, he was silly and goofy as well as amazing guy to hangout with

You and him would go on arcade dates and play snake duel at godfinger

It was always fun

You thought of those memories but stopped as you heard a noise that sounded like groaning and grumbling

An Ethereal

You turned around to see nothing but then turned to Billy to warn him but instantly noticed an Ethereal behind him, you went into fight mode as you ran up to the Ethereal

Billy thought you were going for a hug but instead

You wrapped your arms around Billy as you sliced through the head of the Ethereal making it go limp as it feel to the ground

You huffed through your nose

No-one hurts Billy, not even you

"Oh, so you weren't going for a hug." Billy whined

You chuckled as you hugged him "I protected you dummy"

"My hero"

Nicole Demara

This girl got you and her in a sticky situation, you guys were in a hollow for god knows how long all because of a box that she liked to call it the strong box

You guys were chased by a gang and sudden went into a hollow that wasn't far from the building you guys fell out of just because a helicopter shot at you guys for not caring who was in the building

But it looks like you were with your girlfriend which was good so you could keep a eye out for her

"Ugh, I never thought this would happen now we are stuck down here and the others are gone" She complained

You felt worried about Nicole, so you comforted her and said that you guys should keep going to find the others so she agreed

You kept your guard open and you knew there was a lot of Ethereal creatures in this hollow you guys were currently in

You kept your weapon in your hand just in case

After a few moments you heard many noises from your left side that was until a Ethereal attacked both of you

Looks like you two had to fight

During the fight, Nicole wanted to see if you were okay but didn't notice the Ethereal launching at her so you ran to her

You caught her with your arm as you hit the Ethereal in the blackhole looking head making it fall to the ground

You looked to Nicole to see if she was okay, but all you could see was Nicole's red face

You noticed the position you guys were in, as you had a arm aroudn her waist as your other had you weapon that was in the air, Nichole's body was leaning on your arm as she was caught just in time before she hit the ground

"You okay?" You asked, Nicole nodded as she hummed a yes

You smiled and chuckled a little

"Guess You fell for me~" You flirted as she pushed your face away as she started to whined about how close you guys were

"Okay, you're too close!" Nichole shouted

"Hun, We are literally dating"

"That's not the point!"

I finished this later than expected

-A<3

[radical-ghostface]

How do you think Sebastian would react after getting released/escaping Azkaban and finding out MC was pregnant when he got sent away?

Alright so i thought this was gonne be way harder. But i jumped on this so fast.

Warnings: A little angst. Implied depression/ptsd.

Obvious implied Sebastian × MC , implied Ominis x MC.

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

10 years. Its been 10 years since MC reported Sebastian for Solomon's death, getting him sent to Azkaban and ripping his heart out in the process. 10 years, and he was finally getting out. He thought about this day countless times. Though about getting to see MC and Ominis again. Thought about getting the revenge he deserved. Thought about ripping their hearts out. And now he finally could.

He may have to crucio a few people to get their location, but it was oh so worth it. His vengeance and hurt numbing him to others pain.

He walked up to their shared house. Oh how betrayed he felt. Is this why they sent him to Azkaban? The sheer idea of it setting him ablaze. They would get whats coming to them.

He peeked inside the window and was shocked at what he saw.

MC was braiding a little girls hair as she smiled happily, Ominis sat across from them.

In that moment all Sebastian could do was watch. His anger giving away to curiosity. Whos kid was that? Had they had a child together while he was rotting away in Azkaban?? The idea killed him and he found himself unable to breath. Not tonight. He can't do it tonight. But he resolved to come back tomorrow. He MUST have justice for what was done to him.

And he did return, the next night and every night after. But found himself unable to do anything but watch. Watch them from the outside while they were so happy together.

He did notice from all the watching that MC and Ominis didn't seem to be.. intimate. Their relationship seemed more like one of platonic soulmates. They were always there for eachother but not in the way MC and Sebastian were. But if that were the case then whos child is this? Who had MC had a baby with? Who would she? Other than Ominis, and that seemed to be very nuch not the case. The idea of MC with anyone else still set a fire inside him. After everything, even when she turned him in, he couldnt help but love her.

His thoughts were cut short

"Hi! Who are you?"

He turned around slowly to see the little girl hes seen every day for the past month

"Im.. and old friend of your parents"

"Nice to meet you! If you know my parents.. does that mean you know my dad?!"

He took a really good look at her face for the first time and noticed something.

She had curly brown hair and freckles all over her face. Brown eyes too. Curious.

"Ominis isn't your father?" He knew the answer to that already. Why did he even ask?

She laughed "no, of course not! Hes my uncle! He just stays with my mom to help out. She gets really sad sometimes"

He hated the idea of her being sad. How could he have ever wanted revenge? She didn't do this to him. He did it to himself. And he dragged her into it like he always did. He should leave them alone. Stop watching them. Let them be happy.

"Oh! My names Anne by the way! I just realized I never told you" she held her hand out to him.

Then it dawned on him. Oh merlin. How could he be so foolish. Anne..

"How old are you?" He asked taking her hand and shaking it lightly.

"Im 10!" She beamed.

It was like he was hexed. His mind swirling wildly. It can't be.. but it is.

"I.. i have to go. But it was a pleasure meeting you Anne"

He decided he would be back tomorrow. And not just to watch. He had missed enough. He wanted to be with his.. daughter. And MC, and Ominis. Every ounce of anger and betrayal gone. He would be back tomorrow.

[heich0e]

liv can u give me (a 22 year old young woman w anxiety) advice on how to be assertive w/o being a bitch bc i was in a situation where i spoke up for myself and I KNOW i seemed like a bitch and im trying not to let it bother me but its so hard 🥲🥲 ive been thinking abt it all day

a complex question!! first and foremost i think it's worth saying that being assertive (or communication in any form) is a skill that gets better with practice. you're still young!! and learning!! so don't beat yourself up for feeling like you didn't do something perfectly. speaking up for yourself at all is something that you should be proud of, and if there were elements of it you wish you'd done differently, all you can do is learn and grow from that

here are a couple of sorta general/vague tips that might be useful, but tailoring your communication style really depends massively on context (which i don't have for your specific situation)!!

use "i" language instead of "you" language - people tend to feel way more attacked and defensive if you frame your arguments around pointing out their actions, or making accusations. for example instead of "you hurt my feelings when you did that" say "my feelings were hurt when that happened."

stick to objective facts whenever possible, rather than subjective feelings or opinions - this isn't always helpful (because feelings are often the basis of a lot of conflict) but particularly in professional settings there will often be moments where you have to work through disagreement and an argument/assertion based on fact is a lot harder to poke holes in or discredit than one based on opinion or feelings

try to stay calm - listen i know this is the least helpful thing in the fucking world i could possibly say here, but from one girlie w anxiety to another: the sooner you can get ur body to stop recognizing uncomfortable conversations with the same sympathetic nervous system response as a hostage situation, the better. and it will happen!! exposure therapy is a real thing!! they might never be comfortable, but they will be easier!! and being able to approach these situations with a clear head makes a WORLD of difference. i always keep myself calm by assuring myself that i know what i'm saying is true and justified, and sticking to that.

avoid ad hominem defenses - sometimes it can be rly tempting to assassinate someone's character or discredit them just because of who they are, but the minute you do that you lose credibility yourself. stick to the facts!!

[unicyclehippo]

reminder to self: finish the dang wash prompt

[have read it too many times & now my brain is fried so that’s it!! im done!! for @possibilistfanfiction​ the ray fic as promised, i hope u enjoy it!! for everyone else, if you think you’ve read this before, that’s because the start is functionally identical to the thing i posted a few weeks back for the “wash” prompt]

//

you should have listened to your brother. 

the thought makes you shudder and you ignore it valiantly as you start your morning, because at the heart of it, that’s what you do: you’re a runaway. 

hop out of bed; don’t think about it. make breakfast in your tiny kitchen, the overhead light a little dim but bright enough against blue pre-dawn morning; don’t think about it. get ready for work, check the to-do list note in your phone twice to make sure you’ve got everything you need; don’t think about it. not thinking about it works just fine until, asshole that he is, he calls you as you’re climbing into the car. 

you think about ignoring him but as much as he ticks you off—and you know that the first or maybe last words out of his mouth are gonna be, when are you coming home, ray—it’s been three weeks since the last time you spoke and you miss him. plus, it’s not as if he’s wrong (ugh). it is lonely here, sometimes, and you have friends closeby but no family, and your stomach hurt all last winter because no one wanted to learn to surf when the water was fuck-off cold and the jobs you got to cover those in-between months didn’t ever last long enough, and he’s right about all of that but he’s wrong about it not being worth it. he’s wrong about you needing to come home, because there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here and maybe, yeah, maybe that makes you selfish or reckless or any of the other things he’d called you in anger, regretted quickly, but the smell of seasalt and smog clings to you and you feel good, healthy, when you swing into the drivers seat of your car and excitement swells up inside of you—like always, every morning without fail—because this was never about running away, not really, it was always about this. about running to something, about having a different home, about making a place where you feel right in yourself, braver and better too. maybe when you explain that to him this time, for what feels like the hundredth time, he’ll get it. 

you put the phone in its clip, up on the dash, and answer his call. 

‘hey,’ he says, voice gravelly with the early hour and the crackle of your shitty reception. ‘didn’t think you were gonna pick up. figured you were still ignoring my calls.’

god, you miss him. but he’s your brother so you won’t ever say that except under pain of torture, maybe. Instead, you say, tone clipped,

‘thought about it.’ it’s not helpful to be short with him but hell, you answered, didn’t you? It doesn’t fall on you to fix all of this. 

he sits with that for a second, then clears his throat. you can picture him clear as day: he’ll be leaning back against the counter of his kitchen, arms folded, face folded up as he listens hard to every word. there’ll be coffee brewing in a pot, and all the stuff for the kids lunches laid out ready for the assembly line. 

he tries again. you love him for this, you admire him for this—not that you’ll ever admit it to him. he never stops trying. 

‘you off to work?’

‘yeah.’

‘how’s that going?’

for a second, there’s another short answer on your lips. something terse, something not quite unkind but not welcoming or inviting. but then you think about him standing in the kitchen pre-dawn making your sandwiches, day after day, and glance to the passenger seat to your bag where you tossed the sandwich you’d made this morning in your tiny kitchen—exactly the way he used to make it, and makes now for his son and daughter—and instead you say, 

‘i have a new student.’

‘oh? kid or adult class?’

‘adult.’ 

there’s a smile in his tone, just exactly as teasing as when you were fourteen and admitted to having a crush on sophie perez (a year older than you and so much cooler), when he says, ‘is she pretty?’

‘oh, come on marco.’

‘what! i’m just asking.’

‘you’re just being nosy is what you are.’

‘sorry, sorry,’ he laughs. ‘but that’s totally a yes, by the way.’

you roll your eyes. there’s not really a word for what beatrice is. pretty, yes, absolutely. but it’s sneaky, the ways in which she’s really stunning, and even after three sessions teaching her how to surf you still feel kinda knocked around by her, not quite able to find your feet. she’s so composed, always, that it makes you feel awkward. listens so intently to your instructions and advice that under that close attention you feel singular, like the only person in the world. and, you don’t tell him, cannot tell your brother without seeming like the world’s biggest weirdo, you’ve seen her smile two and a half times. the half had been an accident; you’d turned to her at just the right moment to witness it—she’d been looking at nothing in particular, an empty spot on the beach, eyes gone wistful—but it wasn’t for you, and it wasn’t exactly happy, so it doesn’t seem right to count it as a full third. each time she smiles, it makes you want to see another with a fierceness that startles you. you are no stranger to want, nor attraction, and you know that makes up part of your fascination with beatrice but, if that were not enough, there is even more to her. 

all the rest, your brother could wheedle out of you eventually, but this is something you keep locked tightly away, something you have not ever spoken to him about. 

you should, eventually. you will (you might). 

the first time you met beatrice, spoke with her after wading up and out of the hissing surf, with her lingering on the outskirts of your lessons to “inquire how to take part”—she’d taken the sheet you’d handed her and filled it out right there and then in careful script, beatrice, she/her, twenty four, england, never surfed before, email, phone number, emergency contact, the last of which had made her pause for a long time—something in you had recognised something in her. grief, still painful, had welled up in your chest, nailed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, stung in your eyes powerfully that you’d had to turn away and run your fingers through your hair, dig your heels into the sand, step back into the wet sand and the water pooling around your ankles. the ocean takes away everything you’re not ready to feel; while you are out there, it holds you up, weightless. two minutes into talking with beatrice, you know that she wants the same thing. 

none of which you particularly want to tell your brother, so you say, ‘yeah, she’s pretty.’

‘single?’

‘i haven’t asked.’

‘you should.’

‘should i?’ 

pulling neatly into the park by the boardwalk—your favourite, for no particular reason other than this was the same one you always take, the same one you took the first day you came here, ended up here—you turn off the car but don’t make any move to get out. the engine quietens, then goes silent. marco fills the silence. saying things like how long has it been since you went on a date and you never know unless you try. you pull the keys from the ignition, toss them into the little waterproof bag you’ll take down to the sand with you. sunscreen, food, first aid kit. 

‘what happened to, it’s time to come home?’ you interrupt his teasing. 

he sighs. the line crackles, weirdly high-pitched, as the kettle begins to make noise on his end. 

‘listen, ray. i miss you. i’m not gonna pretend that’s not true, or that i don’t worry about you all the time. and with all the shit that’s been going on lately… i want you nearby. but asim said, and i guess he might be right, that i’m being overprotective. and an ass.’

you’ve thought similar things about him before. twice, just this morning. but hearing him say it, voice warm and tired and a little ashamed, makes you want to take the first plane home and hug him until all the weird, unsettled, lonely parts of you find their place. like all it’ll take to fix everything is a hug from your big brother. but you know that isn’t true. knowing it makes you feel a little old and sad. resolute too, because you’re good here, better than you were. you made this place for yourself and you’re filling it with good, important things. 

that’s far too many feelings for four a.m. so you say, ‘say asim was right again,’ and marco laughs. and then, because he was open first, and that makes it easier to follow, to admit to your own missteps, mistakes, you say, ‘i think about it all the time. coming home, i mean. i love you guys, and i do miss you guys, and you’re right. it’s hard out here. but…i love it. my life, the beach.’ he laughs again at that, which is fair. you could have said one or the other; the beach is your life, after all. ‘hey marco, i gotta go. before the waves get tired.’

‘yeah. yeah, i get it. hey - talk later?’

‘yeah. anytime.’ 

‘love you. be safe out there.’

‘always am. love you too.’

//

beatrice is waiting on the sand when you finally get down there; she’s not looking for you, just watching the sun rise, and you’re going to call out to her when something changes—maybe some ephemeral thing, little more than a change in the quality of the light when you take a step closer; maybe the way she’s holding herself, one hand folded over her wrist where you’ve seen the black ink in the divot of her wrist, delicate letters small enough that you haven’t been able to read it when you’ve snuck a peek or two before. whatever it is, you decide to give her a second on her own. 

the sand is hot on the surface and cooler beneath. you shift your weight, dig your feet down until the sand covers the tops of your feet, just to give yourself something to do. and then you stare out over the ocean and breathe. 

it’s beautiful. it’s so fucking beautiful. you’ve known this was where you were gonna end up since you were eight years old and your cousin gabriel had pinned a photo of it to your wall—no one will ever consider it a masterwork of photography, that old blurred snapshot of sand and water and the sun, and just a tiny bit of his fingertip, no one but you because it had been his and he gave it to you, because he’d stood on the beach—maybe this beach, maybe right where you are now—and loved it so much he’d taken a photo of it and you’ve got the proof of it (proof of him, always) tucked into a book on your bedside. 

‘good morning.’

you drag your eyes away from the sunrise—super gorgeous, thin wispy clouds like cotton-candy, pink in the sunlight, striped across the distant horizon, and everything shimmering in what, logically, you know is the smog haze but for a second it can just be beautiful too—to find that beatrice has wandered up to join you. she’s watching you with the attentive curiosity you’ve come to expect—warmer than polite, cooler than inviting. 

‘hey, morning. sorry i’m late—got caught up talking to my brother.’

she nods her understanding. it has a thoughtful tilt to it, or maybe questioning. ‘does he live elsewhere in the world?’

‘excuse me?’

‘it’s early for a call. is he in another timezone?’

you don’t think she’s interrogating you, or she doesn’t mean to interrogate you. you actually think she’s trying to be nice and show interest, so you say, ‘well, he’s home—mexico—so… i think it’s an hour later for him. something like that. but he’s a get-up-and-go kinda guy—has been, ever since i took up surfing. he used to drive me to the water when i was a kid.’

‘older brother, then.’

‘only by a couple of years.’ you roll your eyes, ‘that’s all he needs to get up in my business.’

‘that’s what brothers are for. so i hear.’

‘true.’ you think about saying something more, because all you want to do right now is keep talking to her as long as possible, preferably forever, but that urge seems like a you problem, and something that’ll get washed away the second you dunk your head in the water. ‘okay! hey - mind taking this board and i’ll run back for the other one?’

when you return with your board, hauled down off the roof of your car, beatrice has set her sandals neatly beside her tote a few meters up from the tideline where it’ll all stay dry. you dump your bag right beside hers and jog to join her, check her out with a quick look. of the wetsuit, that is, that you had advised her to buy if surfing was something she wanted to keep doing. 

she crouches, wets her hands, and secures the leash of her board carefully around her ankle. 

‘good job!’ you compliment, because it’s four-something in the morning and, yeah, it’s your choice to get up this early but that doesn’t mean you’re firing on all cylinders yet. you want to say something impressive and kind and get her eyes on you because she’s pretty and interesting but, here’s the thing, most of the time you’re teaching children so the compliment comes out the way you would say it to little jayla (eight years old and nervous about everything and therefore, in your opinion, the bravest little soul in the world for keeping at it). 

beatrice looks over at you, amused, and you earn your third full smile from her. 

she’s laughing at you, definitely, which you don’t mind, have never minded when it comes to girls; years of report cards scrunched at the bottom of your bag, with comments amounting to smart enough but needs to spend more time listening and less time clowning around for the girls will back you up in that regard. your mami despaired of your grades and your attention (or lack of it) and she had chided you then, sat you down at the kitchen table opposite her as you made dinner together for the whole family, splitting the excess. she scolded—and pressed a ripped piece of bolillo into your hand to tide you over to dinner—she lamented—and passed over a bowl, diced tomatoes, crisp and red—and she talked to you about hard work and the importance of school and respect for your teachers and you know now that it was all love, that loud bright kitchen and how she made you handle it all together, space and work and life; you didn’t have the words to explain then—though you remember trying, loudly—that you knew, or thought, you were only really any good at two things, that most of the time you feel like you’re sleepwalking through your life and it’s only when you’re out there in the water, or making your friends laugh, that you feel totally real and vital and incredible. 

here, today, beatrice’s eyes are on you and you’ve made her smile (laugh, even). you feel invincible.

you laugh at yourself. run a hand through your hair. ‘you wouldn’t believe how many people put their wetsuits on backwards, or don’t bother with the leg rope, so. really, you’re doing great.’

she shrugs very slightly, cheeks gone a little pink under the compliment, or the sunrise, or maybe—a girl can dream—your singular attention. ‘thank you, then.’

‘sure,’ you say, and, ‘i can get your zip for you, if that’s okay? it’s not quite all the way up.’

‘thank you, yes.’ 

she turns away from you so you can fix it and you do, immediately and without lingering. she has freckles across her shoulders; the teeth of the zipper tug closed, swallow up the sight of them. you think, briefly, about kissing her there on the back of her neck, her shoulders, of taking a zip between your fingers and pulling it down. 

‘how does it feel? i know the wetsuits can be weird at first.’

‘it’s fine. i’ve worn stranger.’

you desperately want to ask for details but, aside from her first name, you don’t know anything much about her except that she wants to learn surfing, and probably the first time you ask for more information shouldn’t be about what she’s worn, even though your brain is filled with all kinds of theories. so instead you swallow back a flirty comment—also she is paying you to teach her, you remember abruptly, and maybe you should wait until after the lesson to flirt with her—and nod to the water. 

‘let’s hit it, then.’

the sand is golden, and the ocean is starting to turn gold under the sunlight, and you feel a bit golden too. you think idly, self-indulgent, you want heaven to be like this. a golden beach, with everyone you’ve ever loved on it with you. you take it in—a great start to the morning—and, smiling, run forward into the water.

/

she’s lighter, after surfing. 

in your first few lessons, you weren’t sure whether it would be like that for her. it’s not the physical part—she’s obviously fit and athletic enough to be good at surfing (you’ve noticed); there’s this…relaxation isn’t the right word, meditative is close but too dramatic for your tastes.

it’s like this. you paddle out to the calm, past the small waves that break close to the shoreline, and sit on your board and wait, legs dangling in the water, fingers drifting over the surface of it. maybe you sit in silence, maybe you chat with your buddy. and then you pick out a wave and then there’s this feeling when the wave swells and you catch it just right—you’re a little outside of yourself, entirely out of your head, and you experience it totally, trusting the wave to carry you and your body to move the way you’ve taught it to. you thought, when you first met her, that beatrice was too contained for that, every movement so precise, so controlled, intentional and intelligent and totally present, always watched, always watching herself. if there’s anyone who needs to get out of their head, you thought then and think now, it’s beatrice. 

and now. it’s only been four lessons, four days of knowing her split up over a couple weeks. you’re sitting on your board, legs in the water, cold spray in your face. august and siti—a couple of the regulars, friendly, you talk sometimes enough to say hello at the least, and lent august your sunscreen last week when they forgot to pack some even though it is not cheap—are a decent way further out. you see a good wave start to roll in and before you can say anything to beatrice, she’s already spotted it and moving. you stay where you are, watching as she catches it alone so you can check her form and you see it happen. she pops up smooth and rides it all the way in. a second later, you’re searching for a wave you can catch and wave at her to stay; you tumble off in the shallows, not your most graceful wave ever, and rush up to her. beatrice is smiling (four and a half, you think, totally brainless), big and so pleased, and you can’t help but grin back at her. 

‘you felt it!’ you call out—accuse, almost—when you’re close and she laughs. slicks her hair back off her face with a trembling hand. 

‘i - i think - yes, i did, yes.’ she’s breathing hard, from excitement you think—she’s caught waves before, bigger ones even, but this is different and you can tell. it’s entirely confirmed when she reaches out, clasps your wrist, and smiles—all for you. (five and a half.) ‘thank you, thank you.’

‘yes,’ you say, a little brainless, a little helpless. ‘of course.’

(fourteen years old, madly in love with sophie perez and madly heart-broken when you spotted her hand-in-hand with some scruffy-haired unfunny boy, your cousin gabriel had driven far across town to pick you up and, ignoring the impressive sulk you’d sunken into, packed you into his car and took you to the beach. he hadn’t spoken to you at all while you cried into his shoulder, his arm thin and strong around you, holding you tight, a tether, and when you roughly scrubbed the tears off your shame-hot face, he’d smacked your hands away and pulled a pack of tissues from his bag, cleaned you up carefully. nodded when he was done, approving. and then he stood and walked knee-deep into the water, not seeming to care that he was in jeans or that you’d have to get back into his car in wet clothes. 

love is like the ocean, he’d said. 

you remember rolling your sore eyes because at fourteen years old you already knew that love wasn’t the ocean. love was enjoying all the same music and turning up early to class to get the seat across from hers and the way your heart sped up when you passed her in the hall and staying up way too late dreaming of ways to make her laugh in class the next day. but gabriel was your favourite so you listened carefully, and you’re thankful for that now because you can remember so much. his dark curls, the smudge of his eyeshadow, how cold the water had been on your skin, how warm his arm had been around your shoulders.

not everyone loves her the same way. some people stay for a day and then head back to the mountains. he’d paused. mountains are, i dunno, a loveless marriage in this metaphor. you’d laughed at him. some people paint it, or make movies, but they never swim in it. some people sail out in their nice boats and go fishing. take what they want from her and head back to dry land. but for people like us? gabriel wore rings on his fingers and a shirt, tight, in a dusky kind of orange. love for us is like the ocean. we could drown in it and it wouldn’t be enough. he had a boyfriend in the city, and was beautiful and proud and kind, and you’d looked out over the calm sea and thought the world must be really different for him, vibrant and strange and wonderful. you felt special, nestled into his side. 

people like us, he’d said, and you remember because you remember everything about that afternoon, that in amongst his kindness, he’d sounded sad.)

you’re not fourteen anymore. you love the ocean more than you love anything else. when beatrice smiles at you, your heart swells, crashes, drags you under. you love her, too.

/

‘i love surfing,’ you tell her later, pleasantly tired. 

you trudge up toward the car park, stumble a little at the tide-mark where wet sand turns dry and gives way under your weight. you swear under your breath; every spare moment of your life has been spent at one beach or another, and you’d think that would earn some kind of loyalty perk, like, never tripping over your feet in front of cute girls, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. but beatrice only laughs, kindly, and puts a hand out to steady you and you don’t need it but you take it, of course. beatrice is slimmer than you, and a little taller, and far more graceful; you wonder if she’s ever tripped over anything in her life. her hand is cool from the water and calloused and scarred, which you didn’t entirely expect but makes a kind of sense in the collage you’re putting together in your head of what little scraps of information she’s given you.

beatrice takes her hand back; you keep your observations to yourself. 

‘you love surfing,’ she prompts. and then, ‘i’m starting to love it too, i think.’

‘it’s okay if you don’t, i won’t think less of you,’ you say, only lying a little bit, which you think she knows because she arches an eyebrow in your direction. you grin back. ‘of course i hope you do. but if you’re only coming to lessons for my many charms, i completely understand.’

‘is it hard? surfing, with such a large head?’ she snarks, unimpressed but eyes bright.

‘god never gives us more than we can handle,’ you say, absolutely facetious, absolutely cocky. she looks away. you put “doesn’t like jokes about god” in the collage of beatrice and move on. ‘you thanked me. earlier. you don’t need to. you’re paying me, first of all,’ you tease, ‘but. i love surfing for what it is, for myself, out there alone. i love every bit of it. but the teaching part… i didn’t expect to love that. it’s turned out to be so cool. getting to know all kinds of people, introduce them to surfing. and the water, too, sometimes. watching them fall in love with…’ 

you stop at the rocks and look behind you. the strip of sand, the greedy suck of the tide crawling higher up the beach, the shimmering green-glass sea.

‘with all of that.’

you think about being embarrassed about your tone—way too sincere, way too holy—but when you meet her eyes you see she understand this, too: that holy can be found outside the cathedral, that hymns can be the raucous gull shriek and wave crash and breath. 

‘getting to partake, and teach, and do what i love every day? honestly my genuine pleasure.’

the words bring something complicated to her face. sad? wistful? a little angry, definitely. her eyes return to the view; you stay looking at her, not keen to lose whatever she might say to the crash and hiss of the waves. 

‘i wish…’ she holds herself still. she’s lost the lightness surfing brought her; you don’t know if it’s your fault, you hope it isn’t, or if it was never going to last very long for her. ‘i wish i had that.’

if you were thinking about it properly, you don’t know beatrice or her situation well enough to give advice. but you like her, and you want to be able to help, and you get the impossibly strong (if slightly uncertain) vibe of queerness absolutely radiating off her and that you understand. plus, surfing makes you brave—a little stupid in that invincible way, like nothing can hurt you, like nothing can truly go wrong, like anything that does go wrong can be fixed—so, picking up your board again, you head off toward your car once more and she follows. 

as you walk, you say, ‘i think you can have it. i think you can make it. joy, passions, a life you want to live… that doesn’t fall out of the sky, you know?’ she flinches at that but you keep going, since you already dove in. ‘most of the time, you have to work for it. all of the time, it’s about making decisions and figuring out what’s important. figuring out who you are—how you feel, how you want to exist, what you want to do. and then you have to find your way there.’ scraping your fingers through your hair, pushing it back out of your eyes, you take a second to think. ‘once you know the life you want to have, you can go out and get it. a little at a time.’

she stops where the sand hits concrete, which you get. the beach feels worlds away from reality, sometimes, and you get wanting to stay there as long as possible. everything seems smaller, compared to the ocean. more manageable. you stand there with her.

‘what if what i want is impossible?’

‘…damn. great question. i don’t know. set yourself an easier goal?’ that startles her, and for a moment you think it would have been better to be gentle or sincere but then she laughs, louder than before. god, you think, thank you for letting me meet her. thank you for letting me make her laugh. ‘i don’t always turn into a life coach and give unasked for advice after surfing, i swear. it costs ten bucks more for that package, if you want to spring for that next time, but hey, first one for free.’

‘perhaps i will. you seem to have all the answers.’

‘maybe not all of them but yeah, i know some stuff.’ you let sincerity bleed through, here, because you joke around but there’s something serious and seriously healing about being with other people, being able to be open and honest with them, and you can be that for beatrice, if she wants. 

‘what about you?’

‘what about me?’

‘you made the decision to come here,’ beatrice says, with that faintly accusing, faintly interrogative tone she gets. ‘why?’ 

ah. here is what your invincibility gets you—the sting of salt in your eyes; a heavy pressure against your head, your ears, like you’ve dunked you head beneath the waves and all you can hear is the slam of your pulse; and that feeling—one that doesn’t hit so often anymore—that you are just one little creature treading water at the top of the vast ocean, alone, with no one around to help you out. 

it only lasts for a few seconds. 

you’ve talked to people, on and off, for a few years. and you know how to ground yourself in the here and now—the heat of the sand, the sun on your shoulders, your hair drying into careless waves and curling a little around your ears, tickling your jaw, the taste of salt and lip balm when you lick your lips, the click of your wrist when you flex it. 

you step off the sand and into the parking lot, toward your car. for a minute, you work in silence getting your board up onto the rack; the work helps but the collar of your wetsuit is soaked and heavy, tight around your throat. when you turn back to help beatrice with her board, you grab for the zipper and tug it down an inch, let it slacken so you can breathe better. 

it has been a long enough delay in answering her that she’s starting to make assumptions, observations of her own. she also has the faintly horrified look of someone who has stepped in something gross—dog shit, or, in this case, brought up a more deeply personal conversation than she was prepared for—and looks like she’s searching desperately for a way to change the subject. but it was a direct question, an honest one and not unfair, not one you’re unhappy answering, so you say, 

‘when i say you make decisions, choices…things happen to us in life and we can’t control that shit. but you get to decide what to do after that. something… something kinda rough happened in my life.’ you look at her, and think of a grief so profound that you have to wear it on your skin. you flex your hands, and look down at the tattoo on her wrist that you still haven’t taken the time to examine, not visible under the sleeve of her wetsuit. ‘my cousin died,’ you tell her. ‘he was really important to me. and after that, i chose to come here. left my hometown, my family, and started again. i’d wanted to do it for ages and i guess i realised this was the only life i was gonna get. so here i am. and that,’ you say, tone much lighter, ‘is all you’re getting out of me this morning. you know how it goes—just a little of a great thing at a time. can’t risk you getting sick of me, can i?’ 

beatrice looks at you for a long moment, fingers resting on her wrist. eventually, she shakes her head, passes over her board. ‘i’m not sick of you.’’

‘oh yeah?’ you hoist up the board and fix it in place. when you look back over your shoulder, you mean to say something teasing but lose your head because she’s looking at you—your back, your arms. you flex a little more than you need to and her eyes dart to your muscles, your wrists, and linger on your tattooed hands. 

she turns away with pink cheeks you’re certain isn’t the sun’s fault. clasps her hands behind her back. 

‘thank you,’ she says, sincerely. ‘for sharing that with me.’

‘sure, of course.’ it’s not really an of course. you can count on two hands the number of people you would talk to about gabriel. but it’s an of course for her. you don’t think too hard about it. 

‘and for the lessons.’

that makes you laugh. ‘the ones you are paying for? you’re welcome.’  it’s kind of obvious at this point that she’s just looking for things to say, to hang out a little longer, and you take pity on her. and also, you want to spend more time with her too so, hey, works out perfectly. ‘if you’re not busy, if you don’t have to run off, maybe we can talk some more? i don’t have to be anywhere for a while and there’s this place down the road—a few minutes that way, walking distance, easy. decent coffee, great view. we could get coffee. breakfast, even.’

beatrice turns super slowly and stiffly to look in the direction you point. it’s a long, long moment before she looks at you.

‘as a date?’

‘hopefully, yeah.’

‘oh.’ her eyes dart around the mostly empty parking lot—it can’t be later than six, if that—and suddenly contained seems a little more like hidden. ‘I’m—that’s kind of you—’ she swallows. sets her shoulders, her jaw, and meets your eyes. ‘i have a partner.’

‘that makes sense.’ you wonder, briefly, what her partner is like. you hope they’re stoic and serious as beatrice is, because if they’re hot and funny like you it’ll be vaguely devastating. maybe you’ll get to meet them. ‘as friends, then.’ beatrice hesitates. ‘would your partner be cool with that?’

beatrice smiles again, one of those not-for-you smiles. you think again, more fervently, that you’d like to meet her partner—they must be something seriously special to have captured beatrice’s attention, first of all, but to get her to smile like that… 

‘she’d be delighted, actually.’ she touches her wrist and nods. ‘yes. thank you. i - we - can do that. get coffee.’

she makes it sound revolutionary, like she’s never had coffee before, which you know is not the case because you’d mentioned, offhand, that if one more goddamn politician or bank twitter account advised people to save money and make coffee at home you were gonna lose it, and she’d agreed that she preferred homemade tea and store-bought coffee, and mentioned an article she’d read on how coffee was produced and how it worked, which she though was “quite interesting” and when she forwarded it to your e-mail it wasn’t a think piece like you’d been expecting but rather a fourteen page research article, peer-reviewed, on the social aspects of caffeine consumption, or something like that. there’s genuine nerves in her rigid posture, and you think of how revolutionary, world-changing, bold, fucking terrifying and a little bloody it’s been to get here, where you’re standing now. 

‘cool. if you’ve got time after, there’s this surf shop—it’s a bit of a hike but,’ you flick your eyes to the cloudless blue sky overhead. ‘nice day for it. we can look at a couple of boards for you. i’m happy to go with you, help you find something good. borrowing a board is fine while you’re learning but it’ll be easier and feel better when you’ve got one that’s properly suited to you.’

she nods seriously, the way she always does when you talk about surfing, student to teacher. ‘i - would like that.’ 

‘yeah? awesome, alright!’ 

//

the cafe is a decent size and decently popular, which normally makes it hard to get a seat sometimes but today is a day of miracles and a couple is clearing out right as you get in, freeing up a table in the laneway. it’s in a good spot, shaded by one of the wide umbrellas and not in the way of the servers, so you sit sideways in your chair and happily stretch out your legs, pluck off your sunglasses and hang them off the collar of your t-shirt. opposite, beatrice tucks herself into her seat prim and proper, no surprises there; what does surprise you is how still she sits and how, even though you know that she agreed—wants—to be here, it’s like she’s trying to go invisible. 

the server who brings out your drinks is young and harried, doesn’t even pause when you thank him. you’d ordered an espresso, and beatrice had asked for the same, but now she’s staring down at it doubtfully.

‘did you want something else?’

she shakes her head no. ‘i’d like to try it. this is your preferred coffee?’

‘my abuelo makes the meanest espresso you’ve ever had. this is water in comparison.’

‘oh.’

‘but it’s a nice place and i like the beans they use here. i really should ask what their blend is one of these days but,’ you shrug. ‘i don’t have a machine at home so what’s the point, right?’

she nods. picks up the little cup and sips at it. immediately, her nose wrinkles and her lips twist and her perfect posture breaks for a second as she bodily fights the urge to say, presumably, judging by her grimace, ‘yuck!’ she lowers it but doesn’t set it down, like it would be impolite to abandon it immediately, and watches with the tiniest grimace as you drink it happily. 

‘not for you?’

‘at risk of sounding like a stereotype, i am more of a tea drinker. this is…rather a powerful taste.’ she looks a little guilty setting it back down. ‘do you mind if i order something else?’

‘no, course not. but i might judge you on what you get,’ you tease, grinning, and she just rolls her eyes, nods. you split your attention between enjoying the morning and watching the line creep forward until she’s at the register, shake your head when she folds another note into the tip jar. 

she comes back to the table with another coffee—an oatmilk latte, with lavender of all things—and, as promised, you tease her gently about it.

‘really settling in, aren’t you? very LA of you,’ you say, and pretend to gag. ‘lavender. gross.’

beatrice smiles over the lip of her cup, shakes her head. ‘your favourite drink tastes like battery acid, i don’t think your opinion counts.’

‘ouch.’ 

‘you mentioned your abuelo,’ she says. ‘do you have much family?’

talking about family is easy, even if beatrice does make it a little of an interrogation—she gets everyone’s names and ages, nodding with this intense look in her eyes like she’s filing it away somewhere in her brain, like if you never spoke again and ran into each other in ten years she would still remember. you don’t have anything to hide, happy to tell her: yes, you’ve been here a while, a little over five years; surfing has always been your favourite thing to do; no, it’s not your only job, you have a very boring desk job but the boring bits are compensated by the fact that you get to work from home and your boss is kind of amazing about letting you take your afternoon run down to the beach and back; yes, you’re queer, you’ve known forever and so has your family, and yes they’re fine with it, very supportive, and they love you the same as they always did after you came out. 

‘barely needed to, really. my mami said she knew since i was like ten, eleven, maybe. all because i followed my tennis coach around like a duckling, which makes sense because i can’t think of why else i would play tennis, it fucking sucks.’ beatrice sips guardedly at her coffee, looking away, and it’s so carefully inoffensive that you have to laugh. ‘tell me you don’t love tennis, beatrice, please.’

she shrugs carefully. ‘i’ve enjoyed it in the past. both playing and spectating.’

you groan. ‘no, beatrice! christ.’

‘it’s an olympic sport—‘

‘it’s dead boring,’ you insist.

beatrice frowns at you, considering. ‘you’re bad at it,’ she announces after a moment, very confident. ‘if you were better at it, perhaps you’d enjoy it more.’ you laugh, shrug a little, because she’s hit the nail on the head. she continues, ‘to its credit, tennis has serena williams, the most incredible athlete—‘

‘messi.’

‘team sport,’ she counters, and you cede the point with a nod.

‘certainly she’s the greatest tennis player of all time—‘

‘oh undoubtedly.’

‘—and it’s also one of the only sports that pays men and women equal prize money, and has mixed competitions.’

‘great points,’ you allow. ‘and yet, somehow it’s still fucking boring.’ beatrice fully scowls, shaking her head, and you have to ask, ‘are you rethinking being friends with me?’ 

she relents after a moment. sets down her drink with a sigh. ‘we can be friends,’ she tells you after a moment. ‘so long as we’re on the same page regarding serena williams.’

‘i’d love to regard serena williams.’

‘you should watch tennis, then,’ beatrice tells you bluntly, and smiles, pleased, when you laugh hard at that.

‘okay. you know everything about me now so what about you?’

‘what about me?’

you push a hand through your hair, ruffle it; her eyes follow the movement, your hands, and then she stares down at her coffee. ‘how long have you been in LA?’ 

‘a month. perhaps a little less.’

‘and you came here because…?’ when she hesitates, you say, ‘wait, wait, let me guess—you’re going to be in movies, right?’ she laughs like that’s ridiculous—even if one in five people you meet here is an aspiring actor, and none of them as compelling or, honestly, attractive as beatrice is—and relaxes. ‘ok, not movies. tv?’

‘no, i’m not here to act. i’m here to…’ she picks up a knife off the table, turns the cutlery smoothly between her fingers. ‘settle, i suppose. i’ve been travelling for some time.’

‘oh yeah? where to?’ 

it takes a little nudging for her to get going but when she does, she speaks very sincerely of the world, of its people and religions, of sights natural and man-made. she’s light on details but you can tell that the travel was important and life-changing, which you sort of understand. you haven’t been many places but every town away from where you grew up felt like a whole new world, like freedom, and you can only imagine that beatrice’s travelling was like that but no doubt on a far grander scale. 

‘and your partner? what are they like?’ you ask, and immediately know that you’ve fucked up, because beatrice looks abruptly striken. ‘sorry, i -‘

‘no. it’s fine. she - ‘ a little of the horror in her fades the moment she says she, like even the thought of her partner is enough to soothe, but most of it stays. she picks up one of the paper napkins, twists it harshly between her fingers. ‘she’s sick.’

sick, she says, voice thick, unsteady. it occurs to you that she’s lying, trying to soften the blow or maybe deny it to herself again, but beatrice doesn’t seem like a liar. you choose to believe her. this is what it was, you realise. the source of that grief you’d felt, seen, ever since you first met her. you recognise the grief in her eyes—loss, fear, confusion too, like she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself. you remember that. the fog, the ache, when he was gone like an organ removed and your life having to close and heal around the lack. trying to find something that filled in that empty space, or fit enough that it didn’t hurt so much. 

love for us is like the ocean. that’s true for you, then and now. you don’t think it’s the same for beatrice. 

there’s love in every part of her—the joy and the waiting, the grief and the hurting—and there’s a cross around her neck that drags low, heavy, and there are words on her wrist that stand out stark against her skin and you think for beatrice love is like religion, holy, dedicated, faithful. you’re terrified that she’s waiting for a miracle that will never come; you hope, of course you hope and will pray for it tonight, that she gets it.

it’s also far too much to consider on a weekday before coffee, and you’ve already planned to keep her in your life in whatever capacity you can, so. you can talk about it later. 

‘oh. that’s -’ beatrice looks like if you say another word she’s gonna bolt; if she does, you’re not sure that she’ll come to her next lesson, even if she has already paid for it. instead of condolences or well wishes, you say, ‘do you wanna hear about the time i hopped a fence and ripped my pants? right in the butt.’

she wasn’t expecting that in the slightest, obviously. a small smile curls her lips upwards and she resettles, looking dramatically less like she’s going to flee. ‘yes. that sounds very amusing.’

‘it’s funny now, sure, but back then? first of all, i got teased a lot. and second, it fucking stung,’ you bemoan, grinning when she looks a little unsure of whether this was, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. she relaxes a little more and you thank god and your parents and brother that you get to be the person you are, someone who can make other people laugh. that’s not a bad life–surfing at the beach, a boring job, and making your friends laugh? not bad at all. 

‘sounds like a pain in the ass.’ beatrice says, looking very pleased with her joke when it makes you groan, which is a lot better than her looking devastated. ‘what happened?’

‘usual idiot kid stuff. playing footy with my brother, kicked the ball over the neighbours fence. i thought i could jump it, get it back for us, and i did. mostly,’ you add after a tiny pause. then, slyly, you say, ‘the only reason i didn’t rip my boxers and my pants is because i was going commando.’

‘no.’ 

‘better a cut up my ass than ruining my good boxers,’ you wink, and beatrice laughs.

it’s just as easy as that to turn the conversation to lighter topics. she knows what you’re doing—you can tell, because her smile is occasionally too grateful than is deserved for just a chat over coffee—but she allows you to do it, and all too soon it’s been an hour and she’s buying you a second coffee, takeaway this time, and tipping, like, two hundred per cent with the most pristine notes you’ve ever seen tucked away in this slim handsome wallet, and you’re walking lazily, slowly back the way you’d come toward the beach. it’s not really a surprise that she declines the offer of heading to the surf shop—she still seems a bit unsteady after the mention of her partner—and you’re a little worried that she’ll disappear from your life now so you slow your pace when you see your car, twirl your keys around your finger. 

‘what is it, ray?’ she asks, a touch cautious but mostly good-natured, curious. 

‘busted. i was just thinking… you have a partner—major bummer, by the way,’ you tease, which is a fucking risk, but she manages a tiny smile. ‘mostly for you, because i was gonna ask you out and it would’ve been a good time, i know all the coolest places in LA.’ her cheeks go a little pink but she’s still smiling, so, ‘so despite being heart-broken, i’m going to this party tomorrow night. just a small thing, house party with a bunch of folks i go surfing with. you’ll probably meet most of them, if you keep up the dawn patrol, but it might be nice to get to know them out of the water. y’know, wearing clothes.’ much more seriously, much more sincerely, you tell her, ‘it’s absolutely cool if you want to be with your partner, or if you’re not going out much, but i wanted to invite you anyway. i think you’d enjoy it. very casual scene—music, some beers, a disproportionate amount of queer folk. plus, i’ll be there looking hot, that’s always a plus. you can be my wingwoman!’

beatrice frowns, considering her words carefully. ‘my partner is… she’s in a speciality hospital so i don’t get to visit her. i - promised her i would have some fun,’ she tells you, fingers brushing against her wrist. in this life, you’ve managed to read now, sitting opposite her for an hour in the morning sunlight, drinking coffee that almost tastes like home, sitting in a body and a life that entirely feels at home, and you look across at beatrice and see someone who is almost there. almost certain, almost sure, almost happy. ‘yes,’ she says, after taking a bolstering breath. brave, you think, with sudden fondness, protective. it comes to you, a splinter of a memory, being afraid of the ocean; gabriel plunging in ahead of you with such joy that you forgot. ‘yes,’ she says again, ‘i’d love to come to the party.’

‘amazing!’ 

‘and, while i find it difficult to imagine you would have a problem finding people to go on dates with you, yes, i will be your…wingwoman, if you require it. what is the dress code?’

‘too hot for leather, unfortunately,’ you tease, and have the extreme delight of watching beatrice stumble over literally nothing, ears going pink. so, so valiantly you manage to not comment on it. instead, you say, ‘wear whatever makes you feel good and happy. hot, if you want to feel hot. that’s always the rule.’

‘you get to decide what you do.’ it takes you a second to place her words—they’re your words, from this morning, which makes you smile because she’s quoting you, very seriously and kindly like that actually helped her, maybe. ‘i do best with rules, or a guideline,’ she mutters, but sets her shoulders and nods, decisive. ‘i’ll find something to wear. you have my number.’

‘from your form, i do, yeah. it’s cool if i text you?’

‘yes.’

‘alright. awesome, i’ll pin the address for you.’

‘good.’ 

beatrice walks you all the way to your car, shakes your hand like you’ve just concluded a job interview, and then continues on quickly. she’s got a white-knuckle grip on the handle of her tote bag and walks away with this quick, neat stride that makes you feel self-conscious about your own walk, like maybe you’ve been doing it wrong for your whole life. more importantly, there’s about a thirty per cent change that beatrice will actually turn up at this party but you’ve hoped for things with worse odds that were way less important to you than this, so you easily, recklessly hope that she’ll turn up. 

//

the likelihood of beatrice actually showing up is still low, you remind yourself, even though she had texted this morning to accept and had thanked you very sincerely - and formally - for the invitation. the uber drops you off on the corner where you had agreed to meet and you hop out, saying a cheerful goodbye to your driver, rajeev, who had taken one look at you and nodded and switched his playlist to something titled GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS which…accurate. he totally earned his five stars and you’re clicking through to leave a quick review—clean car, GREAT music—when beatrice calls your name. 

‘hey! you came!’

beatrice strides up the street to join you. the timing of her arrival three seconds after yours is odd enough that, for a second, you wonder if she’s been waiting and for how long. then, you get distracted by beatrice in her gay ass outfit—lightwash jeans, loose, that fall to her ankles; a soft-looking crewneck, blue; and birkenstocks that are either brand new or excruciatingly well-cared for, with not a speck of dirt on the white sandals—and realise you’ve made a huge mistake. there’s no way beatrice can be your wingwoman. every queer woman in this house will flock to her and her damn british accent and her freckles and her polite, comfortable, slightly masculine air, and the way she looks at everyone like they’re important. god. beatrice is devastating at four in the morning in a wetsuit, hair slicked back with ocean water; she’s devastating now, with the sleeves of her crew folded just once, precisely, enough to show off the dip of her wrists, and her hair pinned up in a pristine bun. 

she stops mid-step, looks you up and down, and you stop calling yourself an idiot long enough to preen. with beatrice coming tonight, you felt like getting a little dressy and picked everything with slightly more care, ending up in a satin-type top you’ve tucked into high-waisted pants. it drapes open rather handsomely almost to your belly button—you’ve only done up half the buttons tonight, because you believe sincerely in being god’s gift to women and it’s your duty to parade around with a little skin showing, enough to tantalize. maybe a little slutty, just for fun. you’ve got a few chains hanging around your neck, and some rings on your fingers. 

‘oh, i am gay,’ beatrice mutters when she gets a good look at you. ‘sorry - that’s,’

you wave off her apology or whatever she’s going to say, because a compliment is a compliment and that is a damn good compliment, especially coming from her. 

‘delighted to be of service, honestly. any time you need reminding.’ you stroll over to greet her properly—not a hug, but an obvious once over, so she can see how much you approve of her look too, and then a tap to her elbow in hello—and she examines you a second time, looking marginally less embarrassed to get caught. this time, her eyes linger on your necklaces; no, your cross. 

‘catholic?’ 

‘born and raised. you?’ 

she only nods, lips pursed. glancing around, she says, ‘the party is around here?’

‘yeah. oh, yeah, it’s on this street. one minute walk, maybe two.’ she looks a little confused and you admit, ‘i wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to come. i wanted to meet up with you first, make sure you were comfortable.’

rather than being offended, beatrice relaxes. ‘that’s kind of you.’

‘well, i want you to have fun. it will be fun,’ you insist, and start in the direction of luis’s place. ‘i’ll take care of you tonight, i promise—you can drink, if you want, or smoke. no pressure. i’ll stay sober anyway. but what i really want is to introduce you to my friends, i really think you’ll like them.’

‘because we’re all queer?’ beatrice guesses, a note of something odd in her tone. it’s not suspicion, but something akin to it. 

‘yeah, sure. i know what it’s like moving to a new place and not knowing anyone, it’s rough. especially for us,’ you say, light on the emphasis but apparent enough that beatrice looks at you again, and nods to herself. ‘but aside from being queer, i just really think you’ll like them. luis is the one hosting tonight. they’re super smart, they’re finishing a phd in anthropology, movement in borderlands—oh, and they will offer you weed every half hour but that’s not you, and you don’t have to accept, it’s just their idea of hospitality.’ beatrice nods very solemnly. you can practically hear the information being locked away in her brain and the image makes you smile. ‘it’s this one, up ahead.’

as promised, the party is pretty chill—low lights, not too packed, good music. it’s a really nice night and there are a few folk standing around on the porch, drinks in hand; when you get in, you’ll probably find most of the guests have spilled out into the back yard. plus, you’re only a few streets back from the beach—based on the last few parties luis has hosted, the beach is where you’ll end up in a few hours. 

beatrice stops outside the house, stares in through the open door. she touches two fingers to her wrist. you stand with her, beside her, and part of you aches because you know that there is someone else who should be here, who she wants very badly to be here, and it seems terribly unfair that something this simple - a party, new friends, the distant sound of the ocean - isn't simple at all.

‘all good?’

‘thank you,’ she says, softly. ‘for inviting me. and don’t say you need a wingwoman because i sincerely doubt that.’

you grin. run a hand through your hair in a way that makes you look particularly douchey, according to your ex. ‘thanks. i appreciate that. and no, i don’t need a wingwoman but it can’t hurt... except if the girls hear that accent, actually,’ you say with a thoughtful frown, like it’s only occurring to you now that beatrice is hot. you step in front of her like you’re blocking her way to the house, even as you back up toward the house, the party. ‘this is bad, i’ve made a huge mistake, you gotta go,' you insist, teasingly.

beatrice laughs and follows you in.

[sunnnfish]

Due to the mental anguish I am rambling about tbhk. I WAS going to put this under a readmore but that keeps breaking the post on mobile so. Im sorry. Tons of spoilers for chapter 99. And like the whole series. You know how it is.

I feel like I need to make an itemized list because there’s so fucking much I need to talk about right now

The violence and parallels to tsukasa. I mean who can forget tsukasa prying mitsubas mouth open to feed him number 3s heart. Who knows what tsukasa’s intentions were but they weren’t necessarily bad— as we know now mitsuba needs to eat to survive plus number 3 was like a pretty big power boost that would keep him together for a longer time. So he likely just wanted mitsuba to live comfortably. BUT ALSO there’s the beginning of the chapter where tsukasa tells mitsuba to dig the heart out himself vs kou who gets it for him. Anyways. With kou here it clearly came from a similar place of wanting mitsuba to not disappear. There’s a desperation to it and fear and it’s one I personally actually know quite well. I’ve dealt with friends refusing to eat and take care of themselves and it is a violent frustrating feeling that just ends with crying after the anger fades. There’s a lot of confusion like. Why do you not care about yourself as much as I care about you. Anyways. His actions make a lot of sense to me bc I have felt and done the exact same things.

Me core ^

and THEN there’s mitsubas feelings of wanting to be fucking exorcised and going to the fucking minamoto household to do it there’s so much here hang on. Like. I think he went to the minamoto house for some sliver of hope. If he wanted to for sure disappear he probably could’ve waited it out or something better but he went to the place where, depending on who answered the door, he’d either die or be faced with fucking. Kou minamoto. And the fact the he chose to reveal himself to kou it’s like. Did you really want to disappear. Did you really. And then taking him out on a fucking date basically like. You don’t want to disappear do you. You just don’t want to be. This. He wants to be human. He wants someone who will understand him and. And. Kou so readily accepts and understands him. Even the parts he thinks are ugly or unworthy. Fuck.

AND THEN. Kous feeling of inadequacy and fearing that mitsuba trusts tsukasa more than him and connecting to the vision he saw in the red house. Whether he accepts it or not he wants mitsuba to need him. The red house showed him a mitsuba who told him that he needs kou that he wants kou to be a supernatural with him and he brushes it away knowing mitsuba would never say that to him. He tells himself that mitsuba would never trust him or want him like that but he wants it to be real and he’s still hurt when the real mitsuba won’t open up to him. And it all comes back to his overall self worth issues of wanting to be strong and dependable and worthy.

AND this is all under the context of Teru finally letting kou have some responsibility and telling him to go exorcise the low level spirit that came near their home and AaaaaAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUU. KOU MINAMOTO……..

God its just. Kou minamoto cares about mitsuba so so so much and neither of them completely understand the gravity of it all. Also at this point hes said like 3 times that mitsuba is the root of all his worries. ALSO dont even get me started on the art and expressions this chapter. It’s so gorgeous like as always but. God. Also the keychains. Im gonna[blaring truck horn]

ALSO the way mitsuba says at the end like ‘you’d be lonely without me’ or whatever and kou almost looks shocked for a second like. Oh. And its like he thinks about it more and cries more because yeah, he would be lonely. He’s been lonely. Mitsuba somehow inexplicably became like his closest friend that knows everything about him and god he was lonely when mitsuba disappeared. The first time and the second. And he’s barely had time to process any of it because to everyone else around him mitsuba doesnt really. Matter. And because kou is so kind he is always putting everyone else’s problems in front of his own. The severance happens and it becomes a journey to help nene bring hanako and aoi back—next to no mention mitsuba aside from the leads to the red house, much less trying to find and save him too. The whole time theyre in the boundary to the far shore its all about hanako and nene and number 6. And there’s STILL the conversation about how to become a supernatural that he brought up with nene but noooooo we cant ever know anything about what kou wants. And like. It all comes back around this chapter because he so so selfishly wants mitsuba to live. One of the only things he lets himself want. And it aches. God. I wish i was any good or natural at prose writing because god the things i would write about minamoto kou. AND TO TOP IT OFF HES LIKE FUCKING 14 YEARS OLD…. Okay. Okay im done.

[not-poignant]

Ok i cant keep it in my soul for any longer. WHY ARENT MORE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THE GOLDEN AGE THAT NEVER WAS?? i know its a bit of an older fanfic now but I’ve read all your stories and all your fanfics (im absolutely obsessed btw) and never in my life have i ever seen anywhere such chemistry as between TGATNW Pitch and Jack. That fanfic altered my brain chemistry, remoleculerized my being and changed my life trajectory. If you have any, just ANY scraps of tgatnw pitch/jack content that you forgot about or something, just know theres at least one person out here thats feral for it. (I would die for a pitch perspective of any kind)

(Also tgatnw pitch kind of reminds me of utb gary??? In the way that they’re both most peak alpha males i can think of)

Hi hi anon!

Tbh people were talking about it a lot more when I was writing it! You can always check out the TGATNW tag for the kinds of things we were talking about and the fanart and stuff :D

I have such a soft spot for that fic though, like, I think it's probably my favourite thing I ever wrote for The Rise of the Guardians, and it has some of my favourite worldbuilding. It's one of those 'wow I really should've put 80% of that story and worldbuilding into an original novel because I think it would've done something good for my writing career' but I'm also very chuffed that it gets to be something in fanfiction that we all just get enjoy however and whenever we want. :D

Unfortunately I'm a very WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get) author in that I don't write lots of drafts or scraps of things and leave them on my computer. If I have something that's worth sharing, I will find a way to share it!

And yeah I definitely have different character archetypes I like writing, and Pitch is very similar to Gary! Even down to both of them having lost a loved one and walling themselves off emotionally to any new relationships as a result of that, and hurting the people around them because of it. Literally such a *clenches fist* baller archetype :D I'm definitely not done with it!

[thisdreamplace]

hello 🍁 non again! Haha!

I wanted to talk about nondual and realizing your beyond words sentances and labels.. and wanted to know what you thought of thus

I feel like people tend to overcomplicate or even telling people to mediate for several hours and even take substances to achieve this ego death..but truly we are always aware and meditating , we are meditating right now , I feel my fingers touching the iPad… i see the letters typing one by one.. or people are even too harsh on others , we’ve been bound by the “ego for so so long” but realizing the ego is just as scared as you are , using the resources it’s using , you start to give yourself grace and to slowly let go and go, it takes a while to surrender but truly , it’s worth it. Taoism and no dual pair very well together , you are all there every is you are no-thing , everything and all. You are love in its purest form , you are the silence between moments , you are the laughter in sunny days. You are the cry we always needed. You are always being perfectly guided, everything you go through is for a reason. that’s what I do..example the break up between me and my ex was so hard , I was able to cry but realizing I’m ,being guided , helped, ofcourse I cried , ofcourse I was sad and you need to process your emotions with love , no matter how long it takes your being perfectly guided in your journey always. from that breakup I made so many friends and found myself and I, forever greatful ofcourse I’m so sad it’s over , but maybe it had to happen.

I think the best to know and start disconnecting with conceptual labels is to realize you are not bound to anything , you can label yourself however , because your beyond.. labels are created by us , we created all these concepts because we enjoy putting things in boxes, I don’t even go by a name , or even a gender , sexuality because I disconnect myself with labels , bc I don’t need them at all..not because I’m too good for them , but forever and ever realizing that all of these are concepts you can disconnect from them and let go and trust “god” you are the purest form of love , your kindness incarnated into a psychical form.

it takes so much grace , you done need to do anything except realize your true beauty , love is always the way , once you realize you are simply love but yet so unique and beautifully created and labels cannot even imagine and begin to describe your ever so beautiful soul. You will find peace

You will still cry , get upset and go through grief. But it gives you grace , I am being guided but it’s okay to still be hurt. You are beautiful

I hope I phrased this right , love 🍁

hiiii my 🍁 anon~ everytime i read a message from you now i'm really happy. your expression is so beautiful!

i think your understanding of everything is so wonderful, and its fully on point. all of those things are true, and even more your willingness to allow and let go, truly is what keeps you moving forward. your willingless to trust, is truly admirable. and its important in all of this. we have to be willing to take control, by giving it up. if youre not new here, you know that this world works in paradoxes, and its always the most simple and even opposite things, that truly are what brings in magic

i love everything you said!! because we are so beyond all of these things that we believe ourselves to be, that we choose to be trapped by. sometimes i see those who wonder why nothing ever works for them, but they have never been willing to let go of all they have believed themselves to be, down to the way society sees them and down to the way they even see themselves.

it truly does take grace and patience, and you are right when you say we just need to focus on love, on the truth within us. we dont need to do anything else. it took me a long time to realize i dont truly need to heal from anything. if i just focus on love, i naturally begin to heal. no more making sure im this way or that way before i'm perfect or ready. just realizing love now, and choosing it now, in each moment that i can, is truly enough. love is always enough

thank you so much for sharing these lovely words and thoughts <3

[catboygirljoker]

Genuinely curious; you got any headcanons for like random eccentricities/foibles for the Org13 or anyone else?

regrettably most of my headcanons tend to be on a broader characterization/thematic level, ideas about how characters relate to each other and the world and themselves. the droves and droves of hyperspecific headcanons i have about xigbar are primarily from turning him over in my hands so many times trying to figure out what the Fuck is going On with him. i dont really get deep into the weeds of little details until i feel i have a strong idea of who a character is as a person

i have got a random grab bag of headcanons here for ya, though i think theyre not exactly what you had in mind. i tried to avoid mentioning xigbar as much as possible because if i didn't it'd just turn into a xigpost.

in order from mostly a joke to more serious and thought out:

dark riku is a teenage reddit atheist type who disguises his discomfort with swearing by claiming that people only swear if their vocabularies arent big enough to come up with something smarter to say. vanitas is an undiagnosed untreated unsupported AuDHD problem child who swears every other word and plays with lighters and knives. they cant be left alone in a room with each other because they Will try to kill each other.

there have been way more organization members than we've seen, like, maybe there were originally 13 org members. axel just killed all the others so saix would rise in the ranks. the only people we see in the org either dont pose a threat or are taken out as soon as they do. everyone always asks "how is demyx in the org if he's so lazy?" when the answer is that he survived because he's lazy.

(xigbar is the one exception in that he's definitely a threat, but he's frustratingly difficult to blackmail or kill or otherwise neutralize. xaldin is a follower more than a leader and dedicated to his duties; lexaeus the same. vexen doesnt want power, hes just here for science, he just wants funding. demyx ive mentioned. luxord's just here to play poker. and well we see what happens to the rest.)

saix directly modeled himself after xemnas and is as devoted to him as axel is to saix. i feel like if you compare isa's hair in bbs to his hair in 2+, you can make the argument that saix has styled his hair to resemble xemnas's. in 3 we see him in full berserk mode standing obediently at xemnas's heel without budging an inch as he watches his best friend get hurt.

(worth noting that i imagine we are meant to understand that saix is just, like, a good employee, he wants power in the org so he works hard to attain it and is obedient in pursuit of that. i think there are even scenes were it seems like saix doesnt fully trust xemnas. but i like making it fucked up and dependent. sue me)

xemnas doesnt really feel like hes entirely there. you look into his eyes and its like hes looking a little past you. hes a shell of a shell of a shell, the nobody of a botched possession who had vague experiments done on him. all he seeks and all he cares about is kingdom hearts and he barely remembers why. the only time he's actually present or displays any concrete personality or will is when he's exerting that will over someone. contrast the spacey floatiness of any of his long-winded monologues with how suddenly laser-focused he is on destroying axel in 3.

i made a post where i reference the platonic threefold structure of the soul [boo hiss]—if xemnas is just the Head and Belly, divested from the chest, nothing but pure carnal hunger for kingdom hearts and the higher logical means of attaining it, ansem SoD is just the Chest, the irrational emotional yearning for kingdom hearts. thats why he has nothing to do with the org or xemnas, he's kind of a rogue element doing his own thing. since he's the inverse of xemnas, the two of them cant work together, the same way you couldnt play a chess game with a rabid dog

anyway thank you foibles anon ! i hope you like this post anyway even if im sure its not what you expected

[roxyzwritez]

pearlrose content

wanna see how ive been writing all these episodes? spoiler: it was not written with the intent to be read. but its really cute if you can get past and decipher my writes. (also im not 100% sure i like how i did this. may redo this one.) pls feedback. also @rosenotactuallyquartz i think you may like this ((im sorry abt the near daily tags))

under the cut so dashes don't get flooded

greg wakes up. gets coffee. gets breakfast. sits outside. frown.

rose floats over.

rose: good morning greg!

greg: hey rose.

rose: what's the matter? :(

greg: i was hoping you wouldn't ask.. im not doing great.

rose: why is that?

greg: i thought i'd be so happy that you're back. i thought i'd still be completely in love with you like i was before, but.. i just don't feel it anymore. im sorry.

rose, frown: that's okay, greg. we can be friends. i understand. i disappeared for 14 years- not that long to me, but that's a long time for humans. i understand if your feelings changed. especially with all my.. mistakes… revealed. im just glad you told me.

greg: are you sure? its okay to be upset, rose.

rose: i dont follow human relationship dynamics. im a little sad, sure, but you're still a friend. its not the end of the world.

greg: as long as you're okay.

rose: i am. don't worry about me, greg.

greg: okay.

she looks at him with a smile before flying off back home. she walks in.

tumblr note: im really unsure abt the breakup thing honestly. it feels weird especially how she just instantly goes to pearl. tell me ur thoughts yall!

stv, eatin chaps: hey mom.

rose: hi steven. wheres pearl?

stv: ooooooo-

rose chuckles: oh, stop it.

stv: i think she went to her room. she's been in there a lot recently.

rose: huh. alright, thank you steven.

stv: no problem.

rose goes into pearls room.

rose: pearl?

pearl quickly gets up: y-yes rose? sorry, i didn't know you were coming.

rose floats on over: i would like to talk to you about something.

pearl,😳: o-okay.

rose: i know how you feel about me. but im not entirely sure you understand how i feel about you.

pearl looks away: but- greg.

rose, chuckling: pearl. i talked to him just now, and he told me he doesn't feel that way towards me anymore. and from what i understand about human relationships, being with multiple people is a bit of a problem. ive always loved you, pearl. i knew either this would happen, or he'd… reach his time at some point. this was always going to happen, pearl. i don't need future vision for that.

pearl: i-

rose tacklehugs her to the ground and they roll around happy. pearl happycries

rose: ohh, my beloved pearl. not my pearl, but my beloved pearl. does- does that make sense?- oh my- (starts laughing)

pearl, chuckling softly: i know what you meant, rose.

rose: okay. good. le smoochie

pearl: i love you, rose. so much.

rose: i love you even more.

pearl: no, i do.

rose, chuckling: oh, pearl.

they smile at eachother.

stv: that was the cutest thing i've ever seen in my life.

pearl extremely embarrassed: STEVEN!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE-

rose: pearl, its okay. they're all allowed to know. we don't need to be a secret. besides, garnet probably knows anyway.

pearl: o-okay. but steven please don't do that again.

stv: it was so worth it. i will never forget this.

rose: alright, steven. can me and pearl talk in private again?

stv: aww mann. okay. (leaves)

rose: you don't know how badly i wanted to be with you. always. it hurt that i couldn't be there for you for those years.. trapped in his gem. i wish i could've done something, but i just couldn't. believe me, i tried.

pearl: its okay. its not your fault. you're here now, and that is enough for me. (squeeze hug cry) im sorry for crying so much i cant help it.

rose: let it out, pearl. its okay. (soft hug n comforts back, headpats and otherwise adorable shit)

[vasyandii]

Hiiii here I am bothering you ❤️

🖊 ballpoint pen

💤 sleeping sign

🤔 thinking face

🤍 white heart

Nak we love you!!!

(Jumping up and down) YAYAYAYA IM BEING BOTHERED :DD YIPEE LOVE YOU GAMERGIRLBONES!!!

[Ask Game]

🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos?

Nak does have tattoos! She has Sak Yant Tattoos on her back and shoulder; she got them (Naga's choice) when she was 16, right before she joined the LPAF for protection since both her and Naga are superstitous. I don't think she'll want to get anymore tattoos though, since it hurt alot, she cried.

💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?

On the field, Nak is an extremely light sleeper, she can't relax, that's just how she grew up since Naga's "occupation" means danger is always lurking. One little sound could wake her up and have her be alert.

Off the field however, She sleeps like she's making up for lost time, lots of naps sprinkled throughout the day if the housework is done.

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?

-Dry texter, it's not like she doesn't care, she just doesn't know how to respond- so she prefers voice messages, phone calls, or video calls

-5 second rule doesn't really exist to her?? She'll eat off the floor if she thinks its worth it.

-Slight addiction to shopping, technically being a former rich kid (Naga) she often buys herself things when she's bored, (often little trinkets or stuff she doesn't need)

🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms?

- chews the inside of her mouth, bad habit, she does it without thinking

- parrots noises or phrases when she's focused on something tedious

-Terrible hand writing; She thinks so fast her hands can't keep up to write, Krueger has to ask her to type their grocery list out if she writes it down

(Joop joop= Lao version of "Mwah mwah" but Romanized)

Thank you for asking :D!! This was really fun to write and think about :3!!

[softlymaximoff]

🩸 🌧️ can I request a drabble of WandaNat where Nat came home from a bad mission and Wanda ofc takes her of her baby? 🥺

Send emojis <3

Moya lyubov, your heart must hurt

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

Summary: no matter how many missions Natasha goes on, Wanda is always there to help mend the shatter in her heart.

Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: injuries/blood/bruises, mental and physical exhaustion, mentions of mission complications, soft, comfort, fluff.

Word Count: 740

The quinjet shook lightly as the team landed onto the small airstrip accompanying the compound grounds. Fury, Natasha, Tony and Clint had all just come back from a month and a half long mission. The last few days were pure hell, each member had seen enough to last them years worth of therapy sessions and it was safe to say no one was going on any other missions soon.

A quiet rumble of thunder snapped Natasha out of her daydream and she winced when a flash of lightning followed not too far behind. She was never one for storms but usually stuck it out for Wanda who was outright terrified of them. Today however, with the frame of mind she was is she wanted nothing more than to fall in a heaped pile of blankets with her girlfriend.

As the jet finally stopped its engines, everyone limped out, the widow being victim of most injuries. Her arms and torso were severely bruised as was her left collarbone, she had a slightly open wound on her lip and her nose was still bleeding. Another round of lightning and thunder made her whimper and rush inside the compound as best as she could, a quiet hiss escaping as she unintentionally put pressure on her ribs while breathing.

“Nat you need to go to med bay, Laura and Wanda would kill me if they knew I’d let you finish the mission without getting checked” Clint raised an eyebrow when he got no response from her. “C’mon I’m taking you” he sighed sympathetically as he ushered her into the first med bay he could find. “No needles” she whispered with such fear he thought he might actually consider taking her off missions for a while.

“Alright no needles but we need to bandage you up and fix you. Im gonna go get Wanda okay? I promise I’ll be really quick” he assures as best he could while Natasha was practically shaking in fear on the table. She barely had the time to spiral into her own thoughts when a flurry of auburn hair ran in. “Oh malysh, you’re shaking moya lyubov come here” Wanda cooed over her injured girlfriend.

“It hurts Wans, my heart. It’s sore” Natasha’s voice was small and afraid, something she never really let loose. “Please fix me, make me forget” the slightly older avenger looked at Wanda with pleading eyes and Wanda teared up at the desperation. “Wha- Tasha no, I’m not using my magic on you. I’m telling Tony this is your last mission until I think you’re good to go again” she held her face gently and wiped Natasha’s lip. “Can you let me help you fix these nasty cuts up detka” Wanda moved around Nat with ease as she patched her girlfriend up.

Another roll of the unforgiving weather rang out and this time Natasha audibly and visibly whimpered closer to her girlfriend. “Oh baby, I’m almost done I’m sorry” Wanda frowned as she cleaned the last of Natasha’s face, now time for the torso. “Can you take your shirt off for me or do you want me to do it?” She asked softly and the redhead just lifted her arms up with a tense breath.

In a swift motion the spy was shirtless and Wanda had to hold back a gasp. She was severely bruised and painted all over with greens, blues and purples. “God babe, you’re a whole different colour” she whispered in shock grabbing her things to soothe the bruises. Tentatively, she began dabbing the cloth to remove all the dirt and grime off the tainted torso. “Wands it hurts” Natasha cowered back when her girlfriend brushed over a particular rib.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry” she murmured as she finished her up quickly. The minute Wanda was done, Natasha fell into her arms, clinging onto her like she’d disappear. “Hey shh c’mon why don’t we get you into some comfy clothes hmm? We can worry about showering tomorrow” Wanda mused over the thought as her girlfriend could only sniffle and cling tighter. “I’ve got you you’re okay. You’re safe” Wanda held back her own tears as she carried Natasha to their room.

One thing for sure was that if they wanted Nat to go on any more missions, they’d have to get through Wanda first. There was no way anybody was gonna mess with a protective Wanda, not even Maria could convince her.