#first place but. I just. Have not been taking myself seriously. And wholly. And for all that the DKB years were drenched in delusion....

[blackvahana]

Glad this post came out of queue on the day I was discussing fat bodies and nose rings + chains with him, second being specifically about me wanting to wear one as a symbol of marriage with him

I don't know what exactly happened to make Vahana form go from thick and tall to... almost abtractly proportioned very thin and feminine. Something just changed. You can still tell that I'm the same person, it's the same root humanoid expression... But it just. changed one day

There's definitely something to miss about it. I've always said that the Day Sky is big, I'm... What. 250 pounds now on the physical plane, this body echoes the heaviness and presence of the Day Sky because... Well, there's a lot to be said about disability and binge disordered eating issues which are. my business, but there's something about this body that just... I need this much space. It's hard to talk about what I want to talk about because I look inside myself and hi, all those little parasite things lmfao, but getting past that there's a sense that I need so much space to exist in as the Sky itself

The reason the parasite things are hard to look past is because they fractalise in on themselves making space hard to quantify lmfao but anyway

I just... Lev was around a lot when I was... like how I was before, bigger in the astral. I used to say I was the same weight just different height, no lmfao body dysmorphia I would've been way heavier in the astral w all that muscle and bone in the extra height but... Point is. Embodiment for me involves fatness, there's presence that's needed in order for me to exist as myself. I expand, spill, into multiple bodies, I try to keep myself reigned in and do so obsessively but like... I'm not meant for that

Anyway. Lev was around a lot. That train of thought. Huge bodies (in terms of length, in terms of dwarfing planets), devouring, claiming substance of reality itself as our own... Heavy presence, filled atmosphere, the Day Sky is not empty it is grave with devoured scattering light... He's telling me to get back on track but I don't know if there is a track irt this train of thought. I follow him, I embody him acting as a body for him, something about that spills into fat and muscle and bone. Oh yeah, I have thoughts I want to write on him and veils and using animal parts like consciousness uses meat, and... I've been coaxing him further and deeper into manifested reality bit by bit...

Earlier, I was... I wont say working with the sky, I'm not going to belittle and minimise myself. I was just being the sky, and my body as the wind was hard to be around, immense energy, whatever. Hard to be around as in it was full, the space was basically taken up by my energy, the experience was trying to press into a crowd of bodies, no space, no pushing will get you in.

I guess being the multiple people I am, I'm always going to swing between states that feel right... I cant say the way i was before during DKB years - heavier, more outwardly "masculine" but still NB - isn't feeling... uh... Hmm.

[insult-2-injury]

The First Unkindness - Chapter 1

Time Travel Fem Reader x Zandik (set in Akademiya days)

With a strike intended to kill, Il Dottore sends you flying back through time, where you find yourself face to face with the first, but no less sinister version of himself.

AO3 Link, 3k wc, eventual smut, eventual romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Chapter 1

You suppose you should’ve known something was off when the chatty shopkeep stopped talking for even a split second. When the unstoppered commotion of the Sumeru marketplace plummeted before suddenly picking up again, like a radio dial spun quickly back and forth; tuning in.

But it was just a glitch in time, you’d thought, hopeful. One of those funny little moments when reality and memory collide. Deja vu, they called it, so strong it rocked you sideways. Yes, just that; you thought until seconds later, the shopkeep dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, and complete silence suffused the din.

You froze, one arm still outstretched, an apple clutched in your palm so shiny you thought perhaps if you squinted hard enough, you could see the approach of your own reckoning from behind.

Fear was a strange thing; had you numbly taking the time to bag the rest of your purchases before turning stiffly. The warm glow of lanterns bathing cobblestone that had seemed so friendly in the bustle seemed now to cast an eerie spotlight on the figures. Dozens of prone forms littered the ground, some of them bent at odd angles, their full weight having crashed down suddenly and without warning.

An unnaturally cold gust of air bit into your cheeks.

Well, you thought, you suppose you should’ve known better; staying in Sumeru any longer than you ought. You recalled when you’d moved here from your tiny little village just outside Gandharva Ville; when the hope of a bright future at Akademiya had eclipsed the sight of the rot beneath it all. This place was a utopia once. Not anymore.

You were headed somewhere where there were no monsters beneath the floorboards, where the worst creature that could lunge from the shadows was a Rishboland tiger.

But the current foe did not lunge, he crept toward you with an undue ease.

The Fatui harbinger tucked a device neatly into his jacket pocket, walking with the slimy confidence of someone who had laid his groundwork precisely and was here to reap his reward. 

Il Dottore. The Doctor. You never had seen him in person. And Archons, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him, every inch of his countenance built to scream of power. An intricately patterned gray overcoat over a cobalt shirt crowned with a gold-lined cravat. Black pants slimming down into opulent, intimidating boots of the same colors. Everything about him was jagged and deadly; from the knife-edged slant of his jaw drawing into a pointed chin to the sharp, hawk-like beak of his mask – something that did little to hide the ghost of smirking lips beneath. An unruly head of steel blue hair sprouted and fell in almost lazy curls to frame his face.

Following him were two Fatui soldiers.

“So you managed to retain consciousness. Bravo.” 

Your blood ran cold at the timbre of his voice, smooth and rumbling as a far-off storm. “Although I do find myself wondering how that is…���

He continued. “The pitch produced by this device is wholly indiscernible to the human ear. Oh, let’s call it something tantamount to an amplified dog whistle. ” Dottore spoke derisively, like he was trying to explain the concept of sound to a simpleminded commoner. Your heart started up a terrible rhythm as his voice lowered in mock seriousness. “It would require a great deal of mental endeavor for even one with the gaze of the gods to withstand such a blow to their Akasha, but, unless I’m mistaken, you’ve been gifted with no such vision.”

“You’re not mistaken,” you confirmed. “Will they die?” 

“Who?” 

Your eye twitched.

“Ah. All these delightful people, you mean.” You swore you saw a flash of razor sharp teeth. “Why, they are merely asleep.”

Archons, he was a villain in the truest sense of the word. You gnawed the inside of your cheek, a profound hatred melding with anxiety to create a nauseating brew in the pit of your stomach.

“Well, what do you want?” 

He hummed almost appreciatively. “So forward, I’d almost admire your brashness if it weren’t coupled with a shocking lack of observance. A little forethought and you could have been miles away by now. Imagine.” The corner of his lips creased wickedly.

“Imagine,” you retorted with a boldness you didn’t feel, fingers ticking on the apple in your palm.

“Tell me, driyosh, what did inspire you to rewire your terminal?” His voice was too light, too inviting. “Moreso, what could have possibly motivated you to flee the city at such a time?”

Dottore was toying with you like a cat would a mouse. You were nothing but a ball of yarn between his sharp claws as he batted you around for information he most certainly already had. And by the smirk on his face, he knew you knew that there was nothing to do but buy time.

You spoke carefully.

“To be honest, I don’t find my values… aligning with the Akademiya anymore.”

“Your values? Hm.” His dark, rolling chuckle accused you of more than any words could. You felt a tingling heat creep to your cheeks and you swallowed down a wave of humiliation. “We’re fast approaching a new era of enlightenment; I do think most would call your judgment into question.”

“Yeah, well…” You bit out, tilting your head toward the sea of unconscious forms. “Seems not everybody’s in their right minds these days.”

Dottore smirked. Your hand itched to grab the gun hidden at your side, but doing so would be a certified death sentence. A shot of electro, devastating to most, wouldn’t hold water to whatever sort of power he must hold to have been crowned a Fatui harbinger. 

You knew when it came down to it, the power imbalance was all too inequitable. He didn’t seem the type to expend time and energy going after the insignificant himself, though; which meant to some degree, however miniscule, you posed a threat. But how to appease a Fatui harbinger on a mission? Perhaps you just had to keep him talking. Easy enough, you thought, he seemed to very much enjoy the sound of his own voice.

“Besides, propaganda is a powerful tool,” you stalled, toying with the apple within your sweating palms. “And is it so bad to want to dream, anyway? I’m not the first to mess with my terminal and I likely won’t be the last. Does all this really warrant arrest now?” 

Do the matra have nothing better to do than to send a Fatui harbinger to do their grunt work? No, you knew better than to think this had anything to do with your tampering with your terminal. This was only the first rap of his knuckles against your proverbial egg shell.

“Oh? Are you so important to warrant an arrest?” he responded simply, head cocking.

A shock of fear, cold and electric crept your spine at the implication. You blinked. You hadn’t considered the possibility of your life ending right here where you stood. He’d brought a hydro and a cryogunner, which you thought had spoken of intent to capture, but the two of them stood almost completely useless behind him, and who were you to guess the motive of a madman? 

You couldn’t help the stomach-sinking feeling that he’d only brought them to confuse; to tease. Your gaze turned back to the sharp void of his mask. Steeling yourself, you took a breath.

“Why don’t you wear your Akasha, then, Doctor?” you asked and his chin lowered slightly at the use of his epithet. You relaxed your shoulders as much as you could. “Don’t you want access to the arcane wisdom of our new god? Don’t you dream, then? And is dreaming not the personification of irrational thought, of unintelligence? ” His lips were all you could see, but the small grin at your sardonic tone was almost playful as you mimicked the words of the Akademiya’s most recent decree. You swallowed down a ball of nerves, a flicker of hope alight in your chest at his seemingly genuine amusement, however feline. “People become so dredged up in it all, they don’t stop to think where their dreams are going – or just who is listening to them.”

“Oh, they do think,” he responded simply, “but like you said, propaganda is a powerful tool.”

Dottore raised a gloved hand to signal his soldiers to stay put and stepped toward you alone, hands falling behind his back, terrifyingly casual. Your lower back met the rickety wooden cart behind you with a thud as you jarred away from his slow approach. His lips curled slightly but he surprisingly did not push further, halting at a conversational distance.

“You do pose a fair question, I suppose. But alas, what is the worth of a dream to the sleepless? Perhaps there is a tormented segment of myself who does still dream,” he said indifferently, “I just don’t care enough to ask. In any case, I am not one of them.”

You frowned. Segments? 

“And I will go ahead and infer from the spirit of this conversation that you don’t approve of my scientific methods here in Sumeru. I’ll be the first to call into question the Akademiya’s more… rigid history.” His voice dropped, the words formed around a sharp smile, like he was letting you in on a private joke. “But when the old ways have been set in stone, when the rot of a bygone era travels deep, the creation that rises from the floorboards must serve as a symbol of power. Of wisdom.”  

The word sounded so ridiculously insincere you could have laughed. 

“You don’t really mean that,” you dared.

Dottore studied you but did not respond to your doubt, one corner of his lips curling slowly into a sinister grin, filling you with a sudden, heart-pounding anticipation.

“And what of your involvement, driyosh?” he said lowly.

You licked your lips, a fresh wave of panic slithering through your veins. “I felt just a tad… just a tad deceived, I guess.” 

“Do elaborate.”

You observed him.

The work had started out light; unassuming. Everyday tasks handed down to you from the Grand Sage: tedious things like hunting down borderline ancient research papers or transferring messages across Akademiya grounds – frustrating, admittedly, for a gunslinging driyosh with a thesis paper to write. But further requests had you descending into madness; Azar’s requests for you to sketch out blueprints for a bigger and better weapon. One that could harvest latent elements from the world around it, transfer it into a clean source of elemental energy. 

But for what? And why? For who? The questions were endless and the potential for misuse even more so, but… you were interested in the work. Couldn’t help yourself. And to be seemingly taken both under the wing and into the good graces of the Grand Sage was no common feat. So you continued.

That is…  until the rumor came of the awakening god beneath the floorboards. Of the sighting of a Fatui harbinger. Oh, it must’ve felt such vacuous gossip to those who’d followed Akademiya’s orders and left their terminals on permanently. But to those like yourself, who had caught on a hair too late to the Akademiya’s betrayal, the knowledge latched on with a terrible sense of trepidation. Something was coming. Something bad.

And you’d been able to do nothing but slow its progression.

You cleared your throat and continued. “Me thinking I was anything but a puppet to the Akademiya. Thinking the Grand Sage chose me for my talent over simple convenience.” You shrugged through the rush of anger that stung your cheeks, pulling your lips into a small frown. “I should never have gotten involved.”

“Oh, don’t pity yourself so,” he said, disapproval coloring his tone. “After all, you’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you. Star pupil of Spantamad; remarkable aptitude in biomechanical weaponry.” You narrowed your eyes, his praise unexpected and holding a wormy, underhanded cut of ridicule. “The gods deprived you of your own vessel of release, so you created your own.” 

He nodded subtly to the hidden guns holstered at your side and you tensed. “An elemental destabilizer. Not the first of its kind, no, but mildly impressive for one so young as you. You did grab my attention for a short while, I will say– so impulsive to throw yourself into a project with so few questions; so little understanding of the desired outcome. No, you just wanted to be of use. And you were, weren’t you? Yes, for every blind inch Azar granted you, you took a mile. To that end, I do applaud you.”

Your cheeks blazed at his disparagement, feeling like a tiny ant amidst the cobblestones under his derisive gaze. You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised it was the Doctor that had chosen you by hand, considering what you’d recently come to learn of his proclivities.

“It is a shame you never saw the potential in scaling up your craft,” he said, “but you did have your uses.”

“Thank you,” you bit out.

Dottore hummed. “...Anyhow.” His gloved fingers tapped against his biceps in thought. “I do grow tired of inconsequential chatter. It’s about time we get to the point.” He took a step forward and with a lazy flourish of his wrist, two massive needles materialized out of thin air, floating idly on either side of his head. You choked on a gasp and pressed backward.

You stared in wide-eyed horror.

“You started asking questions, driyosh,” he said simply.

"N-no." There was no getting out. There was no capture. His intent was abundantly clear. "P lease.”  Your voice was small and crackling and even in all your terror, you found yourself despising how weak you sounded begging.

Your hand flexed toward your thigh. Your heart plunged in your chest before shooting to your throat like a fist punching upward. Dottore matched every panicked step of yours backward with an easy one of his own and you blanched as the needles caught the  light of a nearby streetlamp. 

Someone wake up. Someone wake up and stop him. Stop him.

“Stop! Stop. Let me explain–”

“As a scholar, first and foremost, I did admire your tenacity, your determination to uncover the truth… but thwarting plans, dredging up information that didn’t belong to you. And now leaving. ” He tsked in mock offense. “Such potential wasted.”

The world tilted. Breath became scarce.

Funny, a little. How the brain slowed to such mire when faced with its own reckoning. You’d always assumed it would work the opposite; blood thrumming with that kind of hopeless adrenaline that had mothers lifting carts off their children. And it certainly did, for a moment in time.

But then…no. It slowed. Like a fuse that had burned too hot and too quick; a half-crazed fear easing between the breadth of a single step into a strange, cold rationality. Two pairs of boots clicked on cobblestone as he backed you across cobblestone. Your eyes caught on the eerie red gleam reflecting off the front of his mask from something behind you.

“Dottore–”

“I really am sorry things had to end like this,” he continued, “but everyone must pay the price for what they learn. Although, it is a poor turn of luck for you that he sent me, I must say. I rather think another segment would’ve found you charming enough to keep around for a day or two.” 

You were never going to make it out and if you did, the things he had in store for you were far more unpleasant than death. Fuck him. Fuck this project. And fuck this city.

Your hand reached to wrap the handle of your gun and you watched as his lips twitched down in disapproval, as if he were disappointed you’d fallen back on such base methods.

"To a new era-" 

You managed to get a single shot off before  a needle slammed through your shoulder, blood a soft spatter on the ground behind as your arm ripped. And for a moment, as you stumbled backward, all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide in shock before an impossible pain had your knees collapsing beneath you.

“You said earlier you weren’t content being a puppet," he snarled between his teeth, "I wanted to properly test that theory.” With a cold twitch of his head, the second needle crashed into your other shoulder, launching your limp body backward. Your back hit hard stone and you couldn’t tell which of them cracked upon impact. Ah, an ancient waypoint, that's what you'd hit, your mind peculiarly filled in the blanks as a strange cerulean flash of light enveloped you upon the devastating collision.

So this was dying; bright colors and sounds all amalgamating into a blur of unfiltered agony. Thoughts flashing before you of not what you could’ve done with your life, but what you could’ve done with his if you’d just pulled your gun out fast enough. You would've killed him. You wanted to kill him.

Blood rushed in your ears, your pulse pounded in your neck and you could feel it all, your world filtering and narrowing into its simplest form. Vines like arms stretched from the ground to wrap you in their viselike grip, pulling you down, down, down.

To a new era of enlightenment, you thought, before it all went dark.

<3

Hey pals, thanks for reading! I hope you like what I have in store - lots of spice but hold the nice. I'd love to hear what you thought of the first chapter. Stay weird. ~ Sulty

[caspia-writes]

Writeblrs Appreciation Post

Well, I'm a couple bottles deeper than wholly advisable and should not really be posting anything to any sort of social media.

But is that gonna stop me?

Nope!

Y'know, when I first came to Tumblr, I thought this place was a cesspool of politics and sex. (And hey, nothing wrong with the latter, but as a sex-repulsed aro-ace... wasn't real big on that bit.)

But frankly?

This place is damned cool.

Like, for example, @sleepy-night-child. No one has ever been this enthused about my writing before. You are one hell of a cheerleader. Even when I'm not putting out writing worth a damn, you're willing to encourage me and still believe that perhaps, one day, I will ever finish writing anything at all. You're great. And your story, Black Feather? Well, I'm going to shamelessly plug for it here. I'm usually absolutely against romance stories. But your story... even my aro-ace, romance- and sex-repulsed self thinks it's a bloody good story. It doesn't get enough attention. Good stuff, that!

And @whither-wander-whump. Pardon my French once more, but damn, you're tough. Nothing seems to be able to hold you down. Seriously, how the hell do you do it? I would've gone nuts by now. Frankly, you're a bloody inspiration. And your writing? Look, not to dump on your cooking or your dancing, but your writing boggles my mind. Where does it all comes from? You have a gift, I swear.

Also, @ashen-crest. Publishing a book (or has it been two... or even more)? Either way, that's impressive! Even if I never plan to publish myself... full props to you. You have more guts than I've ever dreamt of having. And while I might be too broke to buy a copy (sadly), I've been following your updates on your potion story for a while, and from the excerpts I've seen... you are good at writing!

Because why not, I'm also going to call out @joyfulpolicehologram here. Continuing to write fan-fics despite widespread disapproval from those close to you? YES. And I can juggle 70+ characters, each with a backstory and the whole nine yards, but the very notion of writing fan-fic makes me want to run away crying. And the only reason I followed you in the first place is because I saw an excerpt of some of your writing, and it was damned good. Keep it up. You've got a talent.

There's also @faelanvance. Sure, we don't interact much. But you really promote other writers! You're willing to share the spotlight on your blog and you've got a discerning eye. If I'm not mistaken, at least some of the writers I've followed I've only learned through your reblogs. You have good taste. And it seems your writing is also downright excellent. Not only an excellent food critic, but an excellent chef as well (to make some culinary comparisons).

One more. @sleepyowlwrites. Where does the endless fount of positivity come from? I don't get it. It's like nothing gets you down. If I were working some of the shifts it seems you are, I'd lose my mind, and I certainly wouldn't have the energy to run an active writeblr blog. I don't have the energy to do that half the time anyway. You might be sleepy, but I admire the heck outta you.

Now, if you're one of my followers and I didn't mention you, please don't take it personally. Like I said before, I'm rather drunk at the moment. These are just the first six people I thought of before my fingers started getting tired. Six seemed like a good number at the time.

I will probably get embarrassed and delete this tomorrow, when I finally wake up.

But in the meantime... thanks, Writeblr. I didn't know what I was missing. You all are great. 😊

[loserchildhotpants]

gonna cross-post this on ao3 w my other tumblr prompt fics soon i swear and now i can’t find the post but someone posited a long time ago on here that we should’ve gotten a chance to see a widower!cas arc and anyway, here’s the first part

this is a replacement/re-do of Amara’s ‘gift’ to Dean when he goes to sacrifice himself pls enjoy

(im gonna reblog this original post w the updates as i add onto it so if u want the continuation, check the notes)

Windows

(Part One)

Once Sam is inebriated enough to slip into dreamless sleep, Castiel gently lays Sam’s tear-stained face against his pillow, and tucks him in as he believes humans prefer. He thinks he does it correctly, because Sam doesn’t fuss or move much afterward.

Castiel knows Sam is deeply exhausted.

The evening was spent celebrating the destruction of Amara, the saving of the world, but mostly it was spent mourning Dean, and Castiel drank with Sam so as not to force Sam to drink alone (as is socially unacceptable for reasons Castiel still struggles to understand), but he is in no way inebriated. 

Castiel considers watching over Sam as he sleeps, monitor his dreams to see to it that he sleeps peacefully, just as a task to keep himself preoccupied, but he thinks to himself that Sam is of a similar mind to Dean, and Dean never wanted to be watched over. 

At least, not by Castiel.

When Castiel shuts Sam’s bedroom door behind him, he wonders what to do with himself.

There are many things to do, he supposes. He has been tasked with seeing after Sam, and that guardianship was not passed down to him lightly. He takes it very seriously, and internally, he has already accepted his eternal loneliness on Earth, guarding over whatever bloodline Sam extends, on and on until there is no Winchester of this blood for him to look after.

The first task that had come to mind when he returned to the bunker with Sam was to seek out Dean in Heaven, but Castiel cannot access the Host, and even so, he cannot sense Dean anywhere near it. 

He isn’t concerned that Dean is in Hell or Purgatory – he’s concerned Dean’s soul has been destroyed.

Even now, Castiel extends his limbs of light out into the universe, to its furthest edges, he can see where no light has ever touched or ever will touch, and still – he cannot sense Dean.

Dean is lost to him, wholly and completely. 

Stiltedly, he walks down the hall, falters near Dean’s bedroom door, pauses, considers, but carries on until he gets outside.

The night is cool and quiet, even the smallest creatures of the Earth are sitting shiva with him.

Still, he has never felt so alone, and this despair sloughs off him, sickening the ground, permeating the sky.

The unpaved road splinters where he steps, the night sky is overcome by shadow, sharp winds begin to build speed, and flashing lightning strikes.

He walks and walks, the ground trembles in fear beneath him, parting like the Red Sea, tears build in his human eyes as his ethereal eyes search across planes and waves for any sign of Dean.

There are none.

This is my fault, Castiel continues to berate himself with this mantra that has been tattooed across his mind all day, this is my fault. You would be here, were it not for me. I’ve failed you. I’ve only ever failed you. Why did you not let me come with you? I would have preferred the destruction of myself than to know existence without you.

Walking the Earth without Dean somewhere within it is so instantly abhorrent and unnatural. 

Castiel doesn’t know why he’s walking, only that he must move, he must stay in motion or he will become something truly terrible, something horrible and nameless and evil will overtake him. 

He walks as he might through a desert, as he has been ordained to by a power he does not know.

He walks all night, the storm above and around him fells trees, ruins roads and footpaths, animals flee from the field of energy he emanates, and eventually he finds himself atop a hill of thin, wild grass that shivers all around him. 

Standing in place, Castiel searches the barren world around him, casting his eyes far and wide, despite knowing he will find nothing, because he has found nothing across realms and planes and vibrations all night.

He thinks he hears Dean’s laughter, but it is only the rumbling of thunder Castiel’s mood has conjured some clicks to the West.

He scowls up at the sky; scowls at his own unmasking.

He thinks of how he has felt when Dean has smiled at him, he worries that his memory is false, that it cannot capture the authentic beauty of the real thing, and a smothering warmth hits him, but it’s not coming from within.

He looks over his shoulder and there – beyond the storm, the Sun dares to rise, and the first tendrils of light are slipping past the horizon, brazen enough to reach toward him like they have any right.

Enraged, he turns to the Sun and extends both his hands, pushing down and back.

Expending this kind of effort means that his wings materialize, so do many hundreds of his eyes, because he cannot keep them contained; his innate holy light bursts and burns from beneath his human skin in a way that would turn any on-lookers to pillars of salt. Mercifully, he is alone for many miles in all directions.

His power effects the nature around him and the grass around him grows rapidly, twisting like vines, shifting and changing into something that is not meadow grass anymore; a crevasse cracks open along the ground like a jagged road leading from the toe of Castiel’s Oxford to the tip of the horizon.

Some of the plants surrounding him turn to glass and shatter, some melt, some turn into winged things, taking off into the storm that gathers above him.

The Sun pushes back on him so hard that his feet leave skids in the dirt where he’s dug in his heels, and he roars under the strain.

“Enough!” he screams in a thousand voices, all booming and terrible with might, “he isn’t here! He isn’t here and so you will not cast light! Get thee behind me!”

Tears stream down his human face, but all of his many eyes weep as well, sparking fires where their tears land, casting purple, blue, and white flames; some fall to the Earth as diamonds and pearls, skittering across the soil, hurriedly tucking themselves below and sprouting up ghost orchids, twisting vines and balls of lightning crackling up toward the sky.

“Gnay ge mir ol!” Castiel cries, booming as war drums, but stars have never understood Enochian, “do not torment me! You are an offense! What can you do but bear witness and draw into abominable light a world that can never be home to me! He is gone from me! Tia i abiit lrasd ol! Please!”

The ground shudders, and though Castiel can hold it back for perhaps half a minute, the Sun does climb again, stronger than him, and more dutiful than he ever could be.

Unlike him, the Sun was crafted with perfection, and does not fail.

It bursts over the horizon, and Castiel staggers back.

He gasps with a thousand pains, unaware he could hurt in so many ways at once, and he falls to his knees, folding until he is bent over his knees; his fists are in the dirt he’s made muddy with a plague of blood, he turns his hands out so he can hide his face in them and he screams with his true voice into his human hands and into the bleeding Earth.

He weeps, his six wings flap in tandem, putting out the fires all at once, and then they fold and drape over him, hiding him; the Sun beats back his storm, pushes light unto the world where he has been pulling a mourning shroud over it.

He grips hard at his fringe, cries as an animal does, wounded noises he has never before made or heard come from him; he makes them, some loud, some soft, for a long stretch of time, but eventually, he calms.

In time, he finds himself lying in the miracle-laden grass, covered in oil, blood, and ash for some reason. He can’t recall where the ash may be from. He has been unjust, and so he will remain so, he believes, and he is filthy now, and so filthy he will remain. 

Was he ever righteous? Was he ever holy?

Whatever he is, the last of it is clear – he is not Saved. 

That much has never been more evident than it is now.

“Time should not pass,” he says to no one, in a flat, tired, singular voice, “I am weary and burdened, and what redeemed me has been taken from me. There is nothing left for me but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. There is no mercy in this. Have I truly done such evil, to be deserving of this?”

He knows no one will answer. No one ever does.

He thinks of the color of Dean’s eyes, mossy, hazel, how the curl of his lashes framed them, how expressive they were, how they shone with lights enough to lead him home.

“I thought, for a time, I may find peace. With him. Eventually. But peace is not for me, is it? I am a sword, and all I bring with me is ruin.”

His many eyes and wings are tucked into another plane, he comes to his knees again, tilts his face toward the Sun, and the light dries his tears. That star pities him.

Exhausted, he stands; he casts his open palm over the ground most affected by him, and his mismatched, wayward miracles clear away, leaving unremarkable Earth.

As he walks back to the bunker, he seals the cracks in the roads and paths, deer and birds and wildlife return to their joy and lives, and by the time he is presentable and sat in the kitchen, Sam is just waking.

[lnc2]

i know this won't sound like a revelation and i mean maybe it's not because of course i've known i've been living it but like

pet death is so fucking painful and real and constant

like losing rory was like losing a part of myself and even when i was at my worst (hospitalized) i still felt guilty for being so distraught and even though it's been nearly six years this december i'm still so easily triggered and can be set off if i'm not expecting certain reminders or anniversaries and like

yeah a bunch of other things happened around that time and the way it happened really cemented the Trauma and deeply embedded it into my body but i don't cry for my pets from childhood the way i do for rory

and i think about losing toby and i just... can't handle it?

and i've finally accepted or believe even though i've always Known it's because they're with me always. like your pets, especially the ones that are v present and interact w you in a v real way and are so smart and have their own personalities, they're yours, they're your kid, they're your best friend

i don't spend time with anyone the way i spend time w my dogs. i told/tell them everything, i schedule my days around them.

good morning toby, how's my boy, are you hungry, did you sleep well? i have a doctor's appt today, i'm anxious about this, can i have a hug? do you want to go to the park? let's watch a movie, i have to go out of town but i love you, are you feeling okay? do i need to take you to the vet? am i just being crazy? is this my trauma or my instincts telling me you're sick?

every year with him is one more year without her and one more year closer to being without him and just

i grieved rory the week she died before the accident even happened just sobbing like i'd lost her even though i had no reason to and didn't even know why i was crying and then i lost her bc no one believed me when i said she was sick and i didn't advocate or fight hard enough for her until it was too late.

so now toby slips when trying to jump on the sofa or sighs too much or his nose is runny or whatever and i'm on the verge of a panic attack and calling my mom to make sure i'm not being crazy before i schedule an emergency vet appt and just how do i know what's my trauma and what's my instincts? i don't know when to trust myself anymore all while knowing i can only trust myself.

i'm neurotic about his health, his environment, who he's with. if i can't have him in a place i can 100% control and guarantee is safe then i want him with people i know will take his safety as seriously as i do because they know if something happens to him i will lose it, catastrophically, wholly, entirely.

there are ways rory is still with me that are good and then there are ways that are very much... not.

idk if it's just because it was her and the how and when of it all but the end result was just complete and total devastation of my entire world. and i know it will be the same with him so even though he's happy and (hopefully please god hopefully) healthy i spend most of my time worrying that i'm not doing enough even though all he wants to do is to lay at my feet and play tug of war.

maybe it's bc i live alone, but idts i was crazy about her even when we lived w roommates, and i know i'd be the same with toby and i don't even know if i could trust someone to live with us anyways because would they see all the potential disasters as naturally as i do and make sure nothing happens? would they care like i do?

idk. rory's birthday was this past week and i was so exhausted from wedding stuff i don't think i was feeling any of it consciously but i'm feeling it tonight bc anniversaries are really hard even the happy ones, even so many years later.

everything with rory was a fight and a challenge (so so worth it, i've never connected w anyone spiritually like i did with that damn dog) and toby for all his size and sometimes annoyingness and for all that i resisted loving him the first year i had him is mostly so easy even when you think he shouldn't be. idk what it says about either of them but i think the universe sent him to me because they knew i needed a hardy dog, one that was sturdy even though he is a giant baby, and one that would take my anxiety and just let it roll off of him because everything after that left me so so fragile.

i'm sad she would have been eight. i'm said she never saw three. toby is five and will be six. numbers like these play through my head always. i've had him longer than i had her and yet and yet and yet

i keep telling myself i shouldn't still be crying this many years gone but it feels so new and so now whenever i think of her so i try not to think of her (my therapist says it's PTSD) but then i only remember the bad and not the many, many good.

it's okay i'm still sad, or something stronger than that. i love her and that's good and it's okay to cry. toby is taking care of me and i'm taking care of him and hopefully in many many many years they'll take care of each other.

i just needed to get this out, somewhere, i know it's disjointed and doesn't have a point but so are my feelings and i just wanted to acknowledge them even if it was only to myself

[popculturebuffet]

Owl House Reviews: For the Future: The Rise of Terrance

Hello all you happy witches! We're in the middle now, we're in the middle of the ride but every thing everything will be just fine but everything everything will be all right. But for now we're into my look at our middle part which like some middle parts isn't as good as the start or the finish but damn if it still wasn't great. Follow me undre the cut for a review ith full spoilers. And if your feeling jaunty I cooked up a playlist for the episode if you want to put that in your earbox while I go on and on about this episode. Let's begin.

Luz and Camilla: To Be Understood

As I figured, Luz's arc wasn't quite done yet, as while the pep talk helped enough to get her through the portal, she's still fully commited to going home in her guilt. Camilla tries her best to convince her but being on top of a giant corpse where people eat rats (you have to remove the inner heads), fly on brooms and behind every lampost is a new friend is a hard adjustment. It's not helping but you can't blame her: even Luz, as much as she wholly embraced the place, had a lot of adjusting to do. She's trying.

We also see lots of nice momming from Camilla as she tries to help everyone and does try to get Luz's attention it's just dealing with puppetgeddon, unruly teens and kiki

Means there isn't much time for it, but it's nicely there the whole episode: Luz pulls away from Amity's attempts at comfort as she likely feels guilty she's leaving but the rest of her guilt is too strong to stop. It's there. IT's hard to once again see Luz so drained of everything she loved. It makes it that much more cathartic when Camilla, after trying all episode finally DOES get a moment to get Luz to stop and listen.. even if Kiki is right on top of them

The following speech is .. beautiful and hilaroius as Camilla bluntly points out Luz can't keep beating herself up because of one mistkae. She's made mistkaes; having a root canal before her wedding, having road rage at luz's principal, and the one that deserves it's own spinoff selling energy drinks for a pyramid scheme for three years. Which luz is aware of. I.. I need to know everything about this. But the bigger one..was not standing up for Luz, was being so afraid of Luz having the hard time being a nerd she did as a teenager, that she didn't accept her for the werido she was. The show once again takes Camilla's less than stellar pilot characterization and spins it beautifully, making it Camilla's greatest mistkae and the thing that's apology finally gets Luz to realize what she wanted, somethign I heartbrekaingly understnad having been a neurdivergent awkawrd teenager myself: to be understood. It's the harest thing in the world to get.. to just have someone… try to understand you, to really get you. It's..frustrating as it can often feel like even the most well meaning person doesn't get you and that feeling of your parent really knowing you.. is one ot treasure.

Thus Luz unlocks her power.. which is both terrifying as it should be for her friends.. and glorious.. and also leads to this lil lady

ALL HAIL. I seriously have to look at that picture at least once a day. Look at her. She's perfect. As is Camilla cuddling with all her babies. Luz is finally herself again.. and just in time for a god's temper tantrum. But first, TERRANCE

Terrance: The Man? The Myth The Legend

Am I really dedicating an entire section to this presumibly one off blob on a light post?

Look I'm a man of many werid taste but I love a creature with a bunch of eyes, I love blobs, so an eye blob just sitting there int he middle of a creeply silent street and only just kind of .. blinking at camilla confused, possibly okay with what she just did, had me spining. We need 30 seasons of terrance. I think that's his work lampost and at the end of the day he puts on a little fedora, pulls out a briefcase and slithers home to another lampost just across from there. Has he been doing this since the titan first formed him? Probably. Does he have a family? Possibly. I stil lneed to work on my pitch to disney. The point is expect the year of terrance baby and feel free to hit me with yoru ideas.

The Collector and the King: Knowing Me Knowing You

So now we're actually back on the isle we found out what was going on, as my field reporter checked in

It's essentially been the COllector playing mario and luigi with king every day using terra as the boss until she finally snapped today and got puppeted. Everyone's a puppet now, including Willow's dads!

As you can probably guess being the plaything of a mad god hasn't been easy for King, whose job has mostly been "hanging out, down the street, same old thing we did last week".. only same old thing is "Keep the collector from doing far worse the best he can and hope they can find a way out of this". On the bright side Odalia has also been stuck in her own personal hell: having to actually be a parent while having on actual power while the collector apparently reguarlly taunts her with the puppets to remind her what happens if she keeps pushing him. Not even Belos wants to bodyjack her, she's fallen that low and I love everything about this.

The Collector himself though is as intresting as I found him last time. I also got a real sense of

Yes he's still a fairly terrifying little chlid making living persons into his playthings and he does need to be stopped.. but like me the show sees not just the terrifying power he wields.. but the child wielding them. He's like Anthony Belmont of It's A Good Life if the kid still had a possible chance to be taught empathy. Said vindcation also comes from @jess-the-vampire's biggest sticking point: The genocide. Even I coudln't really defend that but I figured it was more complicated or if he had then he'd be properly punished.

Turns out he likely didn't participate as the Collectors.. .WERE AN ENTIRE SPECIES. They were also deeply terrifying monsters, amazzing and perserving thigns much like this puppets.. and if a world objected well they got burned to the bone for their troubles. So the collector we saw do in the owl beast was likely not the one we know, not that it helped the creature rage against him less.. and the Titans clearly did not take them doing this as well, leading to their extinction but the collectors mostly going out. It also raises the question did King's dad seal the collector we know because they were that dangerous.. or because of that plus he didn't want to murder a child. Did he seal king as a counterballance? to protect him from the genocide? There's a lot of answers we don't have: the only promising one is King's magic CAN cancel out the collectors, so there is hope.

What we do know now is Eda is KINDA safe. The most danger is , as tended to be the case before all this started, herself as she can't resist triggering the security puppets to see Rahne again.

Also the design for the collectorfied puppets is both mildly unsettling and aweosme, especially Rahne who gets a spiffy haircut and new outfit…. proably for obvious plot reasons but still it's clear they put effort into every puppet not just his and it must've taken a LOT of time to design all these. It was entirley worth it and even as we approach the end I marvel at this series care and craft.

Lily is likewise helping and while her potions taste awful, the fact is she can make them from scratch, so their curses aren't an issue. WHat is an issue is both clearly plan to seal or kill the collector… and King.. dosen't want to do that.

And the reason is simple: King empathizes; Both are the last of their kind, both have tremendous power, and King… wasn't so diffrent. He also used to lack empathy, and what he had was thanks to having a strong loving mother to help raise him. Had king had what the collector has, he might never of gotten Eda to raise him the way she has and instead bullied her into submission the way the collector has. All the collector has had for parents is a race of genocidal entitled assholes, and a singular genocidal entitled racist asshole what manipulated him into working with him for centuries. He has no real sense of what's really right or wrong or even how fragile the beings he's abusing are. It dosen't remotely make what he's doing okay, he needs to stop and fix what he's done, but King can empathize with what he is. He needs to be talked down and talked into fixing what he did. It dosen't mean he shouldn't be punished, but it does mean simply locking a child away again wont' solve anything and may just leave it open for another oportnistic asshole to manipulate him.

It's really a message the show has slowly been building to: That kindness and empathy.. are more important than hate. That undrestanding each other is the most important thing at all. We can be better and are better than we think. Though it also has the hard truth to this: Some people can't change, won't change, and can't be reasoned with, and are just consumed by their hatred, bigotry and general stupidity. You all know wher ei'm going with

Belos: All My Sins Be Remembered

Belos thankfully did not have a great time for the first half of the episode for once, having to crawl with his legs giving out, and being haunted by appirtions, real or imagined, of his brother and all the golden guards he murdered. Chillingly and fittingly they dont' speak: they just stare at him, Caleb in paticualr having a bloody knife above him firmly confirming what we knew… and with belos weakly justifying it as "trying to save your soul". But Caleb says nothing, simply judging him silently, knowing that in his heart Belos knows what he did was wrong but can never admit it and thus never be free… as it should be.

Sadly.. Belos dosen't die, though it fits as he's the real big bad here: the collector is the main THREAT.. but as I said he's a stupid star children. The person who manipulated him, the person who caused all of this, the person who required FREEING him in the first place… is the one who should be the last threat our heroes face and being belos he falls back on the one tool he has: manipulating children. Using the Rahne puppet, he simply gaslights the poor kid again , making him think his powers made the puppet alive and then turning him against Luz and King. We do get the cliche only hearing part of it thing with collector listneing in on king but not hearing king wanting to talk.., but it works here: King is the only friend the Collector's ever had and this betryal would hurt deep.. witht he kid not understnading that of course King would want the rest of his family.. but it dosen't mean he dosen't care about the kid. Once again Belos has his finger on the triger and it's going to take a miracle to stop him… but he's loosing. That said WHY DID HE HAVE TO PICK RAHNE WHY WHY. DONT' LET THEM DIE FOR THE LOVE OF TITAN DON'T LET HIM D…

Huntlow (Featuring Gus): We won? We won WE WON!

We got a nice chunk of Willow Focus this episode, and it's nice she got some again before the series ran out. This one focuses on her tendency to be a pillar for her friends, and while it's an admirable trait.. you have to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else. It seems kind of obvious but between this, steven universe, encanto and countless other shows it's a common theme if one that bears repeating, and one even I struggle to take to heart at times against my better judgement. It's well done as we can see the pressure build, and Camilla, TRIES to help.. it's just the focus on you know, canceling the apocalypse means no one really noticies till willow puts everyone in plant jail. She's so focused on fixing Hunter's problems she can't see her own. Hunter isn't even to blame: It's understandable he's in a bad place emotoinally after belos and while his only drive right now is kick his green ass… he's not actulaly proceesing it. It's understandable she want sto help her sorta boyfriend not melt down but it's sad because you can tell things aren't oging to end well

The actual resolution is also sweet: Hunter finally opens up and admits he needs them both he's just not good with this sort of thing, and Gus gets willow to admit that sure she's a pillar to lean on but she needs people too. As a result.. the episode almost ends with hunter and willow holding hands, blushign adn willow basically confessing in short

Granted the Anti's are still a swarming but like.. shit's cannon now. It clearly was before but ther'es now mor ethan enough evidence. And look i'm not bragging becaus e"my ship's better than yours", ships are ships and unless their incest, pedophila or actively abusive, any ship is fine. But don't be a dick, and for the love of god don't be a biophobic asshole. Hunter being with willow dosen't mean he can't be into men if you want just as Luz being with a woman dosent' mean she's not attracted to men.. it's just who their with. It's what being bisexual means and I shoudln't HAVE to bring this up.. but I do because the biphobia in the fandom is obnoxious. YOu guys shoudl know better. Fucking stop.

A very well done arc. Now for

I Think Kiki Should Leave

So let's get this out of the way: Kiki should not be in this episode. She shoudln't. I get needing an action set piece to appease the mighty overlords who canceled the show in the first place, because Disney rarely makes sense. And I get it being a showcase for Luz's wand.. but my reaction to her coming back was the same as Luz's. It worked in season 2 both due to her constant humilations and her very personal rivlary with hunter, and her sad end, finding out her boss never cared about her and getting even was great. The problem is while she COULD be vital to this episode, as she did unleash the collector.. in practice she's just.. trying ot be belos. She has no ambition and thus there's no real threat. That might've been the intent but like.. when the character resolutions are so much more intresting and never really REQUIRED her to be…

Boshca by contrast.. was an unexpected elight, as finding out she's hung up on amity, and ruled the school was neat. And like.. if you wanted an ambointon for the boss just hav eboscha find one. It's not like Alador didn't make a LOT. I know Kiki's is a special model that's super powerful but like… Boscha is more intresting. Of course she'd put her own selfish desires over things, of course she'd have ptsd and whlie her face turn was suprising it was neat. Kiki by contrast does nothing we haven't seen and thus feels like sh'es just kinda there.

Other stuff:

Matt was amazing, from finding out his and Steve's last names are tholomule, to everyone's reactions to "Mantholmule": Camilla find sit adorably hilarious, Luz, Willow and Hunter are mortified and Amity and Gus are just done with this. I also love the super rad bump statue.

We also have Eldric, who looses every bit last shred of cool he had imitating the bandage guy from spongebob, and cheerfully describing how the well he fell down had rocks in it> I mean I love this new dork version of my newly adopted son.

So that about does it. This was an excellent episode and i'm sorry this review is so fucking late getting out. This week.. was a long mental struggle. Thanks for reading and i'll see you for the finale in apparently april!

[acidic--citrus]

i didnt want to BLAST op in my last rb with an absolute Wall of tags on like, a two digit note post ,

so im just gonna.... hurl them here

CW: personal vent post, really negative thoughts look away ^^ i just have to get this written down somewhere or else ill Explode, Actually.

its been almost a year since the unfair firing incident at pr//oject moon, and for the last few, like... Months, at this point, ive just been reeeeeeaaaaaally thinking hard about the entire thing, processing overtime how bad it really was, what its a symptom of, and, looking towards the future, how i want to move on from it

coincidentally its also now a little over the 1 year mark of my getting into the p//jm games, and what used to bring me out of my depressive catatonic states has now thrown me Ass First into a Series of them

what i thought was a unique world and a lovely, hopeful narrative, i now realize was just a house-of-mirrors-esque distorted reflection of the world and society we live in

i thought they had a heartfelt and sincere underlying message in their works about humanity and connection, but with how pjm handled the real life situation and INSTANTLY bent its knees and prioritized its money-making incel fanbase over the safety and wellbeing of a Real Human Employee who had NOTHING to do with the situation, its obvious that all of it was hollow to begin with, and now just comes across as "what if capitalism.... but with cool people fighting in cool ways,.. AND monsters!!!" and i just can Not take anything the story tries to meaningfully say (if it ever was in the first place) seriously now

its all showy fireworks that fizzle out fast with nothing substantial behind them: eye candy, fanservice

and that entire ordeal, or rather reviewing the entire ordeal in my head and thinking about it agonizingly over the course of many months, really hammered it in for me that theres no way any form of entertainment out there is worth the livelihood of a real life human being

(and this is where pjm stops being as relevant, but is definitely where all of the next stuff stemmed from)

which got me thinking even further; if no happiness built off of the unhappiness of another is worth it, why does the world at large look the way it is now? call it disillusionment or waking up from my naivety, but i, keeping in mind the worlds other issues at large, like how everyone is fully and wholly documenting how a genocide is going down and the world just merely watches it unfold, realized that Ah. Truly we are So Fucked

i began spiraling further, thinking more and more and began buckling under the weight of problems too unfathomably large for anyone to tackle by themselves—could any of these even be solved within my lifetime as we are now?

to wrap things up, basically its become so so so incredibly hard to want to keep living

(that doesnt necessarily mean i want to die though; i personally make a distinction between the two)

its so hard to wake up feeling like theres something worth doing anymore

create art and make things? its hard to do that when your wrist hurts and youre so slow at everything and it feels like time passes by at x2 speed for you but everyone else seems fine and able to function and you cant help but wish you could hard reset your brain </3 its getting hard to think and articulate and imagine and process and its so discouraging for me.. i find myself wishing there were 36 hours in the day to compensate.....

enjoy a game or novel? its hard when every flicker of happiness feels so frivolous n trivial and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. like okay so i was reading like. last night, right? and everytime like something idk funny or cute happened i was instantly hit with a reality check and became insantly depressed. like what is that. thats so unfair. pit felt like i was going through moodswings in x18 speed. i could Feel the mania brain chemical get to me and then id be Ass Blasted with cortisol and brain numbness not a goddamn second later. what the fuck do you do then ?

i know ill live and all, as when i imagine myself dead or dying it doesnt feel quite right

but being comfortable and living comfortably like this, in my room, safe from the outside, that doesnt sit right with me either

eating is hard. sleeping is hard. i dont want a body. i dont want to have to take care of it. i think i want to disperse into bubbles

maybe ill start writing or something, as words seem to be what im running to for solace nowadays (<- balls deep in webnovel) since HHHHOIAUUURRGGGHHHHH...... WHY must i be an artist why must i be afflicted with the maddening urge to create at all times. i think a lobotomy would fix me

hhhaaaaaahhhh on the topic of creating and art, drawn art specifically, uuuugggghhhhhhhhh drags hand down face FUCK.... SOMETIMES I SEE A REALLY GOOD PIECE OF ART AND IM STRUCK WITH INSPIRATION AND AWE AND RESPECT AND IM LIKE ugghhhhh fuckkkk not AGAIN..... if i dont get something out of these hands right tf now...... and then i beat myself up mentally over not acting on that urge and letting it pass over me because uhm.... WRIST PROBLEMS!!!!! ^^ !!!!! + BRAIN SLOW (and i dont want to be reminded of that fact)!!!!!! ^^

[janeaustenprotagonist]

dear john,

I still haven't swiped away your missed calls notifications. I've been wearing your clothes since you dropped me at my house. your shirt, hoodie, and underwear; your promise to me. I'm at my friend's now bc I couldn't be alone with myself, I needed someone to be accountable for me bc you're not here to do that for me anymore. I was scared of what I might do...

how can you be so sure? how can you be completely and utterly and wholly sure that it'll be okay? that this is just "a blip" in your words? just a short period of time? just nothing, "it'll be over before you know it." you said you want to look back at this: us, in our own place. you said you want to be like "remember that time I made you cry for hours when I wasn't feeling well?" and you said I'd say "yeah you fucking asshole I cried for a month" and then you'd shake your head, pull me close, then kiss me and then say "what do you want me to make you for dinner?"

you're so incredibly certain that we're gonna be okay. to the point where you pinky promised me, multiple times. you take those incredibly seriously. that this is just a brief moment compared to a lifetime, compared to forever.

you're scared and you're running. you said you're not running but it feels like you are. you promised me you're not running.

I haven't stopped crying in days, since you dropped me off. I feel so selfish crying for myself when you want to hurt yourself, but I can't stop. I don't want to be on social media. I don't want to be on my phone. I don't want to eat, drink, nothing. I want to die. my face is so puffy, my eyes sting, I'm incredibly dehydrated. you're not here to hug me and say it's gonna be okay. you're not here to hold me and wipe my tears. you're not here to make me drink water and eat food. you're not here. and I don't know when or if you will be.

I'm trying to keep my depression in check. before this happened, I had already felt it creeping back. but now? I'm in a full spell. my sunshine, my daylight is gone. the only person who calms my mind is gone. the person I wanted to marry. the person who made me the happiest in life. the person who I would get ivf for to have their children. the person I wanted to grow old with. fuck I love you so much.

when I'm stressed or having a mental breakdown or thinking about you, I cook or bake. last night around 1am, I made deviled eggs. fucking deviled eggs. I even piped the egg mixture back into the eggs like I'm a fucking southern grandma. and I didn't save you any I'm not supposed to anymore.

everytime there's something funny I see, or I laugh with my friends, I look for you so I can see if you're laughing too. but you're not here. I keep seeing funny cat or dog videos I want to send you, but I don't know if I'm allowed.

my heart feels like it's breaking. I think it truly has this time. I know yours is too.

I feel like I'm loosing my best friend. you're my best friend. I want to share my life with you, my everything. you're my everything. I love you more than myself, I love you more than life itself. you make me want to be better, you make me want to take better care of myself.

yesterday, I bought myself a bluey sweatshirt. I wanted to buy you one too, but it's not my place anymore. I wanted to text you and show you, but it's not my place anymore. we love watching bluey together. I remember on our first date, you asked me if I watched bluey and we talked about which characters were our favorite. I remember waking up together at our friend's house that october morning, the night I fell for you. we ordered breakfast and watched bluey together. god, if you'd asked me to marry you then I would've said yes. I still would. I would say yes.

I'm listening to waiting room by phoebe bridgers on repeat right now, have been for about an hour. I remember when I played this song for you in the car.

you said you can't hear any taylor swift songs without thinking of me. you said I'm your gwen stacy, the love of your life.

I fucking love you and it's not fair. it's not fair. I love you so much it hurts. I recall sleepless nights, debating on how to tell you I was in love with you. I didn't want to scare you away. I would say things that meant it without saying it. apparently you knew, apparently you knew the whole time. fuck. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I don't know how I'm going to survive. I don't know how I'm going to stop hurting. I can't call you and tell you I'm crying, you're the reason I'm crying.

I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me to my mri in march.

I don't want to have to live without you.

I'm trying to see this as just not going out on dates for a little while. I'm trying to see this as just a pause. I'm trying to see this as "it's nothing." I'm trying to see this as you kept saying it is, just a pause but nothing else; just you getting better. I'm having a hard time.

you said you want to move in with me after this, is that true?

-

I don't know how well I'm going to do without you.

love,

your sweet valentine

[deerydear]

Personally, from my 8 years hanging around other people identifying as trans.... my opinion is that there's very little difference, as a whole, between the communities of FtMs, and MtFs.

I met plenty of guys who wanted to transition MtF, because they hated the way that their community was trying to restrict their self-expression 'as a man', thus they sought an escape in "what they thought of as female".

Just like I have seen many women want to transition to FtM, for the same reason.

Then, some people entangle their sexual feelings into this whole mess. That's how you get autogynephiles and autoandrophiles. I actually think there are a lot of autoandrophiles. Probably proportionate to AGP.

Many other women and I find AGP unnerving, because we are women.... but I know that many men, including some MtFs, find AAP equally unnerving. It's all about whether "it's targeting you".

There's not some elevated, objective position to be in, because we are all animals that were produced sexually. We all have 'a place'.

I just wish that people have more empathy for eachother. I want people to be able to see the shape of themselves in the movements of other people.

I have been discouraged by some radfems who try to wholly demonize MtFs as some unquenchable evil. Simply because they are male, not because of their specific inappropriate actions.

I find that the way that some radfems demonize maleness actually seems to further the MtF mental illness. "If they only saw me as a woman, too, then they'd finally be able to empathize with me."

No, we should empathize with you as a man. Men and women should be able to empathetically relate to eachother. That's how you have a healthy society.

Sometimes, you have to put your own resentments away, and resolve to make the change in your own life, first... and then it will all start snow-balling and falling into place. Sometimes...

I mean, everyone's life is different, but it's good to have courage. It's good to be able to make the first move, extending empathy, imagining what it's like to be someone else.

I just really feel like my involvement in reading feminist blogs, as a 13 year old girl, really encouraged me to behave badly. It gave me an 'out' of polite society.

I.E.: "It's okay to be as cruel as you want to someone of the male sex. It doesn't matter whether you have anything to resent in experience with a man. You should get collective revenge for all the other women in the world who have ever been tormented by someone male. It doesn't matter if you are rude to someone who is innocent.

Actually.... HERE'S all the reasons why NO MALE is ever innocent, and why you are always justified in being an asshole to another human-fucking-being. Never trust a male. How dare you compare this to racism?!

There's no such thing as sexism-against-men. My actions don't matter. They're drops in a bucket, compared to the flood of torment I've nearly drowned in. I'm not a human being. My actions don't have an effect on this world. I am powerless. Please do not take me seriously, as a person. Do not take my words seriously. I'm just a stupid, frivolous female, right? That's all I want to see myself as.. I don't want to be taken seriously as a responsible adult human being. I want to be nonexistent. I want to be a cartoon character. I want to live in a fantasy of justified revenge against the world. I want to be vindicated."

Sounds rather familiar.... doesn't it?

It should, to any feminist familiar with the epithet 'TERF'.

because that's how the anti-TERF warriors act, too.

Your problem seems to be that you took someone else seriously when they said that you didn't matter. You do. You always have.

With power comes responsibility.

It feels good to have responsibility, if you carry it well.

[linklethehistorian]

Alright, so, first of all, before I say anything else, let’s get just two things perfectly straight, in no uncertain terms: while, as you will be reading very soon enough in the rest of the post, Cherish is indeed many things, what it is very decidedly and explicitly not is a case of the author’s personal projection, nor is it a story that is intended to be viewed through the lens of it being in any way about the author themself.

While I absolutely believe that both of these things are fine to do in a fic if one should wish to and that it can absolutely serve as a healthy way of processing past or present experiences and/or feelings, I do not want to leave room for anything of what I am about to share to be interpreted in such a way, as that is not what Cherish is, nor what I intend it to be.

Cherish is a story wholly and strictly about those who are in it, and the lore within it both as a whole and for individual character backgrounds is, wherever reasonably possible given all of the information available to us today, deeply rooted in either official canon (in regards to BSD and its characters) or historical fact (in regards to the real life Arthur Rimbaud) — with, of course, a few minor but very noticeable AU exceptions made surrounding the life of the latter, for the sake of the plot requiring it in order to function — and thus, while I do want to open up about some things to y’all, under no circumstances do I want the amount of careful and thorough research I have put into writing and portraying these things to simply be swept under the rug just because this new information might (very wrongly) inspire some people to assume it has anything to do with the characterization, character backgrounds, or the chosen themes of the story. It does not.

That being said, the reason why I chose this story to prioritize out of all of literal hundreds or thousands of other long pre-conceived tales I have to tell and the reason why I am so absolutely dedicated to and passionate about it — along with the obvious truth that I very simply just already do love it and all of the main characters and pairings within it — is partly because the subject matter is…in a lot of ways, also very close to my heart and personal to me.

I think I have expressed a few times in the past, at least in passing when discussing other matters and on a very surface level, that I myself am a victim of abuse, and while I don’t really want to go into that too deeply, I do want to make it known that Arthur (both versions in different ways, but especially the version that lived here in our world) and I share more than a few similarities in the things that we have had to go through, and, to an extent, the ways that we tend to cope with those matters.

If I were to list everything out here — if I were yet quite brave and bold enough to do that, which at this stage in my life, I am not certain that I am — you would see that they are all eerily similar, but I think even my saying this should clue you in to a lot of the possibilities, if you know much of what he endured.

And…it is especially that similarity and those personal life experiences and convictions of my own that drive me to pour so much of my soul into the writing of this fic, to express to all of you here and now that so much of those feelings I put into Cherish come not just from a place of canonical or historical accuracy, but also from the heart — from a deep, personal place that’s more than just “I’ve done my research on these concepts, but only from the outside looking in”; because a lot of the themes and emotions touched on in Cherish, the overarching storyline, and a lot of the questions that get asked and expressed are…extremely relatable to me especially at this particular point in my life, I take the portrayal of those very dark subjects that it covers more seriously than ever, and with a lot of personal thought, care, and understanding as a result.

I want people who maybe have been through similar — whether to my experiences or those portrayed therein — to be able to look at it and feel heard, seen, and understood, and to feel hope and comfort in it.

I don’t want to say much more on the subject, for the fear of giving away accidental spoilers, but…yes, while Cherish already existed in a time long prior to me being able to say I knowingly related to it, and it is not at all its reason for existing, nor the sole or even the primary reason why I adore it so, a lot of what I have to put into it while writing nevertheless comes from a very real, very raw, very honest, and extremely thoughtful place in my heart as someone who has not only done their research into someone else’s experiences and thoughts, but also has experienced many of the same firsthand — and the often lifelong struggles that can come with it, especially in the aftermath of escaping one’s such abusers.

Alright Cherish fans, I think it might be time for a little personal chat and confession time from your dear fic author, what do you think…?

(Don’t worry! It’s not any sort of bad news about the fic lol, it is still very much alive and in production.)

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

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A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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[bjpb08]

Blame game is alive and well, which seems a little desperate. Calling a spade a spade.

Call me amused, agitated, perhaps a little angry, even flattered and now it seems I can call myself mystical or if nothing else a magician... powerful(naw). It seems CCers have the ability to make a ring disappear into thin air. Or did someone suggest photoshopped? That's what makes me angry, I take photoshopping seriously and only call a spade a spade...when it is a spade.

Personally, I feel the disappearing wedding ring is on D, not a call out, a fact. but lets not dwell on history. If you look at all the pics from the most recent wedding the ring has to be intenselly looked for. This is not the first time. It seems to become elusive. It is not the first time I've had to verify its existance at particular times. For some reason it has a habit in pics to not be obvious. The person tried her best to enhance, no such luck. So perhaps it is mystical, magical or trying to just figure out its place. It has always been controversial from not seeming to fit right; being too loose one minute, to too tight the next, looking different and sometimes being forgotten, let alone hard to see in pics.

I prefer challenges to accusations. So it behoves each individual, including me, to evaluate and observe wholly and honestly what is seen. Simetimes it is easier to see what is trying to be sold, or it is easier to not look at everything presented, at lest IMHO. One must take themselves out of the "want" phenomenon...it is what "I want". It should never be about the "I wants". It is about what D wants, how he lives his life in the less than accepting HW atmosphere. Even when it is not palatable and that clearly shows in his face. I have beliefs through observations and research. I will stand by those and call a spade a spade when it feels right, when necessary. I will continue to follow along and wish the best for our two boys because I truly believe love is love and what we see is far from over. Their story is just beginning.

[pietrosskinnyjeans]

The one where you comfort him

It had been just under 2 months since the battle of Sokovia, when I had used my healing abilities to bring Pietro Maximoff back to life.  Before this, I had only healed mild wounds, cuts and sprains, so after the shock of realising I was able to resurrect, my god complex was at an all time high. Pietro and his sister weren’t all too fond of me to begin with, given the destruction my father’s weapons had brought upon their lives. However, they certainly warmed up to me after I saved Pietro. I’m not all that mad about it though, I mean, who doesn’t love a good ol’ enemies to lovers trope? I know this isn’t wholly appropriate to think, considering that he is my teammate and dating him would cause a plethora of issues. But, he’s a 6 foot tall, blue eyed boy with an 8 pack and a slavic accent, how could I not think about such things?

 Adjusting to American life as avengers hadn’t been easy for the twins, but I’d like to think that I was helpful as possible, introducing them to American traditions and assisting them in improving their English. Although, regardless of any of my actions, or any of the teams’, it was apparent Pietro wasn’t adjusting all that well. Wanda had mentioned to me he had quite a reputation in Sokovia, and was anything but introverted, yet here it appeared that he had completely retreated into his shell. I mean, can’t really blame him though, if I was resurrected I think I would have gone through a full scale mental breakdown, wondering whether my life had meaning, and whether I was meant to be revived in the first place. Oh, and he was also living with the person who invented the things which were responsible for his parents death, so that probably wasn't very fun. 

 Wanda had gone out to pick up the takeaway we were having for dinner with Natasha, Clint and Steve. Whilst it may have seemed a little excessive to bring 4 people to pick up takeaway to anyone else, you must be reminded how much food it takes to take to feed a team of ‘enhanced individuals’ as the government calls us. I mean, Pietro can eat 5 whole pizzas on his own without breaking a sweat. 

 Bruce and my dad were in the lab, so I went looking for my favourite wannabe Guy Fieri so I wasn’t standing around the compound by myself like a sad loner (I mean seriously, with that hair he could be a Vegas impersonator or something (perhaps a future career to pursue if this whole ‘avengers thing’ doesn’t work out??)). 

 I walked towards his bedroom and knocked lightly, not wanting to waltz into his room unannounced. He opened the door, the somber impression that was present on his face fading rather quickly, and was replaced by a false sense of content. 

 ‘Hey princeza, you want to come into my room?’ he said playfully, a small smirk forming on his lips. 

 ‘Sure I don’t mind, just wanted someone to talk to. Everyone is either in the lab or going to get food.’ I stated rather bluntly, butterflies appearing once I noticed how close he was to me. 

 He opened the door wider and gestured for me to enter his room. I entered and immediately noticed The Dick Van Dyke Show playing on his TV. ‘odd choice’ I thought to myself. 

 ‘Didn’t take you as someone who liked watching old American sitcoms, Pietro’ I said, chuckling slightly

 At my remark, his face dropped slightly, as he stared reminiscently at the TV. 

 I looked at him, and realised tears were beginning to well in his eyes. 

 ‘Are you ok?’ I asked, to which he cleared his throat and responded 

with ‘fine’  rather harshly. 

 Instinctively, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, to which he failed to shake off, and began to speak, starting to sense what the matter was. 

 ‘ Hey, I know you’ve had to be strong for the longest time. You’ve had to be there to protect your sister, comfort her, and suppress your own feelings in the process.  But listen to me when I say this, Piet, you don’t have to be so strong anymore. You no longer have to suppress all these emotions you feel. You have Clint, Nat, the whole team. I momentarily averted my gaze, before staring into his sapphire eyes once more. You have me. 

 Tears welled in his eyes, and I was quickly pulled into his chest. My heart ached for him as he clung to me tightly whilst sobbing. I began to lightly rub his back with one hand, and stroked his hair gently with the other, softly muttering ‘its ok, you're safe with me’. 

 I know, I know, it all seems very cringe worthy. But honestly, I was just proud that I wasn’t laughing. You see, I'm not all that good at comforting others. 

 After a moment, he sniffled and gently pulled away, eyes puffy. 

I smiled gently at him, and stroked his cheek, in an attempt to provide some comfort. 

‘I'll be there to listen if you want to talk. No matter what time it is, where we are, come and find me. To remind you that after everything that has happened, you’re finally safe. And, whilst the events of the past cannot be erased, to remind you that you’re going to be ok. Because you don’t have to suffer alone anymore.’ 

‘Princeza, that sounds like something in one of those stupid American movies’ He said, laughing heartily whilst wiping his tears. 

‘I was trying to be comforting!!’ I exclaimed, my smile mirroring his

‘Yes, well, maybe don't do that again, because it was really, really bad’ He chuckled once more before seeing a slight pout evident on my lips, following up his previous remark with a ‘ok, ok  I am joking.. It was pretty cute.’ 

“Aha! I knew it!!’ I shouted, whilst playfully slapping his arm

We were silent for a moment, before he moved himself closer to me and shifted his gaze from my eyes to my lips ( which honestly made me feel like I was about to have a goddamn heart attack ). He continued to close the distance between us, and placed a passionate yet gentle kiss on my lips. 

He pulled away, and noticed my visibly shocked impression (honestly, at this moment I was just thinking how dead I was gonna be when my dad found out. But also like !!! he kissed me!! )

‘What? You didn’t see that coming?’ He said playfully

 ‘You know, you really need to get a new catchphrase. Because that one, is absolutely horrible.’ I said, before I leaned in for another kiss.

 Note: So i’ve never rlly written anything before so this is probably not the best. But, I was bored and didn’t want to study so here we are. Lmk if there are any ways I can improve !!

[kirain]

What's with that post? Dutch LOVES Hosea. They're literally gay. They held hands and raised two sons together. They're so extremely gay, respect it!

Two men: Showing affection

Tumblr: They're fucking!

...In all seriousness, I have absolutely no idea what I said or did to warrant this message, but I can only assume it's because I said in another post that Dutch doesn't respect Hosea? Which he doesn't?

They're supposed to be partners, but he certainly doesn't treat him like one. He doesn't listen to him, he yells at him when he's coughing or in pain, and he makes him sleep on the cold, hard, dirty ground. He even openly ignores him in Colter, in front of the other men, and rides off when he tries to stop him from robbing Cornwall's train. I'm not saying they don't have a rich history or good moments, but it's a toxic relationship at best. Not exactly something worth praising.

If you don't believe me, you can find unique dialogues as the game progresses, verifying he’s lost all faith in Dutch. To the point that he even starts telling other members to leave. Abigail, John, Arthur, Lenny, Tilly, Sadie -- he tells all of them to leave. During a dominoes game we played together he even said, "Maybe it's just me, but Dutch seems to be getting more and more unhinged." And as early as chapter one he told Arthur, "Try to stop Dutch getting all of you killed, because I'm about beginning to think he's finally lost his mind."

There are also other conversations where Hosea’s disappointment with Dutch is far more blatant. He basically tells Arthur he’s been disillusioned for a while and wishes the gang would change, but when Arthur asks what they’d do instead of thieving, Hosea says, “I don’t know. I never knew. Guess I could never figure that out, neither.” By this point he’s just so dejected and defeatist because he knows Dutch won’t listen to him. He also goes on a whole tirade about how they’ve become “nothing but a bunch of killers”, which breaks his heart, and during a random campfire encounter he bares his soul and flat out tells the gang he no longer believes in Dutch’s “we’re above the law” philosophy.

As for the whole "they're gay" thing? Ship whoever you want. I don't care (they're fictional characters, after all). But don't come onto my blog and demand that I "respect it", because I don't. In fact, I vehemently disagree with you.

First off, Hosea was very happily married and totally devoted to his wife Bessie. So much so that after she died, he was drunk and depressed for a year. He even tried to leave the gang once he married her, but he inevitably drifted back into the life of an outlaw when he failed to find adequate work. Keep that in mind, though -- he left the van der Linde gang. He left Dutch. During the hunting mission, Arthur even says, "I remember you were gone for a long while." But according to Hosea, Bessie supported and accepted his lifestyle, since at the time they were more of a community than a “gang”. They actually helped people, like a Robin Hood band of merry men.

Hosea talking about his wife:

"Since she was ... taken from me, I miss her every day. She's what I think about when I wake up, and what I'm still thinking about when I go to sleep. Confuses me. Confuses me to no end, how a wretched sinner like me could be given someone so perfect, so beautiful to take care of. For once in my wretched life, do my best. And then she dies ... and I live on. Well, at least for now. She’s been gone many years. All them years I was given and she was not, and we’re expected to believe in judgement? What kind of a judge would save me and take her? A foolish one I can’t respect anymore than I can respect myself! I miss her so--!” He pauses, nearly crying. “Forgive me for being so maudlin, but ... it’s a fact. I know we all of us seen more death than life these past few months, but ... well, sometimes the unfairness of it all confuses me.”

In addition, when asked who the two most important people in his life are, he mentions Bessie first, before Dutch. Arguably he's known Dutch longer and he’s still alive and active in his life, but Bessie always comes first. He also says he’s “ready to die” because he’s “ready to join her”.

Please don't disregard this. Hosea is an honest, loyal, loving husband. If it was just a matter of you insisting he's gay, I'd probably have less of a problem (because, sure, that can change for some people and maybe he's bi now), but pairing him with Dutch, when he's so wholly devoted to his wife, is just reprehensible in my opinion. Dutch isn’t a good man and he treats Hosea quite poorly.

Secondly, yes, you're partially right. Hosea did raise two kids with Dutch. Actually, he raised four. Arthur, John, Tilly, and Mary-Beth. They were all young teens when they joined, but Dutch and Hosea weren't the only "parents". Grimshaw and Bessie also helped raised them. Arthur even says Bessie taught him how to play dominoes and mentions that he misses her. So I don't really understand the correlation here. You don't have to be in a sexual/romantic relationship to raise kids. And keep in mind that the story takes place during a time when entire communities worked together to raise children. Ever heard the expression "it takes a village to raise a child"?

Overall, I'm simply not comfortable overlooking Hosea's marriage and Dutch's abuse. To put it into perspective, it'd be like writing a fic where Molly and Dutch are in a happy, healthy relationship, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I'm just not the type of person who's willing to change a character's entire personality and history in order to make them fit my personal narrative.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: The Star Wars Wednesday Menace

(This came from a crack-treated-seriously idea I was throwing around with -- and at -- my friends where Vader didn't suppress his Anakin side as much as he thought, and he keeps finding himself amused by the trouble that pesky Death Star Pilot causes. Sometimes he lets him escape on purpose, just to see what he'll do next. He kind of tries to stealth-train him, like Maul and Ezra)

“Oh, the Force is certainly with you, boy.” 

Vader easily sidestepped the blade with good humor and parried. “But you are no Jedi.”

“I will be!” the Boy snarled.

Oddly, that seemed to make Vader almost falter.

“You’re...very certain that’s what you want?” he asked suddenly. He caught the Boy’s blade on his own and held it effortlessly. “Have you truly considered the cost of such a commitment?”

The Boy -- one of these days Vader was actually going to learn his name -- glared up at him from those too-familiar eyes. “Scared of what I’ll become, Vader?”

It was a childish taunt, and not one that should have rankled. And yet, somehow, it did. What would the Boy become? Vader pressed his attack a little more forcefully than he needed to. The Boy stumbled, barely able to parry in time.

“You are naive!” Vader snarled. “You play at war like it’s a game! Knights and dragons, like the child you are!” He swung, and the Boy ducked quickly. “Do not be so quick to swear oaths of loyalty to Orders you know nothing about! You do not yet know what you will be asked to sacrifice in return.”

The Boy was taken aback by this. He drew back a foot or so, holding the lightsaber in a guard position. He was cautious now, more so than before. He tilted his head and blinked slowly -- curse him, why did he have to look so much like Anakin he had once imagined his child might? Why was he so familiar? 

“You aren’t talking about me, are you?”

Vader cursed himself, and the Boy, and that inconvenient soft spot he’d inexplicably developed for an enemy. 

“Your insight serves you well,” he grudgingly allowed. “Behold: a cautionary tale made flesh. Do not put your trust in the wrong people, Boy.”

“Will you stop calling me that?!” the Boy protested.

Vader scoffed. “I do not know your name. What else would I call you?”

The Boy opened his mouth to argue, and abruptly closed it again. After a moment, a shrewd light entered his eyes. Vader had seen that look before. It usually heralded the little Rebel doing something infuriating and yet endlessly amusing.

“I’ll tell you my name, Vader,” the cunning brat offered, “After you tell me why you’re a cautionary tale.”

“You are blackmailing me?” Vader casually twirled his lightsaber and circled the Boy. “Ha! You imp. Very well, but do not think I’m going to let you live long enough to tell your Rebel friends.”

The Boy mimicked the twist of his blade -- much more smoothly this time! He was progressing! -- and flashed a cocky grin. “Yeah? That’s the same threat you made the last time I escaped. And the time before that.” 

“True, that is true,” Darth Vader acknowledged. “You are becoming quite accomplished at that.”

Indeed, the last time I did not even have to help you “escape”. 

He thought for a moment, then switched off his blade. Their battlefield was so cluttered with the collateral damage of a Rebel skirmish that it was not difficult to find a still-smouldering piece of an AT-ST to sit on.

Why did he feel the need to advise this young Rebel? What purpose did it serve to coddle him so much? If he was just going to take him as his apprentice either way, he didn’t really need to put so much effort into winning his trust, did he? Well, perhaps he did. It was clear that the Boy was learning in leaps and bounds from their little game, though he would no doubt be loath to admit it. He wanted to outdo Vader. Spite was a very effective motivator.

And besides, perhaps playing the mentor just a little more than usual would serve to make the Boy drop his guard just that little bit more. 

That didn’t mean it was a story he liked to tell. But he had come too far to back down now.

“I...once trusted a man to save my family from imminent death,” Vader said slowly. Reluctantly. “I first went to the Jedi. Yes, your beloved Jedi, for help. And they advised me to “let go” and allow my pregnant wife to die.”

He sensed confusion from the Boy. Then disbelief and suspicion, slowly leveling out into recognition that he was telling the truth. That, and dull horror. Well, that was a bit more validating than he’d expected, wasn’t it?

“The Jedi failed me, Boy. And so I turned to the Sith. He had the power to preserve one’s life force, by drawing on the Dark Side of the Force. He still does, in fact. I have witnessed it.”

“Oh. Great.” The Boy shuddered. “That’s...good to know.”

“Such was my thought. But as you do not seem to understand yet, despite your accent clearly marking you as coming from Tatooine, nothing is done for free. There is always a price, Boy. Always.” Vader turned the hilt of his saber over in his hands slowly. “To prove my loyalty, I was commanded to kill the Jedi. All of them. And I did so, without question: he insisted that I wholly cut myself off from my past so that he could be assured of my future loyalty. Only then would he fulfill his side of the bargain.”

The Boy took another step back, repulsed. “You...you killed hundreds...thousands of Jedi...because someone told you he refused to save your wife and baby otherwise? You just handed your family over as hostages because somebody said they could help you? That’s a Hutt’s bargain, are you nuts?! Why didn’t you just take her to a doctor?!”

Anger crawled up Vader’s throat like acid. The Boy did not know what he was talking about. Nor did he seem to remember to whom he was speaking. You will learn, my reluctant apprentice. 

“Doctors do not understand ailments predicted by the Force,” he said harshly. “No one else was willing to help me but an old mentor and scholar with seemingly noble purpose. Does that not seem familiar to you? I rashly swore my allegiance just as you seem to have.”

With a hiss, the Boy’s lightsaber flicked off and hung useless at his side. He sank into a crouch, just watching him. Those eyes, Anakin’s eyes, held a terrible, knowing, look. A haunted look.

“He didn’t save her, did he?” the Boy whispered.

He sounded as though he wanted to be sick.

“No, Boy. He did not.” Vader’s fists tightened over the hilt with a creak. “But by then, I had cut off my own retreat. There was nothing else left but my vow to his Order.” 

It burned, even letting someone he intended to take as a padawan know anything about his past. It burned to admit that he had been deceived. That he had met the fate he tried to avoid on the path he took to escape it. It stung that this Rebel’s child was nearly the age The Baby would have been.

The Dark Side flickered warmly around him, taking his pain and anger and sorrow and exchanging them for raw power. Padme was gone -- forever beyond his reach. As was the child he had never gotten to meet. To hold.

“That’s why you killed him?”

Vader looked up in time to see the Boy grit his teeth and turn his face away.

“It’s not fair.” 

“What is not fair?”

A spike of anger, bright and sharp, burst through the Force for a moment.

“Why was my family less important than yours?” the Boy challenged. “Why, Vader?! I lost my father because you thought you might lose your family?”

“I did lose my family!” Vader roared. He leapt up, blade at the ready again. “What do you know of such matters? Tell me! What would you have done for a chance to save your father, Boy?”

He brandished the lightsaber threateningly. “Speak up! Look at you. Look at me! That you are so eager to avenge him is answer enough.”

He stormed forward before the Boy had a chance to stand, and leveled his sword at the Boy’s throat. “Do not be so quick to deal out judgement, Boy,” he hissed, “You are already blindly following a path not unlike mine.”

The Boy stared mutely up at him with wide, panicked eyes. His presence in the Force reeked of fear, and the Dark Side absorbed it eagerly. Darth Vader contemplated killing him then and there. But his hand would not move. He knew full well that he couldn’t make himself do it. Not when he’d already put in this much effort to teach the boy.

With a disgusted sound, the Sith deactivated his lightsaber and turned his back on the Boy.

“Go,” he growled, “Before I change my mind.”

The Boy scrambled to his feet and wasted no time in getting out of range. Strangely, at the very edge of their battlefield, he hesitated.

“Leave me!” Vader snarled at him.

There was a limited time before his temper snapped. If the foolish child didn’t get out of the way, he would only have himself to blame.

“Skywalker.”

The world stopped, like an unwound clock. Even the motes of dust seemed frozen in place. Blood roared in Vader’s ears as he slowly turned to look up at the boy at the top of the crater.

“What did you say?” 

The Boy raised his chin.

“My name. It’s Luke Skywalker.”

He didn’t wait to see if the name rang a bell. He didn’t stop to ask if Vader remembered his father yet. He just ran.

Darth Vader stood motionless in a field of debris.

Skywalker.

Skywalker?!

LUKE.

The name that she’d picked!

The face that seemed so familiar-

His eyes-!

Barely twenty. 

He was barely twenty.

The pieces fell into place almost too quickly, carried along on the reproachful whisper of the Force. Light Side or Dark, he could not tell.

And you just let him go like this? 

Vader whirled.

“Luke!” 

[jaanusbooktalk]

The Darkness Outside Us by Eliot Schrefer - Book Review

10/10⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

TWs: death, violence, cancer, blood, vomit, war

(TWs are ranked in order of severity, please take them seriously - especially that death part)

Sometimes you read a book, and there’s a distinct before and after. Before I read The Darkness Outside Us, I was a person wholly removed from who I am now, in the After.

To be honest, I’m still reeling from everything that this book was. Is. At some point tonight I will cry about it for the eighth time. At some point I’ll add it to my Amazon shopping cart so I can buy my own copy instead of this crinkly plastic-covered (now tearstained) one. At some point I’ll call up my best friend to cry about it some more. At some point I’ll make a Pinterest board, a Spotify playlist, anything I can think of to help me capture and share exactly how this book makes me feel. Because I need to describe it to someone, even if that’s myself.

I don’t reread books, as a rule. The last books I reread were the Harry Potter series when I was nine. This is going to be the first book to change that rule. Before I start actually reviewing, I would like to formally apologize to my brother who had to listen to me sob over this book for the past three hours while he tried to play video games in our hotel room. I’m sorry (but not really).

Summary:

“Two boys, alone in space. Sworn enemies sent on the same rescue mission.

Ambrose wakes up on the Coordinated Endeavor with no memory of a launch. There’s more that doesn’t add up: evidence indicates strangers have been on board, the ship’s operating system is voiced by his mother, and his handsome, brooding shipmate has barricaded himself away. But nothing will stop Ambrose from making his mission succeed—not when he’s rescuing his own sister.

In order to survive the ship’s secrets, Ambrose and Kodiak will need to work together and learn to trust each other . . . especially once they discover what they are truly up against. Love might be the only way to survive.”

TL;DR - Have you seen Bananafish? Have you read They Both Die At The End? They have nothing on this. (The blurb was dumb so this is what y’all are getting 😭)

Edit one hour later-

Spotify playlist:

Pinterest board:

If you want emotional damage, listen to the playlist while reading 🤲🏼❤️‍🩹

There is a terrible lack of fanart and general fandomness about this book so the sole two pieces of quality fanart I could find:

And yes, I did talk to my bestie for two hours about this.

Let’s talk representation:

There’s only really two human characters in this book and it takes place thousands of years into the future, where there are only two countries: Fédération and Dimokratía. From this it’s difficult to identify the ethnicities of the characters. They are both queer, thought at this point in the future they don’t really use labels like “gay” or “pansexual”. Neither are white, which is clear from the cover and descriptions of the characters.

This means this section is shorter, but my one commentary on the rep is that Ambrose’s skin is described without food terms (aka caramel, coffee, etc) which yes, is the bare minimum, but also appreciated💘

Also I’m just happy that we get a gay love story about space where the main plot line is not the romance - it’s a thriller/mystery/sci-fi elements!

Edit: HAHHAHAHAHA my whole review past this point just got deleted I hate everything fml 😃😃 I was literally right in the last section too

*deep breath* we move on 😌🪷🧘🏽‍♀️

What I liked:

This is one of those books that’s really hard to review without major spoilers, so this section will also be short (since this is a spoiler free blog).

I loved how space was depicted in this book. The prose was beautiful and the story overall really renewed my faith in humanity and made me wonder about what makes us human.

I also loved how the characters grew, developed (and broke down), and how they reflected the hope we search for in the world & each other. There has never been a more fitting name for a book than The Darkness Outside Us, because Ambrose and Kodiak were the light for each other.

At the very beginning of the book there are two black pages, which I’ve put below:

It took me a while to get it.

On a space ship in the middle of endless nothing, the only indication Ambrose and Kodiak had that they were alive was each other. This was what kept them from going insane.

They only knew they existed because there was someone else to perceive them.

(You can see how this gave me an existential crisis now right?)

Ambrose also, understandably, has multiple existential crises throughout the book (because of the nihilistic tendencies in his personality 🧐?) as shown above.

Although I did rate this a 10, some people had some issues with it (that I realized after listening to a podcast review) that I wanted to acknowledge:

- suspension of disbelief

- Ambrose’s character at the beginning (a little self centered)

- too much space stuff & it was confusing at times

- the ending (redacted for obvious reasons but basically abrupt/random)

Note: the people who brought these up still rated the book 8/10 or 3.5/5 overall, despite what they disliked. I didn’t have any of these problems (aside from the Ambrose one which I attributed to deep seated self image problems) but everyone will read it their own way so I wanted to include them as a heads up!

Here is the link to the Spotify podcast review if you’re interested (be aware there are MAJOR SPOILERS!!!)

What brought it to a 10:

This book led me to ask some pretty big questions-

“Would I have done the same in their shoes? Would anyone?”

“If you could do it again would things be different?”

“What makes us human?”

“How do you know you exist?”

“What brings people together/what keeps them apart?”

“How much can people withstand before they go crazy?”

It’s a book that is sad, yes, but not in a way that you’ll regret reading it after. You’ll be grateful the universe (and maybe me 😉) helped put it in your hands.

Finally, I’ll let some random people (courtesy of Tik Tok comments sections) tell you what they thought:

“This book has ruined me and cured me and murdered me and hugged me all at once” -@ihathdroppedmycroissant

“I listened to the audiobook version and it had me sitting upright in my bed all night starting at the wall” -@draconic.gremlin

“I just finished this and I’m still gasping for air” -@morethanapage.books

Do with this what you will.

I sincerely recommend to fans of:

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera

Osamu Dazai (the author)

Simone de Beauvoir & Jean-Paul Sartre (poets/key figures in Existentialism)

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Psychology AKA why ppl do sh*t

Philosophy AKA why ppl do sh*t but fancy✨

Sad books that take ur heart and give it back better

Note: Gay space nerds, you should read this🪐 (I love u)

This book changed the way I see the world. I hope it will for you too 🫶🏼

^me to Tumblr for deleting my review halfway thru (I’m on Ep. 12 of Doom At Your Service rn)