#enjoy the insight into how fucking messy my process is

[antipolygon]

i just wanted to draw peppermint and chai doing dumb shit in the hideout but my hubris shall be the death of me

[13curses]

౨ৎ ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𝐃𝐎𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 & 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✗ geto suguru (𝟏𝟖+)

MDNI ⸝⸝ nsfw ⸝ f!reader ⸝ creampie ⸝ unprotected sex ⸝ reader is kinda dozing off ‘n sleepy but it's all consensual (ø somno) ⸝ a bunch of ass touching ⸝ backshots ⸝ needy dom!suguru ⸝ if all’s well it ends in cuddles

synopsis ꒱ suguru gets home from a long-winded mission and yes, he wants to feel the warmth of your shared bed, but his priorities are the warmth of your insides. ᡣ𐭩

wc ꒱ 2.5k a/n ꒱ FIRST FIC ON THIS BLOG WOOOO wrote this w a headache, the impending doom, the cheezbot as my only follower && the insatiable need to fuck suguru raaaawww mama. enjoy xoxo

suguru’s gaze is scrutinizing your body now. his big shirt that you obtained as pajamas is creased at your stomach, raised enough to give a little insight to your skin, near your navel where your left hand is resting. the blanket is covering most of your lower area, but it's messy enough to reveal about a quarter of your thigh, along with the line of your panties clinging to your hips. those black panties are the ones with a dainty white ribbon on them, he knows despite your fingers covering the detail. 

you're mesmerising when you're in a slumber.

your skin looks heated even from afar, your hand has just moved from his favorite accessory on your underwear, and you’ve just taken a sharp breath leading you to a soft sigh and a quiet moan as you turn on your side, your upper leg now wholly exposed—

suguru needs a shower. he decides as he grunts in a scoffing manner, rubbing his temple with one, then both hands as he drags himself from the door borders to the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

within the water crashing his skin, he breathes out as his muscles relax. at least he tries to get them to, alas most of the tensity is in his dick. to put it rawly, when observing your snoozing state suguru's come the conclusion that it's either nudging you awake or relieving himself under the hot rain in the shower. 

his baby's just come to terms with falling asleep without him being home, how could he interrupt?

he turns his back at the stream and reaches for his shaft that's been hardening since he's inspected you. a low, broken sigh escapes his mouth at the awaited touch, so he puts his free hand on the wall to steady his position, beginning to gently stroke his partially soft cock. 

drops are rolling down his broad back and the glass of the cabin begins to fog up. all five of his finger pads are working to rile himself up, to display his prick in its fullness. yet, it's being awfully stingy, as if signalling that the water at its highest temperature is merely not enough to replace the tight warmth of yours.

“mmh— oh, fuck this.” suguru fusses, akin to a whine in disguise, dropping his hand from the tiles. plan b: he's gonna conk himself out and as soon as he wakes up, he's initiating morning sex. 

his dick drops from his rugged palm, limping helplessly, and as he shakes his thoughts off in regards to waking you up, he grabs his significant shower gel.

     afterwards, suguru stands at the foot of your bed, brushed raven hair resting on his shoulders, his towel neatly wrapped around his waist.

you're curled up on your side, waiting for him to be your assigned big spoon, unaware of your surroundings and his nasty thought process.

the gears in his brain are rusting — would you mind not looking so delicious in even a dreamy state? 

but suguru is just a man, and you're everything, so he takes two steps forward, kneels on the bed and scoots close to you. his symbolic gel soon reaches your nose, and you move your head a little. when he's leaning over your smaller frame, you shift your legs in awareness. he scoffs through his nostrils and places a cragged hand on your cheek, his mint breath fanning your face. he places a kiss on your temple, then two, then more.

your eyelashes flutter, your eye movement under your lids quickens. they open, droopy. suguru's affable, he doesn't say a thing just yet — his thumb is caressing your jawline.

“suguru..” you murmur, only audible within inches.

“hey, baby.”

you shuffle, wrinkling the sheets as you extend your legs to turn on your back. 

“mhh, how long have you been home?” you rasp, your lidded eyes meeting his. his hand travels down your neck to your thigh, nuzzling it. god, the inner part was heated.

“not long. just got out of the shower.”

he fixes the lifted part of the shirt you're wearing, but near immediately tucks it back up to stroke your side.

“'can tell.” you smile mildly at his scent. he chuckles in a deep tone as you yawn, “if you're g'na sleep naked, that's fine, but just c'me to bed. you must've worked hard.”

you graze his arm with invitation then turn a hundred and eighty degrees to your stomach, laying your cheek on your left forearm that's sinking onto the the feather-filled pillow which your right arm is hugging from under.

“'n fix my blanket.”

again, the material's barely covering half your body, but in a cross, not vertically. most of your thigh is exposed and the cotton is wrapping your round ass so nicely.

suguru leans away, licking his lips before biting the lower. he tilts his head to the side, now biting his tongue in uncertainty. his lips are sealed, pressed, then they open.

“i was thinking about pulling it off, actually.”

his confession leaves your eyebrows furrowed as you mewl an inarticulated 'what' before speaking.

“why? 'ts cold.”

“to reach you,” he leans back, massive hand creeping up your back, under the borrowed shirt, “and touch you.. a little.”

“sugu..”

his needy wish is slipping right out.

“can i fuck you to sleep, sweetheart?”

if you hadn't been awaked by his addictive scent and need to communicate, you'd think you are dreaming right now. your tired truth at the moment is that your man is crazy.

“i can sleep just fine, thank you.” you skimp, and suguru nearly moans in pain, but surpasses it.

“you know what i mean. may i fuck myself to sleep, then?”

god, he was needy and if you were to say no, his only escape route from his advancing boner was to relieve himself in the bathroom.

you attempt to think clearly, but you’re cut off by yet another yawn that transforms into a mewl.

“suguuu...”

he swallows, but doesn’t miss the action of you squirming just a little at his lustful words, lazily rotating your hips to keep composure. your lashes flicker as you open your lids to not crash asleep before you can give this more thought (or perhaps the first one amidst your sleepy complains).

he’s ready to remove his damp towel and lie either next to you and wait until morning or crawl back to the washroom like a loser, but you lift your head and look behind. the most awake he’s seen you since he’s arrived.

“you need me that much?” 

you sound generous.

he snorts, “i’m not just horny. i miss your tight little pussy a deranged amount.”

now that one sends bolts down your core and makes you moan under your sealed lips, squeezing your knees. still, you’re drowsy, so if your man wants to have your pussy in any position, you can simply lay still. you rest your head on the cloudy cushion and embrace it with both hands.

“then have me.”

the implication that you’re giving him access while getting what you want, which is to relax, immediately goes into his cock, which is so proud it’s demanding the towel be removed with a twitch. suguru draws a long, relieved breath, tugs at the fabric and eliminates it, instantly bowing down to touch you freely. 

he begins peppering your neck with kisses, wandering to your earlobe for a whisper.

“thank you, doll.” his hot breath sends low chills down your skin, right where his hands are travelling, massaging your bare back, the behind of the shirt rolled up to your shoulder blades. “good fuckin’ girl..”

he hugs your ribs with his muscular forearm, roaming your boobs with his persuasive palm. as he grazes your nipple, you shiver. his free hand goes down to your butt, digging into your flesh as his army of kisses continues on your nape — all in favour of prepping your wetness. he dodges the blanket with his knee before you both get tangled in the sea of sheets. the cold blows your skin; you wince.

“it's okay, sweetheart, tss, i'm g'na warm you up alright,” suguru soothes you, seasoning his preparation with words that never miss to rile you up, “have you been thinking of me? hoping i'd get home earlier to take care of you and your sweet, sweet spots?”

not a long time passes prior to your arousal swimmimg through your folds, which suguru feels up by digging under your cotton panties, coaxing your balmy juices. he recognises the sign to pull your underwear off, lifting your calves to roll the material down your ankles. he frames your thighs with his; he's careful not to burden you with his weight, strong thighs flexing to keep his composition.

he grabs an unused cushion to place under your stomach, and you assist by extending your arms on them, comfortably resting your flesh on said arms, face melting into the pillow. suguru takes his now hard cock in hand, stimulating the veiny length. a whimper escapes you as you feel the reddish tip touch your bottom, some precum leaving a tint.

“f’ck me..” you whine flatly, ‘cause your dreamy state is akin to a midwinter night’s wet dream.

“hah~” he breathes out, cock head already between your lower petals, “that’s not something to worry your pretty head about.”

suguru grips your left cheek as his fat tip is lead through your slit, and the deeper he's in, the more he’s towering towards you.

forthwith he's halfway inside you and upon your hot walls enticing him, his lids cover his eyes which roll back with a deep groan. he lets go of his manhood and directs that grip to your hip, digits deepening in your beloved fat. you lay still besides your tiny, sensitive squirms, however when suguru begins ploying inside your gummy walls, your lips depart and your eyebrows rise on their own.

cursewords are vocalized in his moans. his thrusts are advancing, so is the squelching of your wetness.

“yeahhh, jus' like that, god.” he remarks, spine straightening; his grasp on your buttocks being a steady foundation.

his knees begin to crumple up the mattress cover with each move, and complimenting him, you cry into the headrest. suguru gives your ass a tame slap before kneading the round flesh, and he's finally all in, pounding into you like he's making up for weeks, but it isn't rough.

your elbows are grazing your hip bone and your crotch is firing up the forearms you rest upon with sweat, but suguru's pelvis knocking the wind out of your bouncy ass makes up for the scalding feeling.

“ruru~!”

you arch your backbone, semi-accidentally rooting him deeper into you, moaning with lush. the concave of a situation allows suguru to release his hold, throwing his head back mindlessly, flexing the sculpted details of his neck. extending his fingers on your back, you feel committed to relax all of your parts but your lower back which you're hilling.

it hits so deep, deep, deep in this sluggish, needy position, you take a mental note to try it again, rough and bouncy, when you're not dozing off.

“you're godsent.” he murmurs, the flirt finished with a needful hiccup. simultaneously, he opens his eyes as they roll back into their natural location.

gaze fixated on his muse, the trajectory of his cock twitches; it's the biggest fan of your pussy and as if it had gotten flustered, it misses your g-spot for a few thrusts, then strikes it stronger than lightning. a faint state of dizziness rushes over you at the act, spongy walls clenching around their company. bit of saliva drips out of your repeatedly agape mouth.

“s'good— so deep!” you sniffle, and your following tired truth is, “missed you.”

endearment fills suguru, it replaces the desire in his smile with delight.

“missed you more, babydoll.”

“huff~ in me, in me...” dozy mumbles leave your throat and you almost start searching for his gaze to seal the promise, but your lover shushes you.

“ssh, all's g'na go in you, 'm giving you everything you want, yeah baby? you close?” 

taunting, his tip bumps your cervix and you have no different answer but—

“ngh! yes!! yes! mhh..!”

your toes curl, close to numbing your feet, and the springs of the bed grate with a high noise because suguru's digits are embracing your cheeks again and he's doubled his pace. sloshes of your arousal are leaving flecks on the white sheet, and whenever he slides out of you, his cock is glossier than during the last couple of plunges.

you tug your arms from under yourself, hugging the head pillow in a hurry, nails clawing. you repeatedly whine the first two syllables of his name, your lower area is cramping up.

defeated by his thighs trapping yours, you can't flow apart. suguru groans, moans, then whines your name through gritted teeth. his tense balls are adding friction to your clit with every swing; as a bonus, he attends your puffy slit with his thumb to rub it with skill.

you would not have expected to reach your climaxes in sync, it's the mere serendipity of this new found depth. heat rushes throughout your boyfriend whilst his dynamic pounces turn slouchy, his marbles nearly burst at the veins from the urge to overflow your hole.

his pants quicken. he chokes on his vowels, and at last, suguru's shaking. rutting into you like a mad dog, his semen arrives in strings, forming into an eruption, just like the orgasm you own with strained muscles, squeezing your eyes shut.

you huff and puff into the pillow, restraining your breathing, “sugu—! sugu–hu~..”

teeth sinking into your lip, threatening a bleed out, you back into suguru helplessly, milking him dry as you cover him with your hot nectar. releasing into you, what’s left of his thrusts is not far from brushing you with his crotch, and it merely turns into grinding. afterwaves of your orgasm leave you jerking firmly. sensitive hums are heard from your trembling mouth.

suguru’s broad chest is heaving, and fixing his blurry vision with a few blinks he opposes to collapsing atop of you. he forces his post-orgasm energy to withdraw his softening cock, watching as threads of his seed stick to your damp cunt. the amount achieves some of the white to ooze out.

“thank you, baby,” he exhales, hoarse, “shit. you’re the best. sweet baby…” he pats your bottom curves. 

intending to start your sentence with ‘if you are feeling so thankful today, you should come…’, you’re only able to whimper the point, “cuddle.”

a loveful snicker is what suguru replies with as he eliminates the cushion under your belly.

finally climbing into bed, he assists you with turning on your side so you can form into his littlest spoon, cuddling up to him as he hugs you from behind, planting lazy kisses on your nape — this time, with the intention to sleep.

your legs are not straddled by his anymore, your clammy skin is breathing, and you keep the bundle of cum at your core content.

it’s not so cold anymore.

[temperamentalaquarius]

any thoughts on batman: black mirror? i really enjoyed it (as a non-batfamily fan) but i'm wondering if there is a difference of opinion with people who are actually acquainted with the context behind black mirror, i guess. which parts did you find the strongest + which parts did you find the weakest?

anyways, im a huge fan of your comics-posting (which is both, in the best way, entertaining and insightful). have a great day!

Ahhh thank u!! I'm glad I'm not the only one having fun 😁!!!

Thank you so much for sending this, I loved the dick!bats era and I liked The Black Mirror!!

I thought it was a decent Dick story, and I loved that it had Babs and Tim as the supporting cast. It was good to see them back(mostly) in their 90s early 2000s element.

I thought that the A plot was better than the serial killer B plot-; it had a lot of personal connection for Dick without being about the Graysons and orcas(which are some of the most vicious and borderline cruel predators that terrify me to my core and it was really cool to see them get some use)- even if I didn't find the ending super satisfying.

I thought James was interesting, and his story was more linear but the addition of the Joker into the situation was kind of just...messy and not entirely necessary? It kind of killed it for me. Idk I might just have Joker fatigue. I did like the coloring and a good portion of the art better in that part of the story, tho. I thought the mood they set was really cool and a little scary.

My high points were all (unsurprisingly) character based:

I loved the way Tim saving Dick from his own shit here

Kinda paralleled this scene in NW 96

But more mature. Watching them go from Dick mentoring Tim to them having a much more balanced relationship where Tim can fully have Dick's back has always been super satisfying and seeing it making a come back after their little fallout was cool

I also like the attention paid to the differences in Bruce and Dick's philosophy (specifically here:

) and the difficulty that Batman presents Dick because of it. Part of the appeal of Dick being Batman is the reluctance and the chunk of flesh it takes out of him and I think this story really got the tone of that right. He's making mistakes that he wouldn't normally, he's not sleeping; you can really tell that everything is getting to him. He feels like the walls are closing in on him with no way out (sometimes literally) and it makes the whole story kind of..weary? It's as much man vs man as it is man vs self. Love that many of the action sequences in the book happen in enclosed places that have an unstoppable deadly force converging on him with no way out and how that emphasizes the theme

OH and my absolute favorite analogy for the mindset that dick operates w/ is in this book

And how that works with his parents rules for survival

There's like... a debate on whether Dick plans or if he acts on instinct and I like the way that this breaks it down to: yes, he's planning from the start and if it seems like he isn't it's because that's what he wants you to think- but he understands that leaving space to bob and weave is a part of that process. Ultimate planner that is liable to start behaving erratically as fuck at any moment is such a fun look

Favorite fight was probably the horror forward snap at the auction, with honorarable mentions going to Dick v.s the compactor, Dick v.s. the orca, and of course Dick v.s. The bends

Worst was by far this one:

There is no way he should've been able to waltz into Babs' hideout without her knowing I'm so sorry it's just not realistic, like, that's Barbara Gordon???

[theomachst]

serafim! ofc i gotta do it 👀

Send me your URL and... [ACCEPTING]

Thoughts on the character: When I first played FFVII, I did find Sephiroth to be a tragic villain, but a villain none the less. His past was interesting, even if his whole motivation to retake the planet was a bit wacky? I sorta didn’t get that part beyond “okay, his mind snapped”.

The fandom actually started to make me actively dislike Sephiroth, though... I didn’t think he was “the coolest villain” and neither was I attracted to him or ships involving him.

Crisis Core made me change my mind a LITTLE BIT, but I will be honest, your portrayal of Sephiroth made me begin to really appreciate him more as a character.

Have you interacted before: Yes, and I am looking forward to more interactions across our muses!

Favorite part of portrayal: You’re not afraid to realistically explore insecurities of his, like his awareness of his ‘otherness’ or his tendency to feel like the odd one out even when engaging with Angeal and Genesis, who are supposed to be his best friends. And you don’t Woobie-fy him in the process.

I also just like the range you have with his portrayal. He can be more human and relatable, but he can also be terrifying and intimidating- Or he can be awkward and hesitant. It just depends on the muse he’s interacting with and the environment, he feels like he realistically fits into the scenes we plot out or the AUs and verses you write for him.

And especially with Genesis and our insights on their relationship, I like that we can actually delve into more uncomfortable and not exactly healthy aspects of their dynamic. Muses don’t always have to get along 100% or be necessarily GOOD for one another, sometimes bonds are messy and complicated and there’s a lot more middle-ground/gray areas to social interaction than “we like/dislike each other”.

One piece of advice: Oh God, I don’t even know... Uh. Fuck. 

You could let loose a bit more in fight scenes? I know there’s always the “well I don’t want to God Mod, but also my muse is a Force of Nature so how do I show that without dominating the pace?” aspect, but I also feel like.. you could have MORE FUN with his skills? Get crazy, do something totally wild and unexpected since he has the capacity to take an opponent by complete surprise.

A verse (mine or theirs) I want a thread in: FFXIV VERSE, GIVE ME GREAT WYRM!SEPHIROTH.

It could also be interesting since Ravus is also Elezen and DRKs USED to be in place to monitor corruption within the Holy See and Noble Houses (their existence initially stemmed from the Church), so there could be obvious Bad Blood associated with Ravus’ role, even if he may or may not share the same “we hate dragons” opinion that Ishgardians usually do.

Thoughts on the mun: You’re such a joy to talk to, whether it’s about our muses or just shooting the shit about Adult Problems(tm). I really had a great time when we all got to have dinner together, so I hope we can hang out again and share experiences in your interests and activities- like biking.

And it was also super neat that we sort of just. Organically managed to pick up where we left off when I was done with school, having a rapport comfortable and casual enough to manage that is really nice. You’re a top notch wordsmith and I greatly enjoy bouncing ideas and sharing little insights and inspiration tidbits with you. 

I hope we remain friends for many more years to come!

[quirkysubject]

I just wanted to let you know that For the Day I Take Your Hand is the gold standard to which I unintentionally compare all time travel and/or fix-it fics. It’s a masterpiece with a level of accuracy and attention to detail that deserves recognition and applause.

Also, I loved the chapter with Roger and Brian where Brian confesses he’s in love with Anita. And Roger’s like, being supportive and saying divorce is okay. But then Brian also confesses Chrissie’s pregnant again. And Roger’s like, “WOW, that’s bad timing. Like... really bad timing. Bro, I love you and I always will but what the FUCK were you thinking?!” Because that’s something that I always thought once I did the math but it’s something we politely don’t say/discuss. But Roger in your fic said it for me. Thanks, Roger.

Thank you! 🥺💖 It makes me so happy to hear that others are enjoying the results of my manic obsession 😄 

Ahahahahaaaaa yes! 😄 I mean, obviously I don’t have any insights into what actually happened there, and how Brian and Chrissie processed the whole thing. But it’s such a messy, painful situation, and also one where it feels, well, “impossible to choose”, as Brian would write later. I don’t have the chops to write out any of that in detail, but getting a glimpse into it from Roger’s POV is interesting, I think. And yeah, Roger’s unfiltered “Woah, that’s messed up, dude” summarises it pretty well.

Again, thank you very much! It’s lovely to get a message like that so long after posting 💖

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hi! I just finished rewatching the Hunger Games movie for the first time in years and I'm curious: why do you think the ending didn't make sense? You have such good insight. Congratulations on your doctorate!

So this might be a bad answer, because I have not seen any of the Hunger Games movies except the first one, but.  I’m not a huge fan of the ending of the book series because I think there’s a fascinating political story there that gets a little lost behind the romance and adventure angles.

I really like that Katniss ends up killing President Coin and destroying her own symbolic role as Mockingjay in the process.  I really like the horrifying hints of how easy it would be for the new boss to be just like the old boss, once the dust settles.  I really like Katniss’s realization that she and Gale have grown apart, to the point where she can no longer support his extreme views.  That’s the aspect of Mockingjay I enjoy, and could happily read a whole book about.

However, all of that happens pretty quickly in the background of a whole other mess of plot threads.  Most of the book is devoted to having Peeta be brainwashed into trying to kill Katniss (and then just kinda not anymore? for reasons that happen offscreen?) and the former winners talk about their lives and Katniss feeling conflicted about Gale vs. Peeta and the plot with (I cringe even thinking the phrase) “Welcome to the seventy-sixth Hunger Games!” as a fun thing to say just before a bunch of people die.

None of that works, in my opinion, and none of it feels like it captures that made the first two books so good.  Hunger Games has Katniss’s mom’s long struggle against depression, and Katniss’s deeply complex feelings about that struggle and its impact on her and Prim.  Mockingjay has Peeta going through two different personality changes like a switch being thrown, with 0.05% of the respectful depiction of mental health that Katniss’s mom got.  Hunger Games focuses on a single plot conflict, with various characters’ personalities revealing themselves to the minimally-insightful Katniss as they’re forced to struggle against each other.  Mockingjay wanders through several characters’ lives and in some ways tells us too much about their trauma, in ways far less effective than the horrifying-by-implication hints we get in the first two books.

Hunger Games gives us a heroine who can easily be read as queer for her strong devotion to family ties and utter indifference to the vagaries of romance.  Mockingjay transforms most of that into a YA SF love triangle, creating a “competition” between Peeta and Gale for the “prize” of Katniss and then forcing the issue of one getting knocked out of the running.  Hunger Games hints that Katniss’s stable life is over no matter what, even if she has gained a friendship with Peeta and managed to stick it to the Capitol, because the entire time Haymitch is there as a foreboding specter of her likely future.  Mockingjay forcibly throws yet another Hunger Games approximation into Katniss’s path (with almost none of the cleverness of the first two) and then ends on Katniss and Peeta WATCHING THEIR CHILDREN SKIP HAND-IN-HAND THROUGH A FIELD OF FUCKING DAISIES.  Yes, yes, I know that there are complexifying hints in the way that image is presented, but THEY’RE SKIPPING.  Skipping through A FUCKING FIELD OF FUCKING DAISIES.  To say it’s “tonally inconsistent” with the rest of the series is like saying Dashcon was “less successful than expected.”

Mockingjay’s great strength is the same as that of Hunger Games: critiquing media narratives and the ways that the strangers’ pain is milked for entertainment by mainstream American society.  In Mockingjay, that specifically takes the form of Katniss getting turned into a media icon that then gets used to represent ideals she doesn’t stand for.  The contrast between “ad libbed” Katniss and “canned” Katniss does an excellent job of critiquing propaganda, even propaganda that has good intentions.  Coin’s assassination, which no one watching all that footage at home could’ve predicted, feels beautifully inevitable when we see the whole revolution through Katniss’s eyes.

I could happily read a whole other book just about the messy political situation that Katniss makes messier when she kills Coin.  But all of that gets rushed and shunted aside for the kinda-silly kinda-trite romance stuff and “lol, these traps are just like the Hunger Games” stuff.  (Maybe I should watch the movies.  Didn’t Mockingjay get two films to itself?) That series is amazing and brutal and heart-wrenching at its best, and frankly none of Katniss’s interaction with Peeta or Gale in that last book are “its best.”

[potatopossums]

I'm sure many of us think about our identities a lot, especially in our late teens and throughout our 20s.

I've always found that process to be quite tiring. It feels circular, endless, and often anxiety-inducing in my experience. Although I appreciate the fruits that it eventually bears, it can be frustrating at times when I feel as though my self-work goes unrewarded, or not rewarded well enough. I get upset when certain habits keep resurfacing, or when old anxieties I thought I had finally resolved return stronger once more. It often feels like a whirlwind, and it makes it so easy to want to give up and just be as horrible a human being as I would normally be if I weren't trying so hard.

There are plenty of insights I could give as to how to reframe this issue mentally. I've taken lots of cognitive behavioral therapy; I know the tips and tricks, and I'm not here to knock those. Yes, they can and have worked for me, and have made a noticeable difference in how I feel. That's not my point right now, despite my better therapy'd judgment.

I think many of us grew up not really thinking about our identities. It's not like we didn't think about them at all; of course we did. We understood more or less what it was like to be in relation to others. But we didn't have a full grasp on the complexity of that. And now, many of us have a deeper, more diverse understanding of the world. As adults, we are familiar with so many social concepts. We can even look back on our own childhoods and apply our new knowledge and reframe everything. It should be a step in the right direction, and it is—but sometimes it doesn't feel like it.

That moment, or rather that process, is not one step. The moment you can look back on your own life with a very new perspective is not a simple thing. Doing that can sometimes, rather unexpectedly, cause your entire identity to shift. And that sort of change is transitional. And take it from trans people: although many of our transitions are wonderful, they're also very complicated and life-changing in not solely positive ways. And never, I mean never, are they an easy matter.

Change of any kind is challenging. Absurdly so, in fact. And I think a lot of our stress over it is caused not only by the fact that we need change, but the fact that change is difficult even when we surrender to it. Upon realization and understanding of the need for change, we don't just miraculously glide through growth as a protagonist goes through a classic training montage. Our lives are messier than that. We fuck up way more than a few comical moments for the gag reels. We sweat so hard and it just doesn't pay off sometimes, maybe a lot of the time. And that is so demoralizing.

We can want to be anything. The sky is practically the limit. But becoming that is anything but graceful.

This is not meant to be discouraging. It's meant to be empathetic. If you related at all to this, I want you to remember that sigh of upset relief you might have experienced while reading. I want you to remember that some rando on the internet said something about pain and frustration that resonated with you. I want you to remember how many people liked or reblogged or interacted with this post. Remember that feeling of being heard and seen for exactly where you are. You're in a messy spot right now. You don't want to be there. Neither do I. Neither does anyone else around you. It's okay to be where you are. I won't tell you that you did your best, because sometimes "doing our best" isn't even what we want. Sometimes "doing our best" doesn't represent our true desires, be it for that day, that week, or that year. Sometimes we are genuinely stuck, despite all we've done. Sometimes we don't have the energy to try at all.

So here's what I'll tell you instead. You were a human being today. You tried, or maybe you didn't. Maybe you thought really hard about trying. Maybe you did the bare minimum. Maybe you did absolutely nothing. Maybe you literally got in trouble for doing nothing.

And look, you're still fucking here.

You're alright. Take a breather. A real breather. The kind where you actually do get to forget the world and all your responsibilities for a moment. Really try. I know you've been trying to forget how much stuff you need to do all day anyway, so here's your free pass. Fuck all that stuff for five minutes.

Do something 100% for you right now. Something you can do easily, something you can start basically right this second, something you know you'll like. I don't care how simple or easy or stupid it is, whether it's watching a video or listening to a song, or giving yourself a neck massage, or simply taking a breather, or spacing out and imagining your happy place. Whatever it is that you can do right now, with zero prep. No dawdling, no trying to figure out what to do for the whole time. Gut instinct, there's no wrong answer, just pick something. And do that. For five minutes. Don't look at the clock. I'll wait, and so will the world.

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Check in.

Note your emotions. How your body feels.

Notice that, and let it pass. Perhaps later you'll remember it, and perhaps not. Maybe a mix of both. That's normal.

Comfort is found in repetition. Excitement is found in the new. Make sure you have equal parts of both today, even if you must allot it yourself.

The most beautiful feeling you can have is when you accept that you have earned the right to fully enjoy your rest. That acceptance is just as much internal as it is external.

Thank you for resting today.

[skamamoroma]

REWATCH: Skam Italia s4 - Episode 4

Marti and Eva late AGAIN. But we were treated to Marti and Eva sibling energy on FIRE. I love the whole “you have to be smart” and Marti enjoying bickering with Eva and blowing her a kiss then her “vaffanculo” as he walked away. I have MISSED their ridiculous ways. He’s such a little shit. Honestly! Also, I laugh that he was in that scene for 2 seconds... and I know we got info on his potential future plans but he was solely there to bicker with Eva and... Ludo, you know us. You know what we want.

The fact that they all took med school exams! I can’t believe Marti is into that. He’s 100% smart enough and he’s dedicated enough, it’s just never where I’d have put him. Obviously it’s the same as Federico so it’s sweet they made Marti follow the same path! I don’t m ow if I can picture Dottor Rametta! I can see him being incredibly gentle and caring and also firm enough but it’s a lot to think about!! I can see Eva being an awesome health care worker/Dottoressa or whatever part of medicine she wanted to aim for. She’s the same as Marti that way.

I’m no expert but I know you can wear a hijab so many ways and in different styles. I just love that Sana and her mamma seem to wear the same style! It just adds so nicely to the feeling of familiarity and family. I wonder if that’s a normal thing? Passed down via family maybe?

I hate that in one day, Sana gets this reminder that she isn’t necessarily welcomed with open arms by Maryam who represents her Muslim community and then finds out she has been left out of the holiday plans... all the while not being able to join in with Silvia and Fede’s chats about sex etc. I mean, I’m with Sana on this as I’d be horrendously uncomfortable with those chats but I just feel so much for her at this point as it’s all just slowly falling apart.

I LOVE the song in the scene where Sana goes to Rami. It’s catchy as hell. It matches that whole messy scenario perfectly and I love that Malik and Sana can’t help but laugh at Rami trying to kiss him 😂 again though, that conflict between Sana and her religion. Rami can do this and not necessarily be judged but she would be... and harshly!

And then we’re treated to GRANDMA FILO with his fever, his dressing down and cup of tea. “So you’re leaving me with the corpse?” Hahaha. From this point, Filo is frankly a god damn gift.

The procession. Oh my. It’s so beautiful. It feels so Italian but also so magical in the circumstances. I love that they’re so desperate to stay unnoticed but still get a candle because Sana might look like a nun 😂 Malik is so sweet but he’s also such a lovely match for her. Boy doesn’t mind gentle bickering!

I always LOVED the Best of Islam clip from the og so I was so happy that we got the same here, just a different version. The fact that Malik, like Yousef, felt so lost and disconnected with his religion after what happened but this time it was because of his friend and Nico happened to be involved. He clearly cares a great deal for Luai to feel so strongly for him.

How blooming PRETTY is this scene? The flower candle lighting up their faces, la Luna in the background, the lights of the city... it makes their talk about life and BIG TOPICS seem so much more special when in reality they’re just on a street somewhere. Ludo always LOVES to create the imagination of magic in ordinary settings... he did it a lot in s2 too!

The fact we got that flashback was just such a gift, I can’t say. I gasped when I first saw it! We always wondered who was filming because Nico looked so enamoured and smiley. To know it was Luai and to see Luai smile at him like he did, to know if was real and Nico’s feelings were returned makes me hurt just ache endlessly for him. He was young and had feelings for a nice boy, clearly felt he wanted to learn about Luai’s religion and we were always lead to believe (through Maddalena) that this was “because of” his BPD and some form of supposed heightened state and obsession. When in fact it was Nico having genuine feeling. To think those smiles on his piano video were due to having a crush and to know what happened... how that must have affected Nico and how those feelings were maybe turned against him and used as an apparent symptom. FUCK mental health stigma. Nico is capable of the full range of emotion and every word he ever said to Marti about needing to be heard and listened to and feeling spoken for just feels more upsetting now. Knowing that what he feels for Marti he’d never felt before because he fell in love with Marti doesn’t negate that he cared for Luai in some way and that it was genuine. It made me feel so fond of Nico even more than I already am. I am so grateful to Ludo for adding this, for giving us these little snippets and allowing the questions about Nico to be answered in a really meaningful way with impact on Sana too!

Being an atheist, I can’t relate to Sana in this moment talking about prayer and what religion adds to her life. I always understand Malik’s point of view most but it’s what makes it so fascinating. To listen to her explain, at length, how she feels about her faith and how it transforms her day and gives her focus and hope and connection. It’s beautiful. I also adore how they did the same as in the og and allowed Malik to have his say too, to offer his voice and that they both feel comfortable with disagreeing and having discussions like this. They connect on this really lovely level, so full of intelligence and insight and this REALLY lovely mutual respect. It’s so rare in TV aimed at young people!

THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER. He flat out adores her. I can’t handle them. They have crept into my list of favourite Skam couples.

[alienoriana]

Why Lonely Road is about John

1st Disclaimer: Approaching a Paul song is trickier than a John song IMO. Mainly because Paul seems to enjoy and embrace more the weirdness, the serendipity, the subconscious that can break in and subvert the creative process. John himself described Paul’s lyrics as surreal (maybe in oposition to his own lyrics, which are “real” real. For more insights about it, read this great post from @thecoleopterawithana). This is important because Paul usually prefer to highlight that aspect when he’s talking about one of his songs. That tendency may create the impression that he is more detached from his lyrics, when in fact he is trying to focus on that dimension that he considers to be an indispensable part of his identity as a songwriter. Sometimes its a dream, sometimes its a catchy line, sometimes its a mistake that works, sometimes its a minor event or a random person (or animal), or all these elements together. And thats what Paul will tell us later when ask about the song: that little thing that made the tune go and grow.

But when one tries to understand a song (emotional) motives, this tendency gets in the way -and probably that’s how Paul prefers it: just keep guessing, and more importantly, keep listening to the songs-.

2nd Disclaimer: As much as I believe that John and Paul were (are) soulmates, Im aware of the equal (and different) intensity of the bond they had with their spouses. The fact that I focus on J/P relationship, doesn't mean that I like to place their relationship over the others, as more important than the others.  In this case (this song) in particular, I say this in relation to Paul and Linda's relationship. Even if I try to show why I think John's presence is strong in a song, it does not mean that I deny the possibility that Paul actually is alluding to Linda, or even both, sequentially or at the same time. Because the heart is that messy and complex, and big.

I feel that I tried to cover myself too much before I even started, but both issues are usually present almost always in my reflections about his (their) songs (my favorite McLennon topic), and I think this post is a good opportunity to express it.

And now, to the song... [finally, right?]

Lonely Road was included as opening track in the album “Driving Rain”, published in november 2001. The main themes of the album are influenced by the mixed feelings of grief over the recent death of his longtime partner, and of excitement over a new relationship. There’s longing and thankfulness, but also the wish to let go to be able to go on.

Some of the songs were written during a holiday in India, in early 2001, where Paul had not returned since the events of 1968 (!). I think this little fact is esential to read this song. We can ask ourselves: Could Paul have remained indifferent to that place so associated with John and The Beatles, and to the memories it could have awakened?

The lyrics...

I tried to get over you I tried to find something new But all I could ever do Was fill, my time With thoughts, of you

I tried to go somewhere old To search for my pot of gold But all I could ever hold Inside, my mind Were thoughts, of you

I hear your music And it's driving me wild Familiar rhythms In a different style I hear your music And it's driving me wild again

Don't want to let you take me down Don't want to get hurt second time around Don't want to walk that lonely road again

I hear your music And it's driving me wild Familiar rhythms In a different style I hear your music And it's driving me wild again

Don't want to let you take me down Don't want to get hurt second time around Don't want to walk that lonely road again

Don't want to let you take me down Don't want to get hurt second time around Don't want to walk that lonely road again

The analysis of the one who does not want to be analyzed...

When asked about this particular song, Paul was as usual nonchalant about its meaning.

In 2001, he was saying this:

‘Lonely Road’ was also written in Goa, where I was enjoying the beach and the sea and generally chilling out in the new century. Again, I had a few moments in the afternoon, which is always a good time for me, a quiet spell when it’s always cool for me to go off and fondle my guitar. The songs basically wrote itself in about an hour. It is what it is, this song, you can make of it what you want to make of it. To me it’s not particularly about anything other than not wanting to be brought down. It’s a sort of anti-being brought down song, which is for anyone and everyone. It’s ‘don’t want to get brought down again, don’t want to walk that lonely road’, it’s symbolic for anyone who’s been through any sort of problems. It’s a defiant song against loneliness, written in a hotel room in Goa. - Driving Rain Interview, 2001.

“It’s a defiant song against loneliness”, thats a fantastic little definition, which goes well with not only this song but many of Paul’s tunes.

In another quote, published much later, Paul speaks a little about the simple motivation for a certain rhyme:

‘Lonely Road’ was written in India, and that’s a bit… I don’t really know what I’m doing, just blues longing. I say I tried to go somewhere ‘old’, that’s India. ‘To search for my pot of gold’, well I wasn’t, I was on holiday. So it’s half imagination, half reality. If I’m looking for a rhyme for old, and pot of gold comes into my mind, then I don’t resist. ‘I try to go somewhere old cos I no longer need a pot of gold?’ Fuck that. Let’s go somewhere old to search for a pot of gold seems more like a song. - "Conversations With McCartney", by Paul Du Noyer, 2015.

In both quotes, its like he’s saying: “It’s nothing, it’s just this song I made up on a holiday, I didnt want to get brought down, ‘old’ just goes well with ‘gold’, the usual things in a songwriter life. Don’t pay that much attention to it, don’t think too much about it, I certainly didn’t”.

Interestingly, he makes reference in the 2001 interview to another song of the same album, and he once again tries to make it clear that the sources of inspiration were deeply rooted in free asociation.

‘About You’ was written in India, in Goa. We had such a relaxing start to an Indian holiday which was at the beginning of 2001. It was exciting, I hadn’t been back to India since the Mararishi days, which was 25 years or so ago. It was great to look around a bit more; I’d only seen Rishikesh, north of Delhi, before. We started off in Goa, relaxed beach time, and one afternoon I wrote ‘About You’ on a little travel guitar I’ve got which has it’s own amp in it. I picked some words out for the song after seeing a copy of The India Times which was lying around. - Driving Rain Interview, 2001.

“I read the news today, oh boy" kind of feeling... Hmmm... (I wonder what that newspaper was about)

IMO, every time Paul strives to asociate a certain song to something inexplicable, casual and without intermediation, he actually suggests that the motivation is very intimate and subconscious. At the same time, he refuses to analyse it. He wont talk about it, because he cant answer for himself at that moment, that place and time. And he probably believes that if he tries to grasp its meaning and set it in stone, sort to speak, he would kill the song. In this case, I think he tries to say there is no clear intention, but its also a strong feeling he can’t help to express.

And when he alludes to the specific lyrics, he carefully avoids the “middle eight” of the song: “I hear your music and it's driving me wild / Familiar rhythms in a different style / I hear your music and it's driving me wild again”.

“I hear your music"... Whose music? 

Ok, Paul, you chose “gold” to rhyme with “old” (and I will not try to relate the “pot of gold” line with the famous twin dreams that John and Paul had after meeting for the first time). Fine. 

But who is the person he is talking to throughout the song? Whose memory is the one “taking him down” there in India, in a supposedly happy holiday?

Yes, it can be Linda, but if so, wouldn't Paul say "our music"?. Im inclined to believe that this music he’s hearing (and its driving him “wild”... wild as “young and rebellious”? wild as “angry and mad”?) belongs or relates to someone different.  

He sings: “Don't want to let you take me down / Don't want to get hurt second time around / Don't want to walk that lonely road again”.

Oh, this part I love. The reference to “second time” and “again” speak of a first time he was brought down and hurt, of a first time he walked “that lonely road”. Can this have to do only with his recent mourning, to which he’s saying in a way he’s done suffering? Or has to do with another, more distant, first departure, first great hurt? And even more, does this “first time” have something to do with India? (I remember now that Paul has another beautiful song that belongs to this period, maybe a little later, thats simply called “India”).

Why John, then?

The song transpires clearly a youthful rebellious spirit (”Fuck that”), expressing the need to shake off melancholy and nostalgia. And I think that in this way he suggests that he is more guarded in front of a process he already is familiar with. HE’S BEEN THERE. Because he has already gone through that lonely road, and it took him a long time to recover. This time, he feels the urge to recover faster (we'll know later that maybe it was too fast).

I dont know if the first mourning refers to his break-up with John or to John’s passing. Perhaps the proximity to India reinforces the first possibility.

Another thing to take into account is the fact that in the album Paul includes a song directly and explicitly related to Linda, Magic. On the contrary, in the case of Lonely Road, Paul decides to leave it orphan: it´s about noone, and nothing.

Lonely Road comes straight from the subconscious. It has a close, immediate trigger: probably another song that he hears and it makes him wild, and it brings him down, and it reminds him of another time when he was left alone.

And I think that song is a John’s song.

P.S.: Oh, not really related, but you definitely should watch the Lonely Road video. 

[misfitscollegeau-blog]

New Years Drabble

Words: 627

Notes: Hiya, I kinda hate this and this is only my like? Third time? Posting my writing anywhere so go easy on me lol. I’d love feedback though! Feedback is always welcome. Anyways, this is a little New Years Drabble (I know, it’s late lmao) about Matt and how he met Jay (Jay doesn’t remember much of this night, just saying that now ahandh). It gives you a little insight on how Matt was doing before he met his friends ajqndjd. It’s sorta messy and such bc my ADHD was acting up but I wanted to get this out so like? Whatever lol. Sorry, this is getting long. Please enjoy <3

Notes 2.0: Also! I didn’t have a beta reader so! Sorry if there’s any mistakes and such <33

———

New year, new me, right? That’s how the saying went, and if that was true, Matt was ready for it to be a New Year already.

His year had been pretty bad. He had started college, and it was way harder than he expected, which meant a lot of extra stress for the poor man. Stress meant getting drunk, or high, way too much. Drinking and smoking too much meant a lot of bad trips. Basically, Matt had a horrible year. He hadn’t even gotten any friends, so he had been spending the year drunk and alone. He left all his friends back home, or online. The student council, which he was apart of, didn’t count as friends.

Fuck, now that he thinks about it, he truly had a horrible year.

“Hey,” came a shout, startling him out of his thoughts. It could hardly be heard over the blaring music of the party. Matt turned his head, blinking at the man in front of him. “Hi,” he replied, forcing a slight smile, “do you need anything? It’s almost 12, shouldn’t you be finding someone to kiss or some shit?” He asked, stumbling slightly and leaning against the wall. He wasn’t drunk, just tipsy. At least that’s what he told himself.

The man in front of him laughed and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring what Matt said. “I’m Jay.” He shouted again, shuffling closer to the other. “You’re Matt, right? Bordie, from your student council shit? Yeah, she made me come over here. My date wandered off so now I don’t have anyone to spend the end of the year with. You’re cute so...” he trailed off, his cheeks flushed a light pink as he watched Matt.

It took a minute for Matt to process what was being said. He chuckled softly, shaking his head and staring at the other man in confusion. “What?” He asked, laughing again. This was... strange?

Sudden yelling went off in the room full of people. A mix of people starting to count down to ten, others cheering, and some yelling out of not having someone to share their New Years kiss with. At that moment, time seemed to slow down for Matt. Jay smiled sweetly at him, curling a hand around the back of his neck, the other one cupping his cheek. “May I?” He asked quietly, getting a small nod from Matt in return.

Matt could feel his face was flushed red, but he didn’t mind too much, focusing on the other man instead. He let his eyes flicker shut, his hands staying put awkwardly at his sides as Jay leaned forward and connected their lips.

Matt sighed softly, melting into the embrace and moving along with the other. Jay deepened the kiss, for just a moment, before he pulled away.

Matt let another little sigh escape past his lips before he blinked open his eyes, staring owlishly at the other. Jay giggled lowly, dropping his hands away from Matt. “Thanks,” he paused, stepping back and eyeing the other man. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, grabbing Matt’s arm and scribbling some numbers down. “Text me sometime, I’ll buy you coffee or something, mate.” He paused to smile sheepishly up at the other. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Nodding along to Jay’s words and staring dumbly, Matt watched as Jay winked and disappeared back into the crowd of people.

“Oh,” Matt mumbled, his fingers reaching up to brush against his lips. He laughed softly, mentally high-fiving himself as a large grin spread across his face. He was just kissed by a cute guy, and the year was over. Perhaps that was a sign that this year would be better; maybe even good. New year, new me, right?

[sparxwrites]

I'm not sure if you've answered something similar before (I can't find it if you have but knowing tumblrs terrible search function that's not saying much) but why do you write such dark sexual stories? What is it that you find so appealing in these twisted tales? Please understand this is from a point of good faith - I'm not judging and I enjoy dark stories and erotica both, only seperately. I'm just morbidly curious as to why you enjoy the combination as I see no appeal in it personally

oof, just a nice easy question to answer on a friday night, anon. okay. there’s a lot of answers to this question, depending on how personal i want to get and also like... which stories you’re talking about.

some stories i write that could be considered “darkly sexual” are categorically erotica. stuff involving weird, niche kinks, or monsters, or “dub-con” (which is not a real thing, i know, it’s a fantasy erotica thing)... the appeal there is, idk, whatever the fantasy is. they are, in my mind, written as fantasies - a fic where a character doesn’t want sex and then ends up "enjoying” having a monster lay eggs in them is obviously not what happens irl. eggs aside, no one ends up actually enjoying sexual assault. they’re written (from my side) with the air of “irl this would be Utterly Reprehensible, but what i’m essentially writing here is like... a roleplay session between two consenting partners where i am both partners”. it’s all fantasy! it’s all fake! it’s a bdsm scene or whatever where they’re both pretending/playing a role, except it’s just me writing it out with little finger puppets (either for my amusement/titillation, or the amusement/titillation of others).

then there’s... Other Stuff. see also, a lot of my percy and ripley fics. and i find it interesting that people often read those as fetish stuff because, whilst they do have sex in them, those are fundamentally horror stories. the appeal i get out of them is the same as whump/darkfic. when i write about horrible, traumatising sex where one person clearly doesn’t enjoy it, that is not a sexual fantasy for me. characters roleplaying at it, sure, me playing fingerpuppets with it, sure. but something deeply and fundamentally focused on the trauma and violation of that kind of thing is not, for me, sexual (and if what you’re getting off on is the actual nonconsent, rather than the playing at/silly version of nonconsent, i have some questions/concerns. this seems like a weird and not-really-there line, but it’s surprisingly obvious and disconcerting when someone/a fic crosses it tbh). what i get out of that is a deep sense of catharsis. i’ve gone into why i think i (and others) get this catharsis a little in my meta tag and this specific post - but, at the end of the day, i don’t exactly know. 

i think, perhaps, it is that i am a very sad person sometimes, and a very angry person sometimes, and in real life i spend a lot of time keeping both of those things hidden and pressed down, and... there has to be some kind of release valve for those emotions. with fiction, i have a safe way of managing that, both reading and writing - i can be both aggressor and victim, no one gets hurt (i find the thought of hurting people abhorrent; i nearly passed out once because a stranger was in pain from a dislocated shoulder, despite the lack of visible injury. hyperempathy is wild), i get to work through a whole bunch of psychological shit from various stuff i won’t go into... i often refer to writing as a release, or a valve, or a way to ease the pressure inside my head, or a form of venting. 

as to why sexual assault often shows up in these stories... i do frequently write whump without sexual assault, but it’s also like. a) a bunch of personal stuff that i don’t give enough of a shit to talk about, but it’s there, and b) sex and sex-adjacent stuff (often rape and assualt, but even consensual stuff!) has such a fascinating way of crystallising character/power dynamics, or stripping people bare, or exposing vulnerability, or dragging up really awful, messy, scary, painful, confusing stuff. and that makes it often a really good target when you (like me) want all those emotions in your writing because you’re using it as a pressure-valve vent, and as a way to safely experience and work through them. writing about difficult or traumatic relationships to the self, the body, to sex and to other people... sex is really good for all of that stuff. idk.

also, sometimes fics end up a weird mix of the two. i can’t think of any off the top of my head for cr, but for yogs (my previous fandom) i wrote a handful of things for a character that was essentially straight out of a horror movie and another monster character, with some real questionable consent stuff. 50% of that was “this is horrible and manipulative and just. really fucking Awful” and 50% of that was “hrnghghgh tentacles hot” so like. yknow. my brain is a weird mess i guess, is the takeaway message here.

(sometimes, there’s also an element of “can i get myself into this headspace” or “this is an interesting technical exercise” - i wrote something a while back about ripley masturbating to the memory of torturing percy, and that falls into this category. that wasn’t a fetish/fantasy thing, that was a character study, using sex as a medium to work through ripley’s obsessive, violent thoughts and strip away the veneer of imparitiality she so loves to pretend she has.)

idk how well this explains it - this is something i spend a lot of brain-power analysing on a regular basis, because i am constantly nosy about how my brain works and why it works in these weird, angular, fucked-up kinds of ways (not just with writing, the adventures of being autistic means i spend a Lot of time analysing myself to make sure i’m calibrating my interactions with other people correctly). i still haven’t entirely worked it out, and a lot of the stuff i have worked out is personal/messy enough i both don’t want to and can’t be arsed to explain it to strangers on the internet. i hope it’s given a Bit of an explanation tho, and if there’s a specific fic that prompted this comment, feel free to ask me about it specifically, bc i might be able to offer a little more insight as to my thought processes for like... a specific example i guess.

[anxietywontmakethewordsgo]

Okay Y’all

So at first I considered NOT posting this second part bc y’all seemed to have it covered on my first post in terms of extra insight for this episode. BUT. I am fucking traumatized, and the only way I’m getting SOME closure is if I point out everything on my mind at the moment (just like part one, which backfired horribly).

SO

Obviously, spoilers for 13.18, and trigger warnings (sexual assault, abuse, torture of our favorite archangel). On that note, Let’s jump into this.

Let’s start chronologically, shall we? The first scene of hell we are treated to is Ketch being told by one of Asmodicksucker’s minions that he needs to wait, because he is busy. After pausing and giving the guard a strange look, Ketch relents fairly quickly, asking if they have something to read.

NOW, I may be thinking too hard on this, but we all know that demons are irreparably corrupt; they have no shame in what they do to others, have no reason to hide what they do. So, why does Asmodeus tell the guard to keep ketch out?

Ketch seems to find this strange too, based on the look he gives the guard before asking about reading materials. When he finally walks in, Asmodeus is in the process of extracting some of Gabriel’s grace (our poor archangel whimpering as he does so). Ketch looks curious, sure, maybe even a bit confused initially. But as he watches, he seems…. disturbed? which is obviously unusual for his usual sociopathic behavior. He asks if this is a bad time, which prompts both of them to look up at him, one is disgruntlement, the other is surprise and hope.

Which brings me to my next point; this entire fucking scene. Rewinding a bit, we have Asmodeus being creepy and saying “just a little more” to Gabriel as he extracts the grace. I didn’t put too much thought into it the first (dozen) time(s) I watched it, but….its strange, isn’t it? If he were any other prisoner, Asmodeus wouldn’t show such…attentiveness to Gabriel’s reactions. He would probably insult them, maybe threaten them for the reaction.

But Gabriel isn’t any other prisoner, not to Asmodeus. I’m sure we all saw the preview where he says “I own you.” To someone off-screen. I’m also sure most of us thought he was talking about Gabriel. He wasn’t, not directly, but it may as well have applied anyway.

Near the end of the episode, Ketch describes Gabriel as Asmodeus’s “prize milk cow.”, and he’s not really that far off in his description. The way Asmodeus reassures Gabriel rather than threatening him is akin to somebody talking to their pet, or any animal in general.

You guys. Asmodeus doesn’t see Gabriel as an archangel, or even a human being. He sees him as his pet, his property.

This little convo right here, where he beats ketch down verbally, saying he has no real identity and that he doesn’t know what he is, is almost certainly what he did to Gabriel in order to break him into what he is now, a petrified shell of his former glory. And it isn’t just in Asmodeus’s mind that Gabe is like his property/an animal – it’s also in Gabriel’s. I can’t stop comparing the way Gabriel flinches away and whimpers when Asmodeus moves to a puppy scared of its abusive owner, how he is almost in a completely different mindset the whole episode, as if protecting whatever is left of his old self by reverting to what Asmodeus thinks him to be.

AAAND now I’ve gone off track from my original point; sexual assault. Obviously the show can’t just outright say they are talking about rape (and even if they could, the writers love subtext too damn much to do that.) I say they are using the ‘pet’ arc to explain just how violated and humiliated Gabriel is. Keep in mind, an angels grace is a part of their very BEING, what they are made of. While we have seen other instances of grace stealing in this show, we have only ever seen it one other time for an ARCHANGEL – and that would be with Michael, in the other world. We all saw how insistent Lucifer was about keeping Michael on the other side, and it makes me wonder if he felt just as violated by Michael as Gabriel does by Asmodeus. (who knows, maybe they’ll address the similarities eventually. After all, Gabriel and Lucifer are going to meet sometime, right?)

Chuck himself said that archangels are made of different stuff, the stuff of primordial creation. Could this mean that an archangel’s grace is even more close to their true form than a regular angel’s? if so, it’s just adding to the theory that not only is Asmodeus using Gabriel to power up, he is also KNOWINGLY VIOLATING HIM, and is ENJOYING IT (that bastard.)

Anyway, I think I’ve spent enough time torturing myself with THAT scene. Let’s move on, shall we?

Hearts were breaking across the world as Gabriel continued to show signs of complete psychological and emotional trauma. He cowered away from Ketch, even when he said it was a rescue. He all but screamed when Sam mentioned his grace, leading to a very disturbed and surprised look from both of them. just – hell, the look on the boy’s faces, PERIOD. When they first saw him, the shock and disgust in dean’s voice as he asked what Ketch had done to him. HELL, even Ketch looked shocked and disturbed that dean would even THINK he would go this far, do something so heinous, especially to an ARCHANGEL.It almost makes me wonder if the writers were also alluding to the boys KNOWING just how bad Gabriel’s current mental state is. i’m COMPLETELY shocked that Gabriel would even let Sam come NEAR him, let alone with a sharp object (ahhh my sabriel shipping heart!).

Some other (smaller, perhaps repeated) points that I don’t have the patience or brain cells to articulate;

-       Asmodeus almost sounding like he’s taunting Gabriel when he says “just a little more” rather than threatening him or insulting him. The humiliation must be immense, knowing he is being treated more like an animal than the archangel he once was.

-       Ketch’s reaction to Asmodeus’s little (ahem) session with Gabriel. He looks almost disturbed, which is very unlike his usual sociopathic self. It almost makes me wonder if Asmodeus KNEW ketch might try to free him, which is why he then later starts trying to mentally fuck with Ketch himself. Ketch also asks if it’s a “bad time”, adding to the uncomfortable sexual atmosphere of the scene already.

-       SPEAKING OF WHICH; Asmodeus fucking MOANING as he injects himself, his expression almost one of euphoria (ew.).

-       Notice how the camera cuts to Gabriel in the middle of the injection, showing a look of pure violation and fear. It is almost as if he can FEEL his very essence being absorbed, corrupted by Asmodeus’s demonic being. I’d say it’s almost an act of…domination, perhaps?

-       When ketch first speaks, both look up, Asmodeus with a look of disgruntlement, Gabriel with a look of surprise, and even HOPE. JUST LOOK AT HOW HIS EYES WIDEN, HOW HIS EYEBROWS RAISE. LOOK AT THE HOPE ON HIS FACE, YOU GUYS.

-       ASMODEUS SEWING OUR POOR CHILD’S MOUTH SHUT ASHDGFGS. It not only is a big part of his identity, who he IS, but it is also a big reminder that there is NO CONSENT ON HIS PART WHATSOEVER, leading to the connection of sexual assault.

Sorry for the COMPLETELY MESSY and out of order post, you guys. I just can’t even BEGIN to fully and properly articulate how fucked up the underlying sexual tones of this episode were. Maybe someone who is better at all this complex meta stuff can explain this better?

honestly you guys, i’m not sure what the writers are planning to do, but with how humiliated, how VULNERABLE Gabriel was....well, its gonna be a hell of a time trying to heal him up back to his former self. what he went through...its not something you just get over. despite this, i’m terrified interested to see where the writers take this.

[johobi]

WYLEI 11 - submission

The following was a submission (rather than a series of asks) discussing the latest chapter, sent in by one of my lovely regulars, lie anon. As it’s quite long I’ll place it under a read more; if it doesn’t display, I’m really sorry!

Wow, Jo. There’s so much I want to say to you. First of all, thank you so much for writing WYLEI. It was 18K of goodness; a ride so wild that I don’t wanna ever come down. This chapter is filled with pain, misery, heartbreak, relief, love and lust - a diabolical cocktail (hehe) that you feed to us and we partake so gleefully. The wait for this chapter is so worth it, and thank you so much for working so hard on it. You’re such a gem! I’m sending you a submission so I don’t clog your inbox ><“ I’m sorry I’ve so much thoughts I want to share ><”

You’re so welcome!! I’m serious! You’ve been so patient and encouraging the whole way. And don’t ever apologise for ‘clogging’ my inbox, I’m always so happy to hear from you :)

I want to gush about many parts of the chapter, namely the smut and heartbreak and confession. Wait, that’s the whole story wtf gdi lie anon is whipped as fuck!!! Ok I’m gonna talk about the sad parts first. Good lord Y/N had to force herself to look away from Kook because those eyes are a mirage now, and it will transport her to places of pain and misery that she shouldn’t find, that doesn’t belong in the first place ugh can you hear the sound of my heart breaking into a million pieces… The promise of happier and blissful days ahead are now shattered by Kook’s deadly secret :( it fucking stinks because I was rooting for Kook and Y/N right from the start. “Like an inmate fleeing from some plush penitentiary of pain” what the fuck. Y/N doesn’t deserve this bullshit. All she did was love Kook and he broke her. Fuck JK, really. I’m so mad at him right now. He better have a fucking good explanation for what’s going down as The Biggest Fuckup in The History of Mankind, istg. Or I’ll personally strangle this stupid boy with my bare hands ugh ajksfhjsl fuck!!!

fhfhfh yes, looking into the eyes of someone you thought you knew (and loved) after such a horrific revelation must be so difficult. Like, that person kissed and said sweet nothings to you behind a mask of some sort, so it must feel like looking into a stranger’s face afterwards. That’s definitely how Y/N was feeling. dfjkdjkj he really better have the most redeemable of reasons for lying to her. Will you guys think it’s good enough tho?!

I was expecting him to run after Y/N, because that just felt so much like what he’d do but he didn’t. Was it because his fiancee was there? Y/N couldn’t bring herself to hate the woman ugh my child is so pure and I’m hurting all over again :( “I’m not going to chase you” and “I won’t give up” um, what in the fresh hell, really. Why is he so lax in his pursuit now? :(

He said he wouldn’t chase her just so that she wouldn’t trip and fall to her death down the stairs (so he does at least possess some humanity lmao). And he must have said that he wouldn’t give up, because, well… he turned up at her apartment later. And rang her in between. As I try not to offer too many insights into their minds, I will say it from a place of speculation: perhaps he understood that she needed to get away from him at that moment. She absolutely wouldn’t stop running. So he resorted to calling her, and then turning up at her apartment. I don’t think he wanted to run her into the ground (she was very clearly exhausted).

And Jo, the way you documented Y/N’s journey from the eighteenth floor to the ground floor was so intricate! Her thought processes, her inner monologue, her sense of self-worth diminishing… it really did a number to me because I actually felt pain as I read it. It feels as though Y/N’s blaming herself for this treachery, you know? :( that she felt she had bursted someone’s bubble when JK was the one who ruined everything with his own hands :( god, I’m in so much awe of what you can do with mere words. I’m unbelievably in love with the way you write. And the last sentence? A fucking cliffhanger. A fucking heartbreak to come once more. Why don’t you take my heart and run it over with a bulldozer since it’s broken already lmao.

;;;;;; i’m so glad you liked that!!!! I wanted it to be intense and breathless. Constantly repeating how tired/how much it burned to run, to emphasise it in your own mind. ‘Til you start feeling it yourself!! 

Yeah, Y/N has a tendency to blame herself for everything. She thinks she can’t keep Jungkook interested, must have only been an escape from his life on the upper crust, etc… he was helping to build up her confidence, but then he tore it all down again. I feel like she should take a leaf from actual BTS’ book and Love Herself first. :( People often can’t do what’s best for them, though, for various reasons.

Next, the confession. God, I loved it with every fibre of my ridiculous being. The rawness of it all. How it came gushing through her lips and to be met with equal fervour by Tae. The exchange was mesmerising - timid and shy yet bold and dauntless altogether. I appreciate the fact that Tae had to take some time to digest the information and that he responded in the way that he did. It did felt right, after all that shit he put Y/N through the years.

I got SO into writing that scene. I wanted it paced and worded perfectly, because that was the ‘big’ moment. The fic had been building up to it for 10 chapters. From all the feedback I’ve received, I feel like I was able to do it the justice it deserved, and I couldn’t be happier about it. ;;;; thank you so much. The tumult of emotion you mention is precisely how I wanted it to play out. It took some bold leaps into the unknown and neither know what’s on the other side, but they did it anyway.

The part where Tae found her in the old haunt was so heartwarming. The piggyback ride, that little trip down memory lane… it felt nice knowing that some things just don’t change with time. Tae’s conviction in getting even for Y/N’s sake had me melting into a puddle of goo and feels. He’s so protective over her ahhh omg where can I find me someone like WYLEI’s Tae!!!

THIS IS MY FAV BIT!!!! I imagined this from day one. T__T And it was so nice to put it down into words, finally. AND YASS PROTECTIVE TAE!! I’ll be honest I’m not one for hot-headed males IRL but in the realm of fic (and as long as they’re not psychotic), I enjoy a guy with a vengeful spirit. And you mention exactly why. The protectiveness. T___T ahhajwkh. 

Tae’s initial reluctance in not wanting to fuck Y/N in this state really had my heart soft and in a pulpy mess. He knew it wasn’t right because this one fuck might make things messy again. He didn’t want to fuck things up any further with Y/N because he loves her too much to put her through another shit show. It’s a small part nonetheless, but showed how much Tae loved Y/N even though it means going against her wishes at that point in time.

Yes!!!! That was hugely important to include!!! I feel, without it, I’d be getting far different responses to this scene. It was essential to demonstrate that Tae had learnt his lesson and really valued their friendship above all. That he doesn’t just think of her as a woman in an attractive body. 

I feel like this chapter mirrors chapter 9, for some reason? Perhaps it had to do with the culmination of buried feelings and emotions, primarily desire and longing. Passion that laid dormant and stifled for fear of ruining the present equilibrium, are now brought to life with a confession. That, I find, makes the scenes all the more emotionally charged and engaging. And all the smut with Tae… NOW TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING PANTIES EVERYONE, IT’S TIME TO SCREAM!!!

You’re 100% right. The latter half, at least, is very much like 9. Y/N feeling desolate on the heels of the other guy, the lead-up banter, the actual act; it’s all very intimate; revolves around her and the respective guy in each chapter. And with a cliffhanger suggesting that you can’t just disappear into the arms of another and not pay the price.

“I want you to watch me undress.” > WHAT. THE. FUCK. Y/N is the epitome of Big Dick Energy, y’all!!! Fucking hell. The way she commanded Tae to watch her… WOW. I’m blown away with that power. That seductress side of her from before came out to play and I was unbelievably thrilled!!!

Hahaha, I guess, because I was writing her, I felt like her usual feistiness wasn’t behind that line. She was desperate to see some form of evidence that she was still desirable as a human being, so she put on a facade that normally comes very naturally to her. In this case it was pretty forced, and Tae saw through it quite quickly. Thank God, because I felt so awkward writing that bit. It really didn’t feel right to me.

“Fuck, all the times I’ve imagined you like this” > um, hello??? This is so fucking hot I’m sweating my fat ass off!!! Like Tae fina-fucking-lly gets to bone the living daylights out of Y/N and I can literally hear the utter desperation, the excitement, want and need in his deep, baritone voice as he says that? I’m not ok what the fuck is going on???

LOL you crack me up aklwjdawklj!! YES I had to cram in all his tasty one-liners about how much he’s thought about fucking her and in a myriad of ways bc gdi it’s hot and Tae is one horny man. With absolutely no reserve. IT’S SO HOT *fans self* 

“You have me” > um what the fuck, Jo? I legit died at this line??? I can only imagine the assertion and conviction in Tae’s voice when he said that??? He declared it once more to Y/N and I couldn’t breathe because /f e e l s/. Error 404: lieanon.exe not found (was dead in a ditch and now sending this from afterlife p.s. hell isn’t half as hot as the smut you write huehuehue).

aaaND THIS IS MY FAV OF HIS LINES DURING THE SEX STUFF!!! It’s just, like, it must be utter relief and happiness and desire flooding her hearing him say that. It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear from him. Instant crEAM. 

“Heaven was his practised teeth and tongue, pinching and suckling your collarbones to an inhuman shade. Like an overzealous pet he branded you with feral desire, mounting marks into stretches of unclaimed skin. ” > I got too much of a fucking kick while reading this because hickeys are fucking sexy and territorial so Y/N, WEAR THEM LIKE BADGES OF HONOUR. Ok seriously though where can I sign up for WYLEI’s Tae?!?!?!

ABSOLUTELY. HICKEYS FOR LIFE. I wanted to show how contrasting Jungkook and Tae’s approaches are in the bedroom, and Tae is far more aggressive (due to his confidence and experience). Plus he just freakin’ loves hickeys I guess. And as Y/N said, he’s aware ‘people’ will see them (Tae fights dirty lmao).

And that part when Tae fucked Y/N from the back AND pulling her while doing so? Mother of god that was SO. FUCKING. HOT. The mental imagery will never be lost on me, and it’s seared to the back of mind waiting to be revisited during /desperate/ times ahahaha FUCK. The tension and passion in that scene was palpable, and that taunting was sure as heck the cherry on top. Tae fucked Y/N through her squirting lmao let’s all hover over our damned bucket respectively because our panties are probably beyond soaked from that part istg my loins hurt and I need an ice pack gOD DAMMIT JO.

LMADOWNb i’m literally grinning from ear to ear reading this you are a tREASURE of the highest value. I’m glad you enjoyed that ;)))) my guidelines for going into this sex scene was: 1) it has to be passionate, 2) it has to be rough, 3) they both have to come quick the first time bc when you’re just THAT wound up about someone it’s hard to last long when you’re so impassioned and greedy. Plus I find something really hot about a fast ejaculation LMAO *sweats*. 

But you know what I find is the fucking sexiest part in the whole chapter? When Tae took Y/N’s hand and sucked her fucking fingers clean of her own juices wHAT THE FLYING FUCK JO WHAT THE ACTUAL /F U C K/ DID HE FUCKING LOOKED HER IN THE EYES AS HE DID SO?!?!?! I’M ASKING FOR A FRIEND ASHDFJKL I WILL NEVER BE OVER THIS PART.

you liked that the most!!!? Glad I included that then, that was just a spur of the moment thing I included while expanding the smut. He was v e r y hungry for her. ;)

AHHH I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER THE PAIN THE RAWNESS THE SMUT ASDAFFDSGL *incoherent yelling* uhm except i felt a little uncomfortable with the use of “oppa” it’s an overused trope “noona” is all good though i’m sorry please don’t hate me i love you :(

I had a couple of people ask about the oppa thing and honestly I had no idea that it had been sullied so much by kboos. After getting some feedback, including yours, I decided to change it to a much clearer ‘daddy’, after some thought on the matter. It’s probably the case that Koreans wouldn’t think to use their titles in such a way (correct me, anyone, if I’m wrong), as I was applying it with the vibe of ‘daddy’, and it’s probably not correct. So, just to be safe, I changed it. BTW I LOVE OVERUSED TROPES LIE ANON THIS WHOLE FIC IS BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS THE QUEEN OF TROPES!! NO-ONE CAN STOP MY TROPE-LOVIN’ ASS!!! Can I interest you in some enemies to lovers eventually…?! (the king of tropes)

……so yes, *deep breaths* I think I’m done screeching about chapter 11 and now it’s time to revisit everything once again. Or maybe 9034857494 more times. I’m positive I’ll find something new to scream about ahahaha yikes I’m really whipped lmao. I’m so invested in your fic that I’m actually terrified of the day when it comes to an eventual end sigh pie :( you write so very well, m’dear. WYLEI has made me cry, made me smile and made me high. You’re a talented storyteller, bubz, and I can’t convey enough gratitude to you for bringing us this amazing fic, Jo. I love you so very much!!! You’ve done extremely well, truly and definitely. Always delivering the best to us readers. Sending you plenty of love and good vibes always, m’love!!! Thank you once again! (and sorry for this long ass submission i’m the literal worst) xx lie anon ♥️🌻

Lie anon, you’ve written a veritable novel of yourself here to me, and I just want you to know how very, very grateful I am of how much time you spent collecting your thoughts and communicating them to me. I’ve never received such an essay (I mean that in the most affecionate of ways) in my inbox and it was a heartwarming read from start to finish. Thank you so much. And never be afraid to tell me of the things you dislike, as you did with the oppa kink. I’m always open ears. <333333

[appleblossomgirl0305]

Chapter 16 of Holiday is posted here and on AO3.

Aloha! So we've finally reached the end of this Holiday. I hope you've enjoyed reading it half as much I've enjoyed writing it. I want to express my gratitude to the @d12drabbles moderators who inspired this story with their weekly prompts and for creating a platform for new and experienced writers alike. And to @xerxia31, I owe you more than I can ever adequately express for your time, your incredible support, your excellent humor and genius assistance. And most of all for your friendship.

I've never finished a WIP before, so I'm pretty nervous about this chapter. Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated. Seeds have been planted for an epilogue, proving that even when I finish something, I don't actually finish it. *Sigh*.

Thank you for reading and joining me on this Holiday!

After placing the cake carefully on the passenger seat, I jumped into the driver’s seat and tried to jam the key into the ignition several times before it finally slid in. I couldn’t get the damn seat belt on either and realized that I was essentially fighting against every inanimate object I came in contact with because my hands were shaking so hard.  I beat my palms against the steering wheel in abject frustration before giving up and resting my forehead against it. I slumped against the wheel and let the full impact of how much I'd blown it settle around me. I had exposed the fragile soufflé of our relationship to a drafty room, the delicate bud of our love to a hard frost, the spun-sugar confection of us to enough pressure for it to crumble and slide through my fingers. Whatever cheesy metaphor you chose, I had totally fucked up.

I forced myself to take several deep breaths. Being a total wreck wasn’t going to help me right now, I needed to get a grip before I got to Katniss’ house. I took a moment to hate myself for letting the evening go so tragically downhill. For not standing up for her in the way I should have. For letting her believe for even a single second that she wasn’t perfect.

I fought back my mother’s voice telling me I was a lost cause, that I should just tuck my tail between my legs and crawl back inside before I embarrassed myself further. But whether it was a lost cause or not, Katniss deserved to be fought for. So I sat up, started my car and drove to her apartment.

I had never been in her building before. The Seam was on the border between town and the forest. The woods were privately owned by an international logging company, so not many people had reason to go there. Though over the years, I had heard snippets of Katniss and Gale’s conversations about hunting trips beyond the fence. Imagined her there, walking silently among the trees, arrow notched, but bow loose at her side. There were so many things to learn and discover about Katniss, I needed more time. Hell, I needed a lifetime.

The light on the front of the building was out and the dark street felt perilous. I hated the idea of Katniss and Prim having to feel unsafe, particularly at their own house. I grabbed the cake and double-checked that the car doors were locked. The entrance buzzer didn’t seem to work, but an older lady weighed down with plastic handle-bags pushed her way through the front door with a grunt and I grabbed it and held it open for her. She eyed me suspiciously as she passed, and asked in a voice raspy with disuse, “Cake?”

I nodded, holding it in front of me for her inspection and she nodded, apparently deciding that a guy holding a cake didn’t pose enough concern to warrant further discussion. I nudged through the door, feeling like I’d make it through the first trial of my quest. I made my way to Katniss’ ground-floor apartment, wondering if the old lady would have let me in if she knew that the only reason I had Katniss' address at all was from surreptitiously peeking at her paychecks.

I took a moment as I stood at her front door and ran my free hand through my hair, hoping it wasn’t too messy. Taking a deep breath and making a quick prayer to Clementia, the goddess of forgiveness and redemption, I knocked.

I heard footsteps approach the door and stop at the threshold, presumably to peer out the peephole. I held my breath, hoping Katniss would let me in, let me explain. My heart was in my throat as the door swung open and I was met with Prim’s blue eyes instead.

“Hi Prim, is Katniss home?” I asked, brandishing the cake in offering.

“Hi Peeta, she’s not. Would you like to come in?” She sounded apologetic and I tried not to look disappointed.

I walked in feeling like a deflated balloon. I hadn’t really stopped to consider that she might not be home.

“I’m not sure when she’ll be back. She’s at the Hawthorne’s.” My expression must have shown my devastation as visions of Gale’s hands undressing Katniss, his lips sliding over her neck or worse, him whispering soft comforts into her ear as he wrapped her in his arms, made me feel faint. “To see Hazelle,” Prim added hurriedly. “She’s kind of a second mother to us.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice and knowing that this information was still somehow a check in the Gale column of the imaginary ledger I assumed Katniss kept. A lovely mother was not something I had to offer. It was difficult to imagine that Hazelle Hawthorne would counsel Katniss to give me another chance. The realization that I could really lose her, maybe had already lost her, slammed into me so hard I nearly staggered backwards.

Prim reached out and took the cake from my hands and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

I cleared my throat and nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

As she prepared the tea, I took a moment to take in the apartment. Katniss’ description had not been wrong. It was shabby and small and I could detect a slight smell of damp, but it was tidy and homey. It was also a treasure trove of Katniss-related information. There was a small bookshelf populated with various field guides (mushrooms, native plants, birds), some outdated medical textbooks that I assumed were Prim’s, a couple of cookbooks as well as a number of paperbacks by Whitman, Thoreau, Cather, Dostoevsky, Atwood, and Krakauer. I wanted to touch each one, run my fingers over the dog-eared pages and broken spines, to worship any object that had captured her attention and imagination.

The formica countertop that divided the living room from the tiny, dark kitchen was a horrible pink-beige with several prominent cracks scarring the surface. I couldn’t help wondering how many times Katniss had run her fingernail along those cracks as she scarfed down some insubstantial meal standing at the counter. I peeked down the dark hallway carpeted in dingy gray carpet that I assumed must lead to the bedrooms.

Prim slid a steaming mug of mint tea across the countertop to me. “Do you take anything in your tea?” she asked.

I shook my head and thanked her before blurting out, “I’m so sorry for what my brother said tonight. He didn’t mean it like it sounded, but I can’t believe I let you both leave thinking it did. I’m so sorry.” I had meant the apology for Katniss, but owed it equally to Prim.

“I know, Peeta. And I think Katniss does too, deep down. He just said exactly what she was afraid your family would think.” She shook her head giving me a small smile. “I’m having trouble figuring out what to say. Katniss is such a private person, I don’t want to say anything that will upset her.”

I nodded, completely understanding her conundrum, but desperate for anything, any crumbs of insight or information she could offer me on what Katniss might be thinking. I blew into my cup and waited while she sorted it out.

“I don’t know how much you know about us, but Katniss is a survivor. She kept our family alive, literally, after our dad died and our mom succumbed to depression. She hasn’t given herself much room to enjoy life. I don’t think it is a betrayal to tell you that she has trouble trusting anything good.” She grinned up at me over the rim of her cup as she added, “And you, Peeta Mellark, seem too good to be true.”

I sputtered out an incredulous laugh and she shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “If I hadn’t spent years watching you stare at Katniss from afar looking utterly smitten every time, I’d be skeptical too. Did I mention that Katniss is also completely blind to the obvious?”

Despite still feeling sick with worry that I’d blown it, I found myself smiling back at Prim. She really was as sweet and lovely as Katniss said she was.

“So what can I do?” I asked, feeling like the entire world rested in Prim’s response.

She shrugged and took a tentative sip of her tea. “You give her some space. You leave her messages letting her know how you feel, but not pushing her to respond until she’s ready. You leave her that amazing-smelling cake, minus a piece for her sister.” She winked at me, then continued, “I know it sucks, but a lifetime of living with Katniss has taught me that giving her time to sort out her feelings is the only way. She processes her emotions at a glacial pace, but she usually comes to the right decision for what she needs. And I honestly think that you're what she needs, Peeta. I hope she allows herself to give things with you a chance. I think you’re just what the doctor ordered.”

I took several scalding gulps of tea to keep myself from begging Prim for the Hawthornes’ address and tracking Katniss down to plead her forgiveness and her favor. But I knew Prim was right and that I was lucky to have gotten her advice.

She picked up my empty cup and placed it in the sink before turning and adding, “I’m sure she would hate that I’m telling you this, but I’ve never seen her like this before, Peeta. I’ve caught her scrolling through pictures of you two on vacation more than once. She’s talked about your adventures and your friends and you practically nonstop, which is unprecedented.”

Relief and hope coursed through me and I offered Prim a shaky smile as I assured her, “I promise not to tell. And I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m heading back to school tomorrow. Just give Katniss a couple of days to sort through things at her own frustratingly slow pace.” She squeezed my arm, before adding, “I promise I’ll put in as many good words for you as I can. It might not seem like she listens to me, but I swear she does sometimes.”

“Are you kidding,” I asked grinning, realizing that maybe even Prim didn’t know all of Katniss’ feelings, “You’re her very favorite person in the world.”

She laughed, “It’s a pretty short list, but I’d wager that you’re near the top too.”

Impulsively, I leaned over and hugged her, feeling a thousand times better than I had an hour ago. “Have a safe trip back to school, Prim. Promise to come into the bakery next time you’re home, I owe you big.” She laughed and promised she would.

Walking back out to my car, I couldn't help wondering what my life would have been like if I’d had a sister as wonderful as Prim.

When I got home, I texted Katniss that I was desperately sorry about how our night had gone, and that I hoped she’d give me a chance to explain. And that I missed her and wanted to see her whenever and wherever she would allow. I stared at my phone, gripped tightly in my fist, willing it to light up with a response from her. It didn’t. Sighing heavily, I plugged it in to charge and closed my eyes.

Despite my exhaustion, I knew sleep would be elusive tonight. I followed my exhausted brain down into the depths of my worst fears and anxieties. All the dark, dank chasms with slimy walls and perilous pitfalls that assured me that I would never be happy, never be able to make anyone else happy, that I would always be alone. I knew these labyrinthine tunnels by heart, but there was no way out until the sun came up. So I tossed and turned until morning, extraordinarily grateful for first gray rays of morning light.

There was still no response from Katniss the following morning. After the twentieth time I had obsessively checked my phone, Rye asked, “Did you talk to her?”

I shook my head miserably.

“So it’s not over, you may still be able to fix it?” he asked.

I shot him a withering look, expecting to find his signature cocky smirk, but finding a cautiously hopeful one instead. I didn’t trust him, but I could feel myself wanting to, wishing that I could. I shrugged and he clapped me on the shoulder as he pushed past me into the walk-in.

There was still nothing from Katniss as my shift ended. The thought of hanging out in the apartment made me feel like the walls would crush me. Despite my exhaustion, I pulled on my running shoes and headed out for some fresh air. The relief once I got outside was immense and immediate. I took several deep breaths, feeling the constriction in my chest lessen as I took the first few jogging steps.

I started out on my usual route, past Katniss’ building, with equal parts hope and worry that I would run into her. I knew I couldn’t force things between us, and that she would likely attribute a chance encounter in front of her building as more stalking than fate. So instead of turning east to stay within the boundary of the town, I kept going north towards the meadow.

As my feet rhythmically slapped the pavement, I felt my muscles relax into movement and the tight knot of my thoughts untangle a bit.  The burn of my lungs was demanding enough to pull my attention from the repetitive cycle of anxious thoughts. As my feet marked the transition from the taut slap of the pavement to the quiet thud of the packed earth of the park trail that snaked through the meadow on the border of the woods, the one thought that I worked so hard to suppress came bubbling up out of nowhere. Okay, not nowhere, from that deep, dark place where every insecure, self-loathing thought dwelt. And that shameful truth was this: No one had ever truly loved me. And even worse, maybe no one ever would.

I realized something I had always known but never consciously acknowledged, I had always hoped that if Katniss, the epitome of strength and beauty and self-sufficiency and defiance could love me, it would override all of the other loves I'd been denied: my mother's kindness, my father's loyalty, my brothers' kinship. It would make those missing pieces matter less. It would redeem me.

But the truth was, the lack of all of those things sucked. Their absence had stunted me, deprived me of a sense of security my entire life. But I didn't have to keep letting it. A light went on somewhere deep inside me. It was small and dim, but it illuminated a place where some of my nightmares lived and it wasn't as dark and ghoulish as I would have thought. I wasn't irredeemable and Katniss wasn't my savior. I still wanted her more than anything in this world, but even if she didn't want me, I wasn't worthless. Maybe this just wasn't our time yet, maybe I just needed to give her the space I had promised, but never really understood the need for.

And while it was true that no one had ever truly loved me, for the first time in my life I realized how fucked up that was. Everyone deserved to be loved. I deserved to be loved. I looked out over one of my favorite views, over the misty pond and woods beyond, and let that sink in. I realized that’s what it must feel like to love yourself. To be outraged on your own behalf for the unfairness of your life, to feel a blazing recognition that you deserve more.

I slowed my pace to a walk, hands on hips, breathing hard. I stood at the fence line and stared into forest beyond. As my heart rate slowed and my breathing evened out, I let my eyes blur the riot of green and imagine the Hawaiian forest speeding by Finnick’s car window. I closed my eyes and imagined the perfume of overripe earth, of tropical blossoms, of the sea.  I let the memories wash over me - the silkiness of Katniss’ hair as it slid through my fingers, the throaty sound of her laughter, the exact color of her eyes with the technicolor sunset reflected in them. I pulled up the picture of her on my phone that I had taken at the airport on our last day, that incredible orchid tucked behind her ear, her eyes luminous as a small smile played on her lips. I clutched the screen to my chest letting all of those precious memories overwhelm me. I would've given anything to have any one of those days back. Her smile, her sun-kissed skin, her eyes like wisps of smoke. I wanted to fall head first into the past. But even as that hypnotic pull of the gilded past beckoned, I recognized it for the trap it was. It was time to fight for a future.

I took a deep breath and allowed the smell of pine forest and sweetgrass flood my senses. Those experiences had existed, we had shared them. And whatever came next, good or bad, they had meant something. But we were here now and as much as I wanted to give up and crawl under the covers and daydream horrific punishments for my brothers’ behavior, this wasn’t hopeless. The fat lady had yet to sing and I still had time to become the man Katniss Everdeen deserved.

Maybe it was the runner’s high and the sunshine or the infusion of hope, but I felt some of those raw, empty places inside of me fill up and heal over. I felt a foreign resilience flood through me. Certainty was its own kind of strength. I loved her. I’d be here, waiting for her when she was ready. But I would live my life the best I could until then.

I jogged home, feeling fortified and knowing what I would do when I got there. I would do the things that made me feel like my best self. I would paint. I would experiment in the bakery and take whatever I baked to the Boys and Girls Club for their after school program. I would hold on to this hopeful feeling with both hands for as long as I possibly could. Because, after all is said and done, hope is all any of us really have.

I spent the afternoon making various types of cheese buns. The one with the swirl of pesto was the most promising one. I imagined that this would be a perfect morning treat to try out on Katniss given her preference for savory breakfasts. I loaded up the truck and headed over to the Boys and Girls Club to drop off my the best batches.

Vic, Gale’s youngest brother worked there and was shooting hoops with a bunch of kids as I pulled the trays out of the truck. He broke off and grabbed a couple of the older kids to come over and help me unload.

“Hey, Peeta, it’s been awhile. What’d ya bring us?” he asked, inhaling deeply over a tray that a tall, dark-haired girl had grabbed from me.

“Hey, Vic, good to see you. I hope you guys like cheese buns.” I handed the next tray to him. Despite my initial aversion to him due to the uncanny resemblance all of the Hawthorne brothers shared, Vic had always been a good guy. And if anyone understood about not being judged by their brothers’ actions, it should be me.

“If they taste anywhere near as good as they smell, I do now!” He handed the tray over to another one of his charges before grabbing a bun and shoving it into his mouth. He let out an exaggerated, “Mmmm,” shaking his head in appreciation. My heart swelled.

I grabbed a box of day-old bread to leave for any of the families that needed it, and Vic and I walked in side by side.

He finished chewing and said, “I heard you and Katniss had a really good time in Hawaii.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. “It was an amazing trip.”

He nodded, clearing his throat, “Yeah, Prim told me.” I glanced over at him and caught the flush in his cheeks at the mention of her name.  I knew that look. I knew it very well. It was surprisingly companionable to see Vic visibly smitten. Seemed I was in good company.

I bumped his arm lightly with my shoulder and said conspiratorially, “Those Everdeen sisters are something else.”

He shot me an equally sly half smile and said, “Yeah, they sure are.”

I stuck around long enough to see the kids devour the cheese buns in a delighted feeding frenzy. It felt good. There were very few things that were more satisfying than feeding a throng of ravenous teenagers. My mind flashed back to Katniss throwing her arm around Konani’s shoulder and comparing her appetite to that of a teenage boy’s. Before my mood could turn wistful, I grabbed the empty trays and headed out.

Walking back to the truck, I glanced up and saw Marvel across the street. Though we’d texted a couple of times, it was the first time I’d laid eyes on him since the night I’d helped him into his town car and accepted the tickets that would change everything. As I raised my hand to wave to him, a gorgeous dark-haired woman stepped out from behind him. I watched, my hand frozen mid-wave as he leaned over and kissed her before slapping her ass and ducking into a waiting town car.

I don’t know why I was so surprised. Glimmer had been the worst fiancee imaginable, running off with Marvel’s best man was beyond shitty. She didn’t deserve mourning or wasted regret. But I couldn’t help the indignant shock that he could have moved on so quickly, not to mention looked so carefree about having done so. I thought about how you can stand next to someone, you can share experiences with them, hold their hand through parts of their lives, letting them skim across the surface of your heart without really sinking in, and then change partners and start over. That’s how most people lived their lives.

Every relationship I had ever been in before I left for Hawaii had been like that, temporary and insubstantial. But I understood in that moment, or maybe I’d always known, that I wasn’t really built like that. I had just been booking time until Katniss noticed me. A life with Katniss was my only real option. Now that I understood how good it was possible to feel with the right person, how complete I could be with her, there was no going back. She had germinated in my heart that fateful kindergarten day and her love had grown like Maleficent’s   thicket of thorns around my heart. I had tended those thorn bushes, weeding, watering, sharpening their thorns. There were no other choices now. I would have to figure out how to make this work or accept a lifetime alone.

Despite the nagging exhaustion from my bad night that made my limbs feel leaden and clumsy, I loaded a ladder on the truck and headed back over to Katniss’ building. I worked fast to change the lightbulb over the front entrance. I had a sneaking suspicion that Katniss would consider this overstepping my bounds. The old lady from last night sauntered by with her plastic bags and gave me a nod of approval. I couldn’t do anything about the streetlight, other than put in a call to the City, but I felt better knowing that I had chased away at least a little of the darkness in Katniss’ life.

The sun set on my drive home, coloring the sky a soft peachy-orange amidst the wisps of gray clouds. A pale imitation of a sunset by Hawaiian standards, it was lovely all the same. I fought the creeping anxiety that set in as the sky darkened into night.

I couldn’t bring myself to eat the leftover lasagna for dinner, so I scrambled a couple of eggs and ate them with one of the pesto cheese buns I’d made that afternoon. It was good, but I had to force myself to taste it. My incessant yawning announced that this long day was coming to an end, and despite the fact that I had kept busy enough all day stay a few steps ahead of the despair that was licking at my heels, I was dreading the moment when I would run out of road and have to be still with my thoughts. When I would have to go to bed alone.

There was still no word from Katniss at bedtime, so I sent her another text wishing her sweet dreams and begging her to call me. Despite being nearly incapacitated by fatigue, I dreaded closing my eyes. I tried to take some deep breaths, to assure myself that I was being ridiculous, that maybe tonight would be better. But I couldn’t help worrying about what was awaiting me in the depths of my subconscious.

Bolting upright, I found myself momentarily blinded by the sharp glare of the sun reflecting off of the water. I quelled the panic surging into my throat. As the world came into undulating focus, I understood that I was suspended over the water by some sort of platform. Some twenty yards away there was a metal walkway leading to a metallic sculpture where a battle was raging.

Katniss! I knew she was there, but couldn’t see her. Terror ripped through me when I took in the mayhem unfolding around me and realized I couldn’t find her. Spotting her on the walkway, I was overcome with relief that she appeared to be safe and intact. Finnick was swimming out to me and I went limp as he towed me to Katniss. She kissed me and handed me an arsenal of weapons I wasn’t sure what to do with, but that I tucked into my belt.

Once we reached the beach, I just wanted to collapse into the sand and hold Katniss until this mayhem stopped. But I knew we couldn’t, we weren’t safe, the only option being to head into the jungle. The foliage was thick and the earth beneath our feet black and spongy. Despite the tree cover, the heat was relentless and I was drenched in sweat as we climbed.

Monkeys appeared as if from nowhere, a shrieking mass of orange fur that converged on us, fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switch blades. I hacked and slashed, trying to reach Katniss.

But she was lying on the ground, an unbreakable glass wall between us as she screamed and writhed, tormented by winged demons disguised as birds. I slid down the wall, pressed my face next to hers and prayed for it to end.

I woke up sweating and shaking, the sheets balled in my clenched fists, her name lodged in my throat. I was in agony without her. I missed her terribly, achingly. I said a prayer into the darkness that she was alright, that she’d talk to me today. I grabbed my phone off the floor beside the bed and sent her a quick text telling her so. It was all I could do right now.

Feeling completely wrung out, I forced myself out of bed. I groped my way down the hall in complete darkness. I was used to starting my day in the dark, but this was early even for baker’s hours. After a long, hot shower that made me feel at least halfway human, I dressed quickly and headed down to the bakery to get a headstart on the morning chores. I preheated the ovens, turned out the dough that had proofed overnight and began to knead it. The warmth from the ovens and the rote activity loosened my mind and muscles and I felt a little better. I loved these peaceful moments when I had the bakery to myself. Maybe someday I’d open my own bakery and do something I loved in a place that wasn’t built on a foundation of pain and bad memories.

My mind began to run with ideas about how to get myself unstuck. I needed to move out. It was so obvious, I was shocked I hadn’t realized it earlier. I would probably need to take on another night at Abernathy’s to afford it, so I added talking to Haymitch to my mental to do list. Before I knew it, I’d formulated a plan and had several sheets of cheese buns that I slid into the hot oven to bake. Maybe if I just went ahead and got my life together, then by the time Katniss was ready to talk with me I’d be ready to share it with her.

Trudging out to the dumpster in the predawn light, I almost walked right past her. She was huddled on the bench outside the bakery peering out at me from under a knit cap. She looked so adorable and so miserable, I instantly wanted to pull her into my arms.

As soon as I had convinced my sleep-deprived brain that she was not a mirage, I ran the few steps that separated us, reaching for, but not actually grasping her shoulders as I knelt in front of her, afraid of what could have brought her here at this ungodly hour of the morning. “Katniss, what are you doing out here? What’s wrong?”

I took in her messy braid snaking out from under her hat, the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. I ran my thumbs over her cheeks and asked softly, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

She tipped her head forward, pressing her cold nose into my neck before mumbling, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” I said, meaning so many apologies at once. I waited for her to continue but she just sighed into my skin. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “And I’m so happy to see you.”

Though mostly healed, the the cut on my knee hurt as the sidewalk asphalt dug into it, so I pulled away to sit on the bench next to her. I could feel the frustration rolling off of her in waves and wasn’t sure what she needed from me. I reached for her hand and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She let me take her hand, but didn’t look at me or say anything. I took the opportunity to say what had been eating at me since she stood up from my dining table. "Katniss, I'm so sorry about dinner. My brothers were horrible. And I was a coward and an idiot. I should have fought for you while you were there. I was so shocked, I just froze. I don't even know what to say." I hung my head, too ashamed of my failings to meet her eyes.

She shook her head dismissively, like that wasn't what she wanted to talk about, but she said absently, “I've seen your mother, her pinched face and mean words, I always figured she was the worst of it."

"Oh, she is. My brothers aren't the best, but... Let's just say we were forged by the same hammer."

"Your dad?" She looked so perplexed.

"He's an incredibly kind man. He's just never really been able to stand up to her."

"So he's never stood up for you."

"Ah, no, not really." I cleared my throat, willing my voice not to crack. No one had ever talked to me about this before. And as humiliating as it was on the one hand, the relief of Katniss caring was almost overwhelming.

"And both those big brothers who should have protected you, not only didn't, but made things worse." She wasn't asking and I was too choked up to answer. The whole sorry story of my life was laid out before her. How each of my family members had appraised me and found me wanting. Worthless.

"You've been let down by so many people." She wove her fingers with mine. "And yet, you're so kind."

I looked over at her, tears of relief gathering in my eyes, making the world shimmer. That she didn't lump me in with them, that she could see me differently, that she was holding my hand. My heart felt as if it was trying to reach her too, and would beat through my chest if necessary.

She shook her head. "I always figured you had it so easy. But really, we just had it hard in different ways."

"Makes your apartment seem like less of a big deal, right?" I tried for levity, but the tears were still blurring my vision and my voice fell flat.

"It certainly puts it in a different perspective,” she said ruefully. “I've always known your mother was awful. But even though my mother was awful in a different way, I've always had Prim. We're a unit. She's the cornerstone of my family. Having her has made everything else bearable. Worthwhile, even. It kills me to think about how alone you've been."

The lump in my throat kept me from responding, but I squeezed her hand. She continued, “I’ve had depend on myself for most of my life. I’ve had Prim, and she’s great, but that isn’t really what I mean…” She huffed out a frustrated breath, then continued, “And I figured I always would be. Alone. It’s safer that way. I’ve figured out how to keep my head above water and that was the best I could hope for. But since I’ve gotten to know you.... Well, I’ve started to hope for more. I can’t seem to help myself. I want to be with you.”

I was stunned, afraid to move and shatter the perfection of this moment. The perfection of her saying these words to me. She glanced up at me, searching my eyes, looking for all the world like she was worried about how I’d feel about this confession.

In that moment, I had never been more grateful or loved anyone more. I couldn't help myself, I pulled her into my arms. I felt like every conversation, for the rest of our lives, should happen with my arms encircling her and her head resting on my chest, so she could hear my heart as plainly as my words. She scooted up tightly against me and allowed herself to be swallowed in my embrace before pulling back slightly. She met my eyes and there was still a question in hers.

“I gotta be honest, I’m not really seeing a problem here,” I offered, sniffing a little and clearing my throat. “That’s actually kinda the best news I’ve ever heard.”

Scowling, she stared at our clasped hands. “The problem is, I can’t sleep without you. I miss your arms, your warmth, your heartbeat, your,” she huffed out a breath and gestured towards me, “You.” She looked upset as she finally met my eyes and said defeatedly, “I miss you.”

My heart felt like a sparrow caught in the rafters and I wanted to spring off this bench and break into song, but she still looked so miserable. Instead I asked, “Why is that a bad thing?” I couldn’t keep the joy exploding within me off of my face much longer, my eyes felt squinty with the effort to keep from grinning like a manic fool.

“I hate wanting things.” She scowled and my heart sang.

“You really want me?” I asked teasingly, nudging her with my nose.

“It isn’t funny, Peeta,” she murmured, her scowl deepening.

"I'm not laughing. Honest." But I couldn't keep the grin off my face. “These,” I held out my arms to her, “are yours anytime you want them.”

“You can’t promise that.” She looked so sad and uncomfortable, I was dying to gather her to me and hold her forever just to prove how possible it was. But I took a deep breath and tried to quell some of the elation that was filling my chest at the knowledge that Katniss missed me, had wanted me when I wasn’t there. At the possibility that she would want me tonight. She pushed me back a few inches and looked straight into my eyes. "What if you change your mind. What if you leave."

I barked out a laugh, I couldn't help it, it was such a preposterous proposition. "That's impossible."

She pulled away, scowling. Not understanding that I was as serious as a heart attack.

I grabbed her hand to keep her facing me. Running my fingers down the length of her braid, I whispered, "Katniss, It’s not like that for me…” How could I explain this to her? Simply seemed best. I shrugged and continued, “I'm here for as long as you'll have me."

“I’m not easy. I’m grouchy and demanding and solitary in my ways,” she warned.

“I don’t want easy.” Taking my life in my hands, because she still looked as prickly as a porcupine, I kissed her nose. “I just want you. Snarling wildebeest and all.”

She sighed, "You say that now..."

"I don't know what to say to make you believe it, but I want this. I want you. Always."

"How can you know that?" she demanded, looking upset.

"Because I know” I said, shrugging. “I've always known. I guess you're just going to have to trust me."

"I'm scared." It was almost a whisper. I tipped her head up so she'd meet my eyes.

"I'm gonna do everything I can to make you understand every day just how much I'm not leaving." It was all I could say right now, all she was ready to hear. I couldn't keep the stupid grin off my face.

"You're ridiculous, you know that right?" Her mouth was still trying to scowl, but her eyes were smiling.

"Yeah. I can't help myself around you. You're just gonna have to get used to being adored." I shrugged, it really was out of my hands. “And while you’re right, I don’t know what the future has in store exactly, what I do know is that I just want to spend every last minute of the rest of my life with you.”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She fell into my arms and pressed against my chest. Nothing had ever felt better than her arms wrapping around my back as I pulled her snugly to me. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the heavenly scent of her.

“So,” I asked, trying to keep the naked hope out of my voice, “your place or mine tonight?”

“Mine,” she mumbled into my shirt, “less brothers.”

“Good point. See I knew you were more than just a pretty face.” She pulled away to shoot me a scowl before burrowing back into my neck and inhaling deeply. “If only you were good with a bow, you’d be the whole package,” I joked.

She pushed away from me before pulling my arm back around her. “Don’t make me show you my bow skills, Mellark.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. I was literally on the verge of tap dancing. And I had no idea how to tap dance.

I heard the relentless chime of the timer from inside as if it were a mile away. Finally, my mind grasped the meaning of the incessant noise and I cringed.

“What?” she asked, concern etched around her tired eyes.

“Oven timer,” I groaned, hating to move a muscle for fear I would break the magical spell that had allowed me to dream this up this reality. “The cheese buns will burn.”

Her stomach growled audibly. “Can we go in?” she asked, her eyes sleepy. “I’m cold and tired. And now I’m hungry.”

“Absolutely. That’s one of the perks of dating a baker. And since we generally fall asleep by 8:30 at night and get weirdly competitive about baked goods, you have to take advantage of whatever perks you can.” I waited to see what she would say about me casually slipping in a dating reference like it was no big deal.

She stood up and grabbed my hand, leading me back toward the alley door, “Speaking of falling asleep early, what movie do you want to watch?”

I squeezed her hand, “Whatever you want.”

As if on cue, the sun lit the sky and the first pink rays of morning light streaked across the sky, echoing off the gray clouds and gilding her in a golden glow. As she reached for the door, I stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at me, her eyes like silver mirrors reflecting the rosy blush of sunlight.

"Let me get that," I said, clearing my throat to cover the rasp in my voice. I reached around her, grasping the door handle in one hand and lacing my fingers through hers with the other.

"Okay." Her smile was small and a little shy, but it was mine.  It was passion fruit cocktails and technicolor sunsets and Narnia all rolled into that magnificent quirk of her lips. And I was willing to work for another one every day for the rest of my life.

She stopped just before she stepped through the door, her eyes luminous as they met mine. “So we’re really gonna do this?”

“Yes,” I said, “we really are.”

~Fin~

[healingincircles-blog]

Outflowing.

Outflowing I have been quiet from any real blogging endeavors for a while... But if I want to follow these principles, then I must practice "outflowing," and that means I must write. Out-flow. So, my inspiration to kick my insecurities and perhaps pursue a blog again comes from Lewis Howes' "School of Greatness" podcast episode -  "10 Principles of Abundance and Prosperity" Out-flow. Here's a link to the episode and show notes - it's fantastic. https://lewishowes.com/podcast/chris-lee-abundance/ It's one of those podcast episodes that I want to listen to over and over again. One that I want to listen to again and again to try to absorb more and more meaning and insights and wisdom from. I want to draw all I can from it. I want to learn all I can from it. And not just learn it, but practice it. Integrate it into my psyche. But pause. Let's go back for a second… After my accident a few years ago I started a blog, "The Reconstruction Pursuit." Writing it was my way of coping, processing, getting it out of my system. Writing my blog was something I could do to share what I was going through, all of the processing I was doing, like I said, a way to help myself cope. And in writing, I was hoping and still do hope that somehow my darkness could be someone else's light. I was enjoying writing, and it brought me joy to know that some of what I did write was meaningful.

Now cue up 2016 - VERY simply put, depression decided it would creep back in to play it's wicked games again. I felt a ton of frustration, anger, overwhelm, resentment, and all sorts of other emotions and shit towards the accident, towards life, towards myself, etc.. I wanted it to all just disappear. In pure rage and absolute feelings of stuckness and helplessness, I wanted to deny any of what happened. So, I deleted the blog (though I have some posts archived that I will pull up and try to share again) and I shut up. Little bits of tumblr posting here and there, but nothing really consistent or focused like I was starting to be with the Reconstruction Pursuit..

But alas - My brain is back in my head, and the unwelcome guest of depression has been excused --ehh, more like kicked to the fucking curb and beat to a pulp after a pretty brutal fist fight every time he tries to re-enter the party. Now, I want to re-honor the struggle. Honor and respect the darkness, the challenges, honor and draw blessing from what literally almost killed me. I want to let all the bullshit do nothing but fuel me forwards, and hopefully fuel others forwards when they feel dark and hopeless and helpless and lost like I did… 

In my quietness I have been doing a lot of learning. I have been pursuing a self-driven education in psychology, personal/self-development, human high-performance, mindset, yoga (it's amazing)… And, I don't think it does myself or anybody any good to pursue learning so much helpful and empowering information and not give it out (**outflow!) and share it (we will talk more about that "out flowing" in a bit).

I have been diving into the worlds of self-development and growth, "high performance," mindset, psychology, and becoming an expert of your own being. I have been diving into how to really get to know yourself and learn to master yourself, your brain, and learn to embrace - fully and completely - who you are, uniquely and authentically. I have been learning how to pursue consistently working to enhance and improve who you are, what you are, and reach levels of absolute high-performance in your inner and outer worlds- mind, body, soul. The fields of high-performance and self-development are fascinating. They light me up, they get me thinking, contemplating, they inspire and motivate me, and I have a desire to become competent and knowledgeable in these fields because the teachings I have pulled from them so far have helped me immensely to work through what I need to work through...

Depression. 

Anxiety. 

Complex PTSD. 

A major TBI (head injury), followed by some second impacts on other occasions, (which would actually mean collectively three more significant concussions after my accident...) all leading me on wild dance with post concussive syndrome/ second impact syndrome and the oh so wonderful and complicated - yet fascinating - things that come along with well, hitting your head really fucking hard…

Being in your 20's - being a young person trying to discover who they are and find their way in the world.

Being an athlete and working through identity shifts and relationship shifts and “relationship drama” with sport, performance, competition, creativity…

Working through those mighty existential questions, thinking about life and purpose and meaning..

Yeah – it's a lot to work through. But I'm not the only one who has to work through it - we are all human, we all go through what we go through and must work on what we need to work on individually. 

Return from rambling… Now you have a little picture of where I've been in the time of mostly keeping my fingers off the keyboard. Mmmm, ok, maybe just a little more rambling for a moment (though I don't think it's necessarily just rambling, I think what I am writing has some value, rather than just being noise). I am proud to say that the pit of darkness I was in, I'm not there. As I eluded to earlier, I have kicked depression out of the house and it gets ugly when he tries to re-enter... Do I have occasional rough days, low moments? Little "meltdowns" or "panic-freak-outs?" Yes. Do I have some days where I am down or moments when I feel like I am running away, trying desperately not to be caught and consumed by that darkness trying to suck me under again? Yes. But that's part of my humanness. Being aware of it, recognizing it, and deliberately choosing to fight it off and improve constantly as a human, well, that gives me something to work on. Ultimately, I win.

So getting all this going again, hopefully my writing style will convey something clear and meaningful… I write what is on my mind, what is in my heart, what is coming from that space in you that is your soul… I write as I contemplate, I go with the flow, I just let it come out, not a lot of editing.. I've decided I do not want to fear judgment for what I write or how I write, so I will write. The fear of being criticized, well, I no longer want it to hold me back. So again, I will write. It's raw, perhaps sometimes here and there a little messy, but is raw not the most real? Organic has a little dirt left on it. (Builds immunity.)

And now, coming back from all of that and returning to what was on my mind when I started this whole post thing was "outflowing" - Principle #1 "Outflowing" -- https://lewishowes.com/podcast/chris-lee-abundance/ To focus out. Wherever you go, give. Whatever you put out comes back multiplied.Law of attraction. What can you give today? Check out the podcast and the "show notes" – https://lewishowes.com/podcast/chris-lee-abundance/ – to get the recap and ideas from them, but this is what I have to offer from what I have gathered… It's an evolving understanding. Outflowing - letting what is inside you that you have to give flow out of you…- knowing that what flows out of you will flow back to you, magnified - The good and the bad. What we give, we will receive. What we sow, we will reap. Outflowing is recognizing and acknowledging your strengths and talents and gifts and giving them away, sharing them, using them to serve and benefit others. Using them as your light - illuminate. (Remember, where there is light there can be no darkness…) Part of outflowing is to recognize what you're proud of within yourself and you life and integrate those "wins" into your psyche - celebrate them! Celebrate your victories. This builds your feelings of self-worth and confidence, and when these feelings are enhanced you can also recognize and give away the qualities they bring – Exude confidence. Exude a confident, quality character. That's a gift to give.

Outflowing is also sharing what you have learned, your experiences, your life, and the insights, knowledge, and wisdom that your life and your experiences have brought you, with humility and graciousness, humble and free of ego, with the hopes and intentions of it being enlightening or inspiring or uplifting to others who may need to hear it. I guess for me then that means sharing what I am learning and sharing the tools and skills that I am building and putting into practice. I think it means not trying to stuff it away and hide it and try to make it disappear, but rather sharing what I have been through and experienced, how I have overcome and fought through a variety of things… It means being open, honest, vulnerable - yes - outflowing is being open and honest, transforming fears into faith and tragedies into triumphs and sharing what I have worked on, worked through, and continue to work on and through in this life. 

And then (perhaps most importantly) - There has to be love. Love.

It's an outflowing of love. It's vulnerability and willingness to let your humanity be seen and known and to say "this is who I am and who I am is what I have to give" – give all of who you are to the benefit of others, with the intention of love and service. Love-filled and love-fueled service.

Love is a driving force, a binding force, a force of connection, a force that we really cannot use words to describe, but nonetheless, a magnificent force that is empowering, and truly, exactly what many of us need so, so badly to infuse into our beings to really empower our lives. 

Outflow that. Love first.

#sometimesmessy.  So if this feels like and 'incomplete' ending to you, then expect the "vibe" of the post to be continued further into more posts. 

Namaste.

[howellrichard]

10 Summer Reads to Boost Your Happiness

Hiya Gorgeous,

The sun is shining and summer is finally upon us. It’s one of my happiest times of the year because I get to soak up two of my favorite things: reading and vitamin D! I love being able to catch up on all the delicious must read books that have been piling up on my nightstand. There’s nothing better than curling up in a fabulous spot with an exciting new page-turner.

Throughout my wellness journey, books have been my faithful compass, guiding me along the way. They’re my teachers when I feel stuck, lost or in need of fresh inspiration. And they provide a cozy classroom to wrap my mind around health pickles when I’m getting my footing or feeling overwhelmed.

Lately, I’ve been looking to the bookshelf to stoke my spiritual fire and creative passion. Which brings me to my summer reading list. Whether you’re on the beach, by the pool, or chillin’ at the park, bring one of these gems with you (and don’t forget your sunscreen!).

These books will leave you feeling totally inspired and recharged. And here’s another bonus: reading is connected to your wellness because it helps to reduce stress. (study) So take the time to indulge—it’s good for ya, honey!

Lookin’ for something to read? Here’s the top 10 #books on my #summer reading list. Enjoy! @Kris_Carr

Here’s to the sweet days of drinking in a little down time. Sit back, relax, and enjoy one (or all) of these transformational beauties…

My summer reading list

Hourglass: Time, Memory, Marriage by Dani Shapiro

Dani Shapiro is quite possibly my favorite writer. Her latest book is an intimate journey into her 18 year partnership with her husband. To me, it’s a spiritual inquiry about the fragility and strength that develops over the course of many years together. Brian and I recently shared our 10 year anniversary together and there were so many moments I could relate to in her book. And after reading it, I feel more committed to my life with my amazing man who I know and don’t know at the same time, who I love and disappoint, champion and annoy. This book helped me remember that relationships are beautiful, messy, complicated, and deeply spiritual if we’re open to it.

The One Life We’re Given by Mark Nepo

There’s a beautiful dance between trying and letting go, giving your all and surrendering to receive. Mark’s book came into my life at the perfect time as I’ve been navigating some challenges with a loved one. It’s the gentle reminder of how precious life is and how we have to stay open to whatever life puts before us (even when it’s not so pretty). The heart carves a path for our deep work leading us to our true purpose. This one is a total game-changer!

Wake Up to the Joy of You by Agapi Stassinopoulos

Agapi is one of my dear friends and when she told me about her new book, I knew I was going to fall in love. She’s an inspirational force who has channeled her wisdom into this beautiful collection of motivation. I love how she lays out an easy-to-follow process for building the foundations of self-care —amen sister! There’s 52 weeks of activities for letting go of what doesn’t work for you and finding what does. It’s all about learning to trust in your own creativity, keeping your heart open, and connecting to that something bigger that lives inside you.

Hallelujah Anyway by Anne Lamott

How I love the wisdom of Anne Lamott! Her latest book is a collection of essays on faith—what it really means to believe in yourself and the world around you. She delves head first into the upside of discovering and extending mercy to yourself and others. My favorite line: “Kindness towards others, beginning with myself, buys us a shot at a warm and generous heart, the greatest prize of all.” Just let that beautiful sentence soak in. This book is as honest as it is humorous, and it will leave you with a clearer vision of what it means to lead each day with a merciful heart.

Material Girl, Mystical World: The Now Age Guide to a High Vibe Life by Ruby Warrington

Ruby Warrington is your girl if you’re looking for a modern-day guide to spirituality. As the founder of the popular website The Numinous, she’s created a lovely manual for understanding your mystical side and the tools that can help along your spiritual journey. From astrology to meditation, Ruby connects the New Age to what she’s dubbed “the Now Age”—helping us to understand and apply modern-day spirituality to everyday life. She breaks everything down into easy to digest chapters and shares fun, anecdotal bits from her own hilarious experiences. A super fun read, especially for younger readers.

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life by Mark Manson

When I first read Mark’s essay, I thought YES, this guy gets it! The truth is, we all give way too many fucks when we don’t need to. And when we give a fuck that we probably shouldn’t have, we’re often cutting ourselves short on the things we should be focusing on. It’s really all about learning when and where to give your energy without apologies or shoulds. He’ll help you decipher between your musts and the things you don’t need to think twice about—ultimately knowing what’s right for you and what’s not-so-much. Fuck yeah!

Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy by Sheryl Sandberg

It’s possible for each of us to face life’s roadblocks with joy and love. Sheryl is the COO of Facebook who lost her husband Dave. She wrote this incredible Facebook post 30 days after her husband suddenly passed away, and it’s evolved into her new brilliant book. Dave had said to her: “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of Option B.” Sheryl bravely and gracefully demonstrates to us how to face grief head on. It’s all about how we can reroute our plans and still find peace and happiness.

Seat of the Soul by Gary Zukav

This is a classic, go-to book packed with big wisdom. I re-read this every year and it always leaves me with so many things to think about. If you’re ready for some deep, soul-level intelligence, then this is the perfect place to start. Gary is one of the most brilliant spiritual teachers of our time. He explains how we’re evolving into a species that craves authentic power (over that surface-level, external stuff). When we infuse our daily routines with reverence, compassion, and trust, our days come alive with meaning and purpose.

White Hot Truth by Danielle LaPorte

Sometimes when we make the choice to work on our self, we can fall down the rabbit hole of constantly needing to improve and be better. There’s a thin line between self-improvement and obsession, and Danielle serves up a dose of white hot truth to help us explore the conflict between aspiring to be spiritual and the compulsion to constantly improve (and be perfect). She takes a confusing topic and makes it clear and easy to digest. Thank you Danielle for this beautiful book filled with insightful goodness!

Born a Crime by Trevor Noah

What I love about this book is Trevor’s adoration for his mama. He’s a comedian, but his book is anything but jokes. He documents his experience growing up as a mixed race child during apartheid in South Africa with raw integrity and humor. He’ll make you belly laugh and then be moved to tears. Trevor speaks his truth and unveils his deep, undying love for his mother who survived a near fatal gun wound. It’s all about following dreams and rising above the obstacles life throws your way—with grace, a little naughtiness, and a wicked sense of humor!

Get my Self-Care planner so you can pencil in some relaxing reading time!

Your turn: What’re you reading this summer? Tell me about the pile on your nightstand. Share in the comments below—I’m always looking for suggestions!

Peace and happy reading,

The post 10 Summer Reads to Boost Your Happiness appeared first on KrisCarr.com.