#for the five people who've asked

[luna-loveboop]

Sky vs Hyrule post is coming along great 👍

[electric-blorbos]

Selfshiptober day 2: Blanket/flame

Character X reader

I swear to god its still October second somewhere... I hope.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Notice to anyone who found me through the selfshiptober tag, while this blog is themed around AI characters, this blog does not support the use of actual AI in creative fields.

Warning for canon-typical homicidal computers and yandere behavior

Also a reminder that these don't take place in chronological order

AM:

"Beautiful, isn't it?" AM asked, his croaky voice sounding like it was somehow both in your head, and all around you. You were wrapped up in a cozy blanket in your little home, which AM had made for you years ago. It was perfectly safe, hidden away from the five survivors which AM had been torturing for the past few decades. The five of them were hiking up a mountain, surrounded by petrified trees.

"I don't know why you're showing me this..." You muttered, taking a piece of pumpkin pie from the table. It was perfectly cooked. You couldn't taste much love for the craft, though. AM seemed to hate everything, doing anything, except for you. Interacting with you was the only thing that didn't make him feel inadequate.

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to understand the fate that I- that we have created for these people. To watch them suffer. Isn't it satisfying, sweetheart? My darling, my precious one? To watch the people who've hurt you suffer so?" His voice dripped into your ears like rich honey. You gritted your teeth.

"These people have nothing to do with me. I don't care what happens to them. I don't want them to suffer." You growled, wrapping yourself tighter in your blanket. At first the schadenfreude was nice... Seeing these bitter people suffering while you got to live in your cozy little paradise, but now it just felt like a threat. It felt like AM was merely holding a possible fate over your head that he would subject you to if you ever defied him.

"Tell me you don't really think that, my sweet!" AM said, sounding almost taken aback. You frowned a little.

"What are you talking about. Of course I don't want these people to suffer. I've never even met them."

You watched as the ape-like man twitched awkwardly, and punched a tree. He was barely human at this point, and it was all AM's fault. AM chuckled, and then burst into hysterical laughter.

"You don't care what happens to these people? Well then perhaps neither do I! Perhaps I should just clear them from your mind's eye, my sweetest! My darling, my beloved!"

He lit the entire forest on fire, and let the flames lick the trees. They started collapsing around the survivors, who, despite their barely functioning will to live, seemed to manage to survive surprisingly well. The falling debris seemed to keep missing them, and they managed to duck beneath the smoke.

"who the hell is he talking to?" Asked the paranoid one with the sweater around his shoulders. The woman in the red jacket shrugged, and tackled him to the ground.

"I don't know, just get down!"

They all ran into a cave to wait out the forest fire, and AM kept a fan blowing to keep the air in the cave relatively clean.

"What is wrong with you" you muttered bitterly, wrapping your blanket more tightly around yourself. AM chuckled darkly.

"oh so many things. But you'll never leave me, my sweet. Never."

And he was right. You never would. Even if you'd had the choice.

Wheatley:

The rain was coming down hard outside. It was a lightning storm, and you'd checked out Wheatley from his work like a cumbersome and chatty library book. He shuddered at every lightning strike, but only his lens shook. He couldn't exactly roll around on his own or hide easily, but he seemed like he wanted to.

"Relax, Wheatley. It's just a power outage." You said, lighting a flashlight and grabbing a couple of blankets from your bedroom. You sat down on the ground next to Wheatley, and pulled him in close.

"on nights like this, I like to put a fire in the fireplace." You said, creating a little blanket nest around Wheatley so that he didn't roll away. He kept his blue lens trained on you as you started building a fire.

"Y'know, I've never actually seen a fire before. I've seen pictures, but never in person. My engineers said that they're dangerous," Wheatley said as you made a small pile of sticks and paper on top of the logs in your fireplace.

"But this is a really good idea! That little area in the wall is a really good place to set a fire. The brick will keep it from spreading, and the ashes can fall out between the slats in that little metal rack. Bloody brilliant, that is!"

You let Wheatley talk as you pull out a pocket lighter and light the old newspaper on fire. He squeezes his lens covers shut, and you gently pat him to assure him that it's ok.

"hey, it's not a dangerous fire. It's all in the fireplace."

"PCH.... Yeah, I knew that." He chuckled nervously.

Edgar:

You woke up, your face stuck to Edgar's plastic casing. Sleep filled your eyes as you blinked into a haze.

"what time is it..." You muttered. A strange glow was coming in through the window, like a reverse twilight. Dawn.

"you fell asleep on me!" Said Edgar in his strange, synthetic voice. It was a little squeakier than usual since he was just booting himself up. His little rotating webcam was focused on you, and a big smile was on his screen.

You rubbed your eyes again, and picked him up.

"c'mon... I don't have work tomorrow." You knew he could last a little while without being plugged in, so you unplugged him and carried him to your bedroom and plugged him in next to the bed.

"let's get some sleep, cutie."

You crawled into bed, looking at the nervous and flustered face on Edgar's screen.

"you mean... Your bed? But I've never been in your room before!"

He knew that was because you didn't like unplugging him, but he was right, now that you thought about it.

"I don't care... I'm too sleepy for boundaries right now."

You pulled him close to your chest, pulling the blanket over both of you. His webcam, which was still taped just over his screen, stayed focused on your face as you dozed off under the blanket. Edgar loved you so much.

GLaDOS

You were getting sick and tired of working late every night, well past your bed time. It was like GLaDOS was intentionally coming up with things for you to do just to keep you around past midnight every single night! Well no longer.

You walked in to work on your day off, and directly into GLaDOS's office. Today was the day for some serious passive-aggression.

"hello GLaDOS." You said, unrolling a deflated air mattress on the ground. GLaDOS looked to it, and then to you.

"what is this."

"it's exactly what it looks like, GLaDOS. If you're going to keep me here all night, I'm going to get paid all night. I'll see you in the morning."

You made up your bed and cuddled up under your blanket, eyes poking out so you could see the annoyed expression in GLaDOS's eye.

"this is ridiculous." She said. You chuckled.

"you love me. And you're not going to get rid of me." You weren't all that sleepy, so you got to your feet and walked over to her.

"in fact, I think I know a better place to sleep." You shot a portal onto the wall and onto the floor, launching yourself and your blanket onto GLaDOS's body.

"I'm going to nap right here," you said with a big yawn, curling up in her wiring to go to bed.

"I hate you so much." She said.

"you love me."

HAL 9000:

The year was getting colder, and your nights at mission control were getting longer and darker, so you decided to bring in a blanket for those long nights.

"12:00 midnight... Everything running smoothly. No updates." Said HAL 9000. It took about 45 minutes for updates to reach you from the ship, and you were starting to suspect that HAL 9000 wasn't being completely honest with you. It had been weeks since you'd even spoken to Dave, and even longer since you'd spoken to the rest of the crew.

"can I monitor the vital signs of the sleeping crew mates?" You asked, yawning sleepily and leaning on the desk. This blanket was so warm, and HAL 9000's light was so comforting.

"don't you trust me? It's going to be just fine, y/n. In fact, just let me take care of your reports for tonight. You get some rest."

You nodded, wrapping your soft, snuggly blanket closer around yourself and gazing into that beautiful red light.

"of course I trust you, HAL. I love you..."

His voice was quiet. almost inaudible.

"I love you too."

[watarfallar]

Enjoy your meal!

Grian: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? Scar: Lilacs and poppies, why? Grian: Scar: Were you going to get me flowers? Grian: Scar: Grian: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

Scar: I think I just figured something out. I got to go. Grian: Aren't you forgetting something? Scar: Uuh...*hesitantly kisses Grian's forehead before running out.* Grian: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

Grian: Are we fighting or flirting? Scar: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck- Grian: Your point?

Grian: I feel like doing something stupid. Scar: I’m stupid, do me.

Scar, sweating: Grian, there’s something I need to ask you- Grian: Finally! You’re proposing! Scar: How’d you know? Grian: Scar, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner. Grian: I even picked it up once.

Scar: Hey, Grian, what do you think it would be like if we had kids? Grian: What would it be like? Inconvenient, mostly. Scar: No, I mean, what would they be like, the kids? You ever think about it? Grian: Can't really say I have. Scar: You know, for someone as eccentric as yourself, you can be boring as fuck sometimes. Grian: Sorry, Scar. For what it's worth, I'm picturing them now. A boy and a girl. Two perfect little freaks of nature raised by people who've clearly got no business bringin' up anybody.

Scar: Grian, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right? Grian, naked in Scar's bed: No, I absolutely do not. Scar, already taking off their clothes: Fuck... Me neither.

Grian: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash. Scar: Oh. We're going out? Grian: Wh...

Etho: *about Scar and Grian* They make a cute couple, huh? Bdubs: They certainly are standing next to each other.

Bdubs: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon? Scar: We're chopsticks! Bdubs: Well... that's cute! Bdubs: Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly? Grian: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

Bdubs: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room. Scar: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you. *Grian walks in* Scar: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.

Scar: Guys, my friend here is bilingual. Grian: Yes. Scar: Which means they like both boys and girls. Grian: Ye- wait, what- Bdubs: Scar, that's not what bilingual means- Scar: Shhh, it's okay Grian. I still love you, man. Grian & Bdubs: ... Scar: bUT NOT LIKE THAT-

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

They had planned to leave before Bruce got back to the Manor, but plans change all the time and it wasn't Danny's fault!

Alfred had invited a friend of Dick's, Barbra Gordon, to the Manor for dinner, meaning that Dick had to stay if he wanted to see her. And since Dick was staying, Danny was staying. Tim wasn't about to leave Danny to Bruce's mercy, so he was staying for dinner, too.

Bruce Wayne arrived at Wayne Manor exactly three and a half minutes after six in the evening. He entered the kitchen exactly ten minutes and five seconds after that.

The air was tense.

Dick had been tense since Danny first roped him into coming to Gotham, only getting worse as they got closer to the building they were now sitting in. Now that Bruce and Dick were in the same room, it was like the rope had frayed to the point of snapping with a light breeze.

Bruce sat at the head of the table with Tim to his left and down a chair. Dick sat at the foot of the table, Barbra sitting to his immediate right. Danny sat on the unoccupied side of the table, directly in the middle.

No one was saying a word.

Danny was on edge.

Finally, "Dick," Bruce said.

"Bruce," was the response.

As if the spell had been broken, though the awkwardness remained, Barbra cleared her throat and said, "It's good to have you back in Gotham, D."

Dick smiled at her, soft and happy and relieved. "It's good to see you, Babs. How've you been?"

"The same as usual. Though, Condiment King again!" She glared when Dick started laughing. "Yeah, sure, laugh it up, Wonder Boy. It took three hours to get that mustard out of my costume! It's easier to get blood out of white carpets-!"

Bruce pointedly cleared his throat, bringing all attention to him. "As good as it is to see you, Dick, who've you brought with you?"

Barbra flinched back slightly, having forgotten Danny was even there. Oops.

Danny grinned at Bruce, hiding his nerves behind his favorite fake-it-'til-you-make-it smile. "My name's Danny, it's nice to meet you Mister Wayne! I have to say, you're a lot less smiley in person than you are on the internet."

He hummed. "I apologize. Today's been an off day."

"No need," Danny waved off politely, "I get it."

"I have to say, Daniel-"

"'Danny', please. My name's Danny."

To his credit, Bruce didn't even skip a beat. "Then, call me Bruce. I must say that I didn't expect Dick to have taken anyone in."

Danny chuckled a bit. "I think it's less of him taking me in and more of me kind of letting myself into his house."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I noticed he wasn't doing too well, so I figured I'd step in to help where I could before he got himself hurt." 'Or worse' was heavily implied. "I imagine Tim did much the same with you?"

Tim stiffened as Bruce sighed. Well, that's not a good sign.

"Yes, though Tim doesn't live here."

"He has a room, though, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. I can't imagine having to travel with the kind of injuries you guys get at night is very fun." Here, he turned and looked Barbra in the eye. "Honestly, you deserve a prize for traveling from here to wherever you live after getting injured."

Barbra smiled sheepishly, "Thanks? I don't really come here, though. Only on occasion."

Bruce interrupted before the conversation could continue, "What do you mean? Dick's the only one of us who could possibly get hurt on the job." He shook his head. "Honestly, why did you ever join the BHPD? It's too dangerous."

Oh, Danny had to put a stop to that right away!

"Sorry, to jump in here, Mister Wayne, but I know what all of you moonlight as." He ignored Bruce's narrowed, sharp glare. "You're Batman, Dick is Nightwing, Tim is Robin, meaning that Barbra has to be Batgirl and, if I'm right, Oracle."

"Who are you?" Bruce demanded. He didn't ask because asking is for people who aren't paranoid enough to have six levels of security at the front gate alone.

"I just told you: Danny." He unflinchingly met Bruce's glare. "Not good enough for you? I'm Danny, personal caretaker of vigilantes who refuse to take care of themselves, bookkeeper, cook, unlicensed medical unprofessional, et cetera. Though, don't call me a therapist because that's my sister. Is that a better answer?"

Bruce hummed.

The meal itself was somehow even worse than before Alfred had brought out the food. Glares were being thrown and concerned glances shared. It made the food taste bad, which was probably a war crime.

Danny had been raised with manners, so he'd thanked Alfred for making dinner. He even offered to help with clean up, though he backed down when he was refused. He knows better.

After dinner, the group had gone back into the very same drawing room as before. Dick and Barbra cuddled together on the couch, Bruce and Tim took the two armchairs, and Danny sat on the floor in front of the now lit fireplace.

"So, Tim," Danny started, "You working on any interesting cases?"

Tim seemed to perk up a bit. "Yeah, actually. It's a murder-"

"We're not at liberty to discuss anything with you, Daniel." Bruce's voice was gravely, almost the voice he used as Batman, as he spoke over Tim.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "I believe I told you my name is 'Danny', not 'Daniel'."

"Well, seeing as I don't actually know you, and you have offered up no sir name, I'll stick with calling you whatever I'm comfortable with, especially in my own home."

"This isn't a fight you wanna pick, Mister Wayne. You might want to rethink your choice."

"I am well aware of what battles to fight. However, you're mistaken. This isn't a battle. I'm merely stating that I will be calling you 'Daniel' until you offer up your sir name to be called by."

Danny very obviously looked Bruce up and down. "I guess my parents were right; You can't ever believe everything you read on the internet."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because you, Mister Wayne, are horrible with children."

The temperature in the room dropped. Bruce's glare hardened even more. He appraised Danny, assessing him and filing away everything he could find. "Speaking to me like that in my own home is quite the move."

"Are you threatening me, Mister Wayne?"

"Not at all," he denied. "What are you really doing here, Dick?"

"I wanted to come meet Tim," Dick lied.

"Don't lie to me."

"What, I can't even come meet your newest Robin?"

"After the way you treated Jason?"

Dick stood quickly, Barbra scrambling to her feet. "After the way I-! You're the one who let him put on my old uniform!"

Bruce stood to his full height, looking down on Dick. "Me? You barely even talked to him! I spent as much time as I could with him!"

Danny blocked out the already out of hand yelling match and grabbed Barbra's and Tim's hands, leading them out of the room. This was not how he was hoping this would go at all.

He could still hear the yelling, even in the foyer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Tim and Barbra, "I didn't expect this to happen."

"It's alright," Barbra said, flinching when she realized that she could hear both men's voices almost clearly.

"No, it's not. I dragged Dick here to apologize to Tim. We were supposed to leave before Bruce even left Wayne Enterprises."

Tim shook his head. "We should've anticipated something like this would happen."

"Yeah..."

The three sat together on the steps, Bruce and Dick's voices carrying through the wood and marble.

"Hey," Barbra said after a few minutes, "How do you know about the Cave being under the Manor?"

Danny blinked at her before turning to Tim. "There's a cave under the Manor?!" He glared playfully at his friend. "You didn't tell me that your base of operations is a cave under Wayne Manor!"

"If it makes you feel any better," Tim offered, "Dick named it the Bat Cave."

"It's called the Bat Cave!?"

Part 12 Part 14

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Greetings, I just remember your overdue pre-order of angst.

I imagine peter didn't ask Jason out not because he might return back to his universe. But deep down is the parker luck, Mj almost die because of Spider-Man rogue and many of the loved ones hurt or perish.

Doesn't matter if Jason said that he is red hood that he can handle himself. Remember iron man. Even though he is a hero with armor. So I think peter will prefer to be no one there for him.

As he might think "it better this way, so they won't get hurt because of me (parker luck)."

If we're looking at Peter at the early stages of ECM, then yes he's unwilling to connect with anyone like that. That's why Jason knows so little about Peter even though they've been living together for five weeks by the end of part 1. Most of what Jason does know is personality related, or worked out through subterfuge.

Knowing that Jason is the Red Hood does make a difference to Peter. Knowing that Jason's more than capable of taking care of himself means that Peter can start to really get attached, which is why Peter does start to let go of tidbits of information towards the end of Part one. This however, has been tempered by the fact that there's still the likelihood of him having to leave, which is in part why Peter can't recognise that attachment as anything more than platonic (that slow burn do be burning slow, lemme tell you) But also he's still grieving. There's no romantic feelings cropping up because of that too.

To me, it's about Peter being able to trust himself, and also trust that those he cares for can care for themselves.

As much as I enjoy the trope of Peter isolating himself out of fear of hurting others, and there are plenty of writers who've explored this idea very well, I don't want to write about a Peter who forcibly pushes people away. Holds them at arm's length? Sure. That's really what's been happening through much of ECM... But as I've said in a past ask, something I love about Peter Parker is both his faith in others, and his resilience. In ECM, Peter pushing others away again would be him giving up, which is of course what he did post NWH. His (self-enforced) isolation and grief reinforced that behaviour. But he's slowly had time to heal in ECM, and that means those arms of his have been letting people like Jason draw closer.

Being around others, caring for the welfare of others - people whom he can place a face to a name of, not just randos in Queens - has helped him gain a new perspective. Part two will explore more of Peter's connections to other people, and give him an opportunity to look at the future for what it really is: a time of potential and growth, not just a long-winded path towards self-destruction.

[suzukiblu]

I kind of want to try your method of posting wips a snippet at a time while writing them, but on the other hand I am nervous about it. Can you give me some advice?

I've been trying to nail down the mixed feelings, and this is what I've got so far:

for:

it will get eyes on my fics faster, and I can show off what I've written sooner, instead of needing to finish a whole chapter

it will encourage engagement both in reacting to specific posts and in asking for more

it will be more chances for people to be intrigued and want to read the whole fic

against:

what if I do it and nobody cares?

til now I've been releasing fics a chapter at a time and it would feel weird to change that. inertia and all

what do I do if/when I change something I've written and already posted a snippet of?

it feels weird to post them on my writing blog, which currently only holds finished chapters (and fanart), but if I post them on my main, I feel like they'll get lost and/or I'll miss reactions in my busy activity channel. Where should I post it to? Should I make yet another sideblog?

in direct response to your listed mixed feelings, in my personal experience of writing this way:

for:

it will get eyes on my fics faster, and I can show off what I've written sooner, instead of needing to finish a whole chapter: yes it will, and it feels great! and personally it also helps me keep momentum and helps soften the sting if I drop a fic/chapter later and people don't have much to say about it. I KNOW it's good, other people already told me they liked it!! no, I'm not gonna throw out the whole story because of one mediocre reception, SHUT UP IMPOSTER SYNDROME AND GET BACK IN THE WRITING TRENCHES.

it will encourage engagement both in reacting to specific posts and in asking for more: yes it does, and WAY more people consistently (and more gratifyingly!) engage with me since I've made a habit of posting this way, especially when they're especially interested in a specific WIP over my other ones, and a lot of people just seem to be more engaged and invested in my writing in general. or at least more willing to tell me that they are, if nothing else, haha.

it will be more chances for people to be intrigued and want to read the whole fic: yes it will, and if you post larger scenes and tag them, then more people are likelier to find you/your writing than would if you only post one chapter in the tags however often you update those. also, if you have a fic-specific WIP tag that you link to, it's very easy for people who are just discovering the WIP to go back and catch up all at once ( or for people who aren't into it to blacklist, if that's a concern, as opposed to them feeling like they have to unfollow/block you ).

against:

what if I do it and nobody cares? good news: they probably won't care! at least to start. that's just kinda how it is, to start. I get a lot of engagement because I am REAL prolific and do my best to be responsive, plus I've been updating this blog and in this specific fandom pretty consistently for over a year, and also have also been in online fandom spaces on and off for, like, legit twenty-five years at this point. so I am just very used to being in these spaces, and I also have readers who've followed me for a decade+ or even since I was an actual literal TEENAGER in at least a couple cases, so like, they're already kinda invested in my writing, haha. there are people following this blog who not only read my Inu-Yasha Miroku/Sesshoumaru fanfic back in the day in the Pit of Voles but also still REMEMBER reading my Inu-Yasha Miroku/Sesshoumaru fanfic back in the day in the Pit of Voles, to say nothing of everyone who found me through AtLA or the MCU or the Witcher ( or so, so much Star Wars meta, the Star Wars meta has also definitely been a thing ). also I update my blog pretty consistently and I do writing memes that reward the people who play with me with new content and more progress in their fave WIPs, and also they're technically "voting" for what they wanna see more of, so that also adds to them feeling engaged/invested and me feeling motivated/energized, because they feel like they've affected the growth and progress of the story ( which they have ) and I feel like they're enjoying the story and genuinely appreciate it ( which they do! ). so everyone wins!

til now I've been releasing fics a chapter at a time and it would feel weird to change that. inertia and all: yeah that is the sunk-cost fallacy trying to fuck you up and you can and should tell it to fuck off. if you try it and you don't like the change, you can just stop doing it. you're free! no one can stop you!! hit the bricks, do your thing, the past is gone and it is NOT in charge of your ass! your ass is all yours!! whatever, we do what we want! I am in fact giving you explicit PERMISSION to do what you want.

what do I do if/when I change something I've written and already posted a snippet of?: then you've changed something! if it's a major change, you can repost the updated scene or mention you're making a change in a separate post or just say there's been a significant change when you post the chapter and therefore people who've already read the WIP posts might wanna reread it, but personally I change and tweak and fiddle with stuff I've already posted all the time. usually it's just bits of phrasing or formatting or adding in little details to round stuff out or correct mistakes, or to clarify things that confused people or that I forgot about, but sometimes it's adding multiple paragraphs or even additional little scenes. it's absolutely a thing I do and a thing that I consider fair play. you're literally posting "work-in-progress" excerpts, it is in the NAME that stuff might/will change or be adjusted. shit, if you feel like it, throw the whole story out and start over with a 2.0 WIP tag!! art is meant to be fucked with!!!!

it feels weird to post them on my writing blog, which currently only holds finished chapters (and fanart), but if I post them on my main, I feel like they'll get lost and/or I'll miss reactions in my busy activity channel. Where should I post it to? Should I make yet another sideblog?: the past is gone! you are free!! it's a writing blog that is for your writing and you can write whatever you want on it. the rules are made up and the points don't matter!! if you want a WIP blog too, you can totally start a WIP blog too, but you also don't have to feel obligated to bloat your sideblog collection or to have to go to all the effort of building up a brand-new following for a brand-new blog when there's already people who followed another blog of yours specifically for your writing. it's your writing blog. it's for your writing. write on it how you please!! if you're SUPER-concerned about the change, include a specific tag on all your WIP snippets that people can just blacklist if they only wanna see your full finished updates. for example I use "rintalk" so people can skip my random talky posts/asks if they wanna but also won't accidentally be filtering out anything they DO wanna see from anyone else on their dash; they can specifically avoid just mine. so like, maybe "octo WIPs" or "nb WIPs" or just whatever you're into would work for you, or just something like that.

unrelated to your for/against: posting stuff like this is not an approach that'll give everyone the same results or even WORK for everyone, obviously, but it works for me because again, I'm prolific, responsive, tend to follow my readers' interests, and have been doing this a lonnnggggg time and have built up an audience both from past fandoms and in specifically DC fandom. and also I'm super, super ADHD. definitely also because of the ADHD. there is . . . there is just so much ADHD lol.

but yeah, like, I'm pretty sure I've been updating pretty consistently for the past . . . what, year or so of DC-hyperfixation? something like that?? I've also published over 300k to AO3 in that time and GOD knows how much more word count I've put up on Tumblr, so like . . . tl;dr, I absolutely think you should give it a try and see if it works for you/if you like it, I just also wanna include the caveat that you shouldn't be discouraged if you don't get an immediate return on or big response to said try. like, I dunno what your followers are like or how much they talk to you, obvi, but I personally had to kind of . . . cultivate, basically? I had to cultivate the communication and the back-and-forth, it didn't just happen immediately. we have cultivated, all of us here, hahaha.

for actual practical excerpt-posting advice, generally speaking, the best start I've found for starting out with posting a WIP as you write it is to take, like, the starting scene of the fic/chapter up until either a narratively-interesting/satisfying end point ( or better yet, a cliffhanger ) and post that as a WIP excerpt in the relevant tags. then you're likelier to introduce the story to new people and bring them by your blog to see more, and they'll come in both primed for and LOOKING for WIP excerpts. then, you know, you can post subsequent scenes or bits in chronological order, ideally. personally when I do WIP Wednesday or anything like that, I don't tag little posts like those in the main tags, just with a WIP tag specific to their story ( which, like, obvi you know I have those, haha, I know you've been around MORE than long enough and even if you hadn't pretty sure I already mentioned them somewhere up there anyway, I'm just being thorough ), but anything that's pushing 400-500 words or longer gets fully tagged with ships/characters/fandom/etc and gets chrono/non-chrono links included in the post and then sent out into the world as my lil' story ambassador, haha. just, you know, use a cut or at least a "long post" tag if it's much longer than that, because like, Tumblr manners and all, hah.

ummmmm . . . so yeah idk how much of that was helpful for you, obviously, but if you have follow-up questions or anything, feel free to hit me up, I'm always down for those and I'll do my best to answer!

[ponett]

really really enjoyed your article on hazbin hotel. have been hearing about it for years, but did my active best to learn literally nothing substantial–until your article. even all the incredible bigotry aside, it's shocking to me just how...messy the show seems to be? i've never, EVER heard of a show where you're expected to have fandom and pilot knowledge ahead of time. that's nuts. cannot fathom how it all got approved with such a massive budget & cast given how Clearly Haphazardly put together it is. anyway. great article, spread it to a few friends, your writing was really engaging and drew me in 👍

I ended up not talking about this in the piece because it was already more than long enough, but I do wonder if the messy writing could partially be a result of A24 being a bad match for the project. Because, you know. A24 is not an animation distributor. This was the first animation project they funded.

Obviously I wasn't a fly on the wall at Spindlehorse and this is pure speculation, but based on the show itself it does feel like A24 looked at the millions and millions of views the pilot had on YouTube and went "Well, you guys clearly know what you're doing! We'll stay out of your way." When in reality, like I said in the review, what I think the show really needed was just an experienced cartoon showrunner on hand who could gently nudge things in the right direction and help them nail down basic TV writing stuff. Not calling the shots, but just looking over Vivzie's shoulder with feedback like "Does this episode have a satisfying three-act structure?" or "Could you explain this worldbuilding detail a little more clearly?" or "This episode doesn't have a clear enough focus on its central emotional arc." I have to wonder if a studio with an actual history making cartoons could have more easily hooked Hazbin up with someone like that.

(Some of the work on Hazbin was also done by Bento Box Entertainment, who've worked on a bunch of adult cartoons like Bob's Burgers, but I'm not sure how much creative input they actually had.)

Without that outsider perspective, I can see how it's extremely easy to get lost in the weeds and just write for the audience that's already there. Of course dedicating an entire three-minute musical number to Vox in the second episode seems like a good idea when you're surrounded by excited fans who've spent the last five years asking what's up with the TV head guy teased in the pilot. Of course you take for granted how much people already know about the characters and world when you've been talking about them online for years, and also producing a bunch of supplemental material like a whole spinoff show. It takes a lot of effort to not fall into that mindset and put yourself in the shoes of someone who's going in blind.

Again, this is all speculation. But these are easy traps for independent creators, especially ones coming from the world of webcomics, to fall into.

[polinsated]

Okay, hi. I'm only going to make one post like this because I feel like an asshole doing it in the first place, but desperate times....

I need help with my food shopping, bills, and rent through September! Of course, there is absolutely no pressure whatsoever to give anything, but here is my PayPal & there is an explanation under the cut (I tried to make it as clear as possible/to make sense) ❤️

-

I work in a school, for a cleaning company. On the 1st of August, the previous company broke their contract with the school, meaning all of us cleaners had to be transferred to the new company on the 19th.

Company A (I obvs can't name them) would pay us once a month without fail. They would add everything we earn through the year and then divide it into 12 months, so we always got paid, even in school, half terms. But company B - our new employers - have told us we'll be getting paid every 4 weeks.

So the pay period this month is from the 1st - 28th. Here's why I need help — currently, the school I work at is on the 6 week summer holiday/half-term/whatever you call it where you are from, which started on the 31st July and ends on the 3rd September. But we haven't been at work! This week (19th - 21st August), I have been allowed to do 15 hours of deep clean, but that is it!!

This all means that on the 28th of Sept, I'm only going to get paid, maybe a quarter of what I usually get. Which is maybe enough to pay my mum's rent and little else. So, from the 28th, until whenever I get paid in October, I'm going to have nothing.

And to add to this stress - very rarely when I'm in a pickle, I will ask my dad for a small loan, and then pay him back, but at the moment he can't work, and in fact, on the 19th he went into a facility that is going to try to help him with his f.nd. (functional neurological disorder). He's going to be there for 3 weeks! (update: my dad is staying there for another 2 weeks)

I really, really feel so gross asking for any help, but this time, it's serious. I will be eternally grateful if you can spare anything! And know that if you do, I am sending you the biggest, warmest hug on the planet (or a high five, if you prefer).

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, even if you read this far or signal boost this post. You are the kindest person ✨️

edit: thank you for your help so far. new goal is £200 to survive the rest of the month. i can't thank the people who've donated enough <3

[daydreamgoddess14]

Hi! 🫶 Please may I humbly make a Valentine Lovebomb request? 🩷

I would love to see number 5. A pair of exes who still have feelings for each other running into each other with River please? And perhaps in the spirit of Valentines, there could be a dusting (or more 👀) of smut?

Thank you 💖

Then she runs like it's a race

Peachy, I don't know what came over me with this one... We've got cheating (only a pinch 🤏 and its people we don't know/care about), angst, public horniness, and of course a dusting or more of smut!

Hope you like it, love! Happy Valentines to you! 💕

(I also listened to this quite a lot... horses, bolting etc, etc, you get the picture 🙃)

Realistically speaking, fresh out the box relationships should probably avoid the whole Valentine's period.

By fresh out the box, you're thinking only 5-6 dates in.

No formal discussions have taken place.

No one has mentioned meeting siblings / parents / pets.

You've slept together, but not slept together - he went to his own home afterwards, and that was perfectly acceptable.

Those early, brand new, baby step relationships should not hold any Valentine's expectations.

So the very fact that you're here, in a - quite lovely, actually - restaurant, with a great menu, delicious wine…

It kind of gives you the ‘ick’.

You're not one for being coddled, or rushed.

In fact, nine times out of ten, you're the one looking for the exit.

An unapologetic bolter.

With a barely contained sigh, you glance around the room at the other couples - and there are many.

There's an older couple opposite you holding hands across the table.

Two women seated in the window who got engaged within five minutes of sitting down because the one who popped the question was so nervous she couldn't wait any longer.

A young couple who've brought their baby on their date with them.

With a soft smile, you look around at all the variations of love surrounding you.

It's all very nice, but it's not really you.

And then your eyes fall on him.

The second you lay eyes on him you get butterflies, you always did.

Blue eyes, crinkled at the corners as he reads the menu intently.

His hair falls into his face so he sits back and pushes it away, looking across the room as he does so.

He catches you looking at him.

His brows pinch together tightly.

The woman with him must have questioned it, because it's gone again in an instant and he looks away.

Your ex.

Gorgeous, funny, wonderfully kind when his head's in the right place.

But at the time, it really wasn't.

You'd lost count of the number of times he'd turned up with blood on his hands, bruises on his torso, the occasional limp from a mildly sprained ankle.

He'd always been secretive about his job, but it got worse.

And of course, with you always on the lookout for an escape, it gave you the perfect ‘out’.

That being said...

He was different.

He seemed to like the fact that you were independent. That you weren't interested in his every waking step, that you valued his privacy.

But when he needed you - actually needed you - you'd failed.

Ran for the hills.

He's taken over your thoughts, now. You've lost count of the number of times he's caught you looking at him - and how many times you've caught him.

Your date is giving you serious goo goo eyes over the table, trying to hold your hand.

It's nauseating.

“I'll be back in a minute,” you placate him, rising from your seat and crossing the room to the bathroom.

His hand reaches out, grasping at your arm in an attempt to stop you.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice betraying a hint of a whine.

“Just the bathroom, I'll be right back,” you insist.

You know instantly this won't last.

What he wants from you, expects from you, is just not the kind of girlfriend you are.

As you stand in the bathroom, taking a moment for yourself, more memories of your ex resurface.

River Cartwright.

You had spent the last three months trying to think of anything but him.

Easier said than done.

Every time you tried to push thoughts of him out of your mind, they would only resurface with more intensity.

It was like the more you tried to forget, the more vividly you remembered every detail of him.

His messy hair always rumpled no matter how hard he tried to tame it.

Sparkling blue eyes, filled with determination.

Sentences dripping in sarcasm.

But, god, the sex was incredible.

You had made it clear from the start that you weren't looking for anything serious, that commitment wasn't in your vocabulary. Yet, River had assured you that it wouldn't be a problem. He was just as unwilling - or unable - to settle down as you were.

As you had shared more moments together, your emotions had caught you off guard. The feeling of attachment had become too intense, and you had feared that the longer you stuck around, the more likely it was that you'd end up hurting each other.

So you had left.

You had tried to convince yourself that it was for the best, but the guilt that washed over you every time you thought of him told you otherwise.

River had been the only person who had truly burrowed under your layers of detachment and nonchalance.

He had made you question the life you had built for yourself, the walls you had erected to keep others at arm's length.

Every time you looked at him, you found yourself falling into those blue eyes, the ones that seemed to see straight through you.

He read you like a book. Like a game he had all the cheat codes to.

Whenever he touched you, it was as if his touch alone could coax sounds of pleasure from deep within you, sounds that no one else had ever been able to hear before.

No one had ever been able to reduce you to a trembling, panting mess like he could. The sounds he pulled from you were foreign, even to your own ears.

Your body yearned for him, ached to be touched by him again. You found yourself desperate for that connection, those moments of mindless bliss that only he seemed to be able to give you.

You craved him like a drug.

He had awakened something within you, a desire so intense and all-consuming that it made you question your own sanity.

The memory of his hands on your skin, his mouth on your flesh, was etched into your being.

And now you were left feeling hollow and unfulfilled.

You take your time in the bathroom. Maybe if you take long enough, your date will take the hint and leave.

Unlikely.

You wonder about River's date. Who is she? Is she nice to him?

The thoughts swirl in your head, and curiosity tinged with a hint of jealousy gnaws at the back of your mind.

The idea of River with someone else, touching them in the same way he touched you, cuts through you like a knife.

You know your time is up.

The ladies room is at the start of a dark corridor that leads to a fire escape. You half wonder if it's worth making a run for it.

“You wouldn't leave him out there all alone, would you?” a voice outside the gents asks.

Your heart stutters in your chest at the sound.

It's familiar, unmistakable.

You recognise it instantly.

For a brief moment, you entertain the thought of disappearing out the fire exit, and not looking back.

“No River, I wouldn't.” You confirm with a sigh.

You steel yourself before turning to face him.

The memories and emotions associated with him hit you with the force of a tidal wave. It's almost overwhelming.

“How are you?” You ask.

“Don't do that,” he sneered. “Don't act like you give a shit.”

River's response is immediate and sharp, his words cutting through the air like a knife.

His reaction is understandable. Your last encounter had ended with so many harsh words.

You had walked away, leaving him behind with no explanation.

The scent of his aftershave swirls around you, triggering a primal response within you.

Your body betrays you as you inhale deeply, your resistance crumbling at the familiar cologne.

Your gaze meets River's, and you see the subtle signs of emotion playing across his face. His eyes soften for a moment before hardening once more.

He looks you up and down, taking in your appearance, before he finally speaks again.

“You look good.”

His voice is rough, hoarse with unexpressed emotion, betraying the cool facade he's attempting to maintain.

“How've you been?” you ask your original question once again.

You don't want to hear him tell you how good things are. You want him to confirm that he's as miserable as you are.

River takes a moment to respond. His expression hardening even further.

“How do you think I've been?” He counters, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Yeah… me too.” You confirm with a sigh.

“I’m not the one who left?” He points out.

Guilt washes over you.

It’s true, you can’t argue his point.

You deserve his anger, even if it pains you to hear it.

But you’re also not entirely at fault.

“What else could I do? You shut down completely,” you hold your hands up, taking the blame despite his contribution.

The look on his face shifts, becoming almost pleading.

“You could’ve stayed,” he says pointedly.

He knows, and you do too, that it’s never that simple.

“You knew that wasn’t me. You knew what I was like.”

His stare intensifies, and you can see his pain and anger mixed with something else entirely.

“Any regrets?” He asks bitterly.

“Some,” you admit quietly, your eyes locked with his.

The admission leaves a weight on your chest.

His expression changes, a hint of vulnerability seeping through the hard shell he’s been carrying around.

“Me too,” he concurs.

Your hand moves instinctively towards his face.

The air crackles with tension and anticipation, the boundaries between you becoming blurred.

He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t push your hand aside.

He leans into it, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm.

Filled with unspoken longing, the simple gesture sends jolts of electricity through your body, reigniting the dormant embers of desire that still lingered beneath the surface.

“What’s your date like?” You try to ground the conversation.

River hesitates before responding, his voice flat and dispassionate.

“She’s fine. Its only been a couple of weeks.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his gaze fixed on a spot over your shoulder. “She’s not you,” he adds quietly.

His voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it is devastating.

Like a punch to the gut, the fact that he’s comparing someone else to you hits hard.

You snatch your hand back, but he’s faster.

He grabs your wrist firmly before you can pull away fully, his eyes back on you, unyielding.

It’s impossible to tell who moves first.

There’s no thought, no hesitation.

It’s an unconscious dance.

As you step forward, closing the small gap between you, River’s hand finds its familiar place at your waist, pulling you closer.

Your bodies collide, the impact is electrifying.

His mouth on yours, insistent and demanding, sends your senses into overdrive.

Your body betrays you as you respond eagerly to his touch.

His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, you grant him access, giving into the hunger that’s burned within you since you left him.

He guides you backward, pushing you until you feel the hard surface of the wall at your back. His body cages you, overwhelming you with his presence as his hands roam over your body with a possessive touch.

The intensity is dizzying. You arch your body towards him, desperate to feel the weight of him against you.

It feels like you're vibrating with a primal need for him.

He responds in kind, his body moulding to yours like a magnet as his lips trail down your throat.

He nips at the sensitive skin, your moans and sighs are fuel for the fire. He seems to revel in the sound, marking you as his with each press of his lips.

His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you as close to him as possible.

You can feel him, hard against your thigh. The need for him courses through you.

Your hand slips between your bodies, pressing against him.

He groans at the contact, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath in ragged gasps.

“I need you,” this time you’re the one pleading.

“Not here,” he tells you, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

His hands on your hips slide you along the wall, deeper into the shadows towards the fire exit.

Your hands reach for him again, desperate for more, but he bats them away with a smirk.

“Not here,” he repeats against your mouth.

His restraint fuels your impatience. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the sound of his breath in your ear.

“Please,” you beg, “please.”

His fingers move with deliberate slowness, reaching through the split of your dress and tracing the edge of your underwear. He teases and taunts, the contact achingly close to where you want him.

You’re all to aware that you’ve been gone too long, but neither of you seem capable of caring. The need to have him, to feel his skin against yours, is overwhelming.

His fingers brush over your still covered clit, making you gasp.

“God, River,” your words spill out, a ragged breath somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“You missed this?” He responds smugly.

His smirk is devilish, a reminder of the power he holds over you.

How you would have changed your entire pattern of behaviour in relationships at his request.

You can only nod in response, unable to form a coherent sentence.

A quick flick of his wrist and his fingers trace through your soaked folds.

He slides them into you and pumps them leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world.

In this moment, with his touch setting something alight within you, you realise that you wouldn’t run again.

If he asked you to stay, you’d face commitment head on, all for him.

You’d be willing to confront the fears and doubts that had kept you at arms length.

You’d plunge into uncharted waters to ease his pain, try to comprehend the sadness that lurked in the depths of his eyes.

You’d become the partner he needed, the one you’d denied him.

The realisation is terrifying and liberating.

The idea of being what he needs, filling the voids he’d kept hidden for so long, was exhilarating.

The pad of his thumb presses your clit in time with the movements of his hand, making you rut against him.

It wasn’t just this moment, this stolen tryst in the shadows of the restaurant with your date only a few meters away.

It was more than this desperate need and the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

You yearn for all of it, the good, the bad, the messy complexity of it all.

“Come for me,” he demands in your ear.

A silent cry escapes you as the tremors overtake your body, your legs shaking beneath you.

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of relief and pleasure, but there’s something more too.

Your clamped thighs free his hand and without hesitation he brings his wet fingers to his mouth.

The obscenity of it has your cunt clenching again, your heart pounding.

He searches your face, noticing the tears in your eyes.

His usual arrogance is replaced with worry.

“Is this not what you wanted?”

His concern seeps through, a reminder that beneath the desire and possessiveness, he still cares for you.

He carefully straightens your dress and then cups your face, brushing your tears away.

He’s never seen you cry, you’re not sure anyone has since you were a child.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, not even managing to convince yourself. The guilt washes over you as you remember his date, alone in the restaurant waiting for him. “You need to go, your date -”

“I know,” he sighs, his voice heavy with resignation. He knows as well as you do the boundaries he’s crossed.

“I didn’t mean to-” you begin, trying to offer some kind of worthless apology.

“I know,” he repeats. His understanding is reassuring and yet disheartening at the same time. “Take care,” he offers, a bittersweet goodbye as he moves away from you.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out, rushed and filled with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to be what you needed.”

The weight of your confession hangs in the air, the admission of your own failings. Your inability to give him what he’d needed from you.

“I hope she’s what you need,” your voice softens to a whisper, constricted by emotion. “You deserve someone really, really good, River.” You affirm, nodding with finality.

His face falls. You know it’s too little too late.

He turns without a backwards glance, leaving you alone in the dark corridor.

The restaurant lights seem painfully bright.

You’ve no idea how long you’ve been gone, time feels like it has been distorted, but you knew that it hadn’t been long enough.

“Thought I was going to have to send a search party!” Your date jokes with a loud laugh.

You force a polite smile, just enough to be reassuring.

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling well.”

His incessant chatter and kindness leaves you feeling exposed.

You realise it’s not just River you hurt. Yes, he’s the one you’ve now realised you want, but there had been others before him.

Other hearts you’d carelessly stomped on without a second thought.

You don’t want to add to the pile. You need to end this now, before anyone else gets hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” you interrupt. “I’m afraid I have to go.” You stand up abruptly, knocking into the table and making it squeak.

It feels like everyone in the restaurant is staring at you, witnessing your hurried exit.

You hastily drop some money on the table, unable to look at your date now, and rush for the exit. You keep your eyes trained on the ground, wanting to flee from the weight of your guilt.

You gasp for air outside. The cold, February night rushes into your lungs.

You find yourself hurrying towards the queue of black cabs on the roadside, eager to distance yourself from the restaurant.

Back at home, you find yourself going over each choice you've ever made again and again, analyzing every decision, every misstep that had brought you to this point.

The weight of the people you've pushed away for so long feels almost unbearable in the quiet solitude of your home.

In your thoughts, River is the golden thread that weaves through it all.

He'd effortlessly chipped away at your walls, carving out a sacred space in your heart without even trying and without you realising.

And now you've brought him down to your level, given him his own dirty little secret. Your heart aches with regret.

The sound of a knock at your door startles you, and with trepidation, you peer through the peephole. Standing there is River, a sight that both terrifies and excites you.

“Why are you here?” You whisper hoarsely.

Your voice betrays the mixture of surprise and disbelief flooding through you.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, waiting for his response.

“Why did you say I deserve someone good?” He asks, his voice charged with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Because it's true,” you respond softly. The words hang heavy between you, and you continue, “just because I was too late and too stupid to see what was right in front of me -”

His words come fast, as if he couldn't bear to hear you belittle yourself.

“You're not stupid,” he insists, his voice firm yet tender.

“I've been so blind,” you admit, your words escaping in a whispered confession.

“It's not too late,” he says quietly, taking a step over the threshold and into your flat.

“No?” You ask hesitantly, the single word carrying your insecurity.

He moves past you, making himself comfortable, and pours you both a drink.

“Why were you crying earlier?” he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.

A humorless laugh escapes you.

“Because I was questioning every decision I've ever made,” you joke.

He grins at your response.

“Bit deep?”

“Tell me about it,” you say. “Turns out running away all the time isn't always a good thing.” You fidget with your glass, avoiding his gaze as you realize the gravity of your own behavior.

His eyes watch you carefully as you slowly draw your own conclusions and understand the consequences of your actions.

“Seeing you again…” you continue, your voice cracking with emotion. “I should have been there when you needed me. I saw you suffering and I walked away. What kind of person does that make me?” Your gaze meets his, bravely, your eyes searching for any trace of judgement or condemnation.

“I didn't expect anything of you,” he assures you, his voice soothing your guilt-ridden conscience. “I never expected you to be there when I needed you. I knew you didn't know how to be, and I didn't expect anything more from you than what you could give.”

“But that's the thing, isn't it? It's not that I couldn't, it's that I wouldn't. I'm selfish. I've always been selfish,” you say harshly.

River's expression softens even more, understanding the pain behind your words.

He moves closer to you, bridging the distance between you.

“I told you, It's not too late,” he says softly.

He gently takes the drink from your hand, placing it down next to you.

He stands so close you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against your skin.

His fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze. “Seeing you again…” he begins, the rest of the sentence melts away.

The air between you is palpable, filled with unspoken feelings and raw emotion.

He leans in, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I missed you,” he mumbles.

His fingers trail across your cheek, trace the outline of your face as if trying to memorize every contour.

This time, you're the one leaning into his touch.

A shiver runs down your spine as he continues, “I missed watching you come apart for me," his gaze flicks briefly to your lips.

You force yourself to speak, closing your eyes and trying to maintain composure.

“We can't just go back to how things were,” you manage to say, your voice firm, yet tinged with a hint of sadness.

His response is tinged with a mix of humor and sincerity.

“Good. I can't change my feelings for you, believe me I, fucking tried,” he smirks, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone.

It's clear he's been just as affected by your absence as you have been by his.

“So what do we do?” you ask.

There's something incredibly vulnerable about this moment, the question echoing through the room as you wait for his response.

“I think we have some unfinished business,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a desire that's undeniable.

He takes another step closer to you, the distance between you almost non-existent.

“Don't you?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours.

You know there are conversations to have, apologies and assurances to make, but in this moment, what matters most is the understanding between you.

Knowing that he recognizes exactly what you need right now, it's enough.

Your eyes flutter shut as he moves closer to you, barely a breath apart.

His proximity is magnetic, the air between you crackling with electricity.

“Please,” you breathe, your words barely above a whisper as your arms loop around his shoulders and draw him in.

He complies willingly, his body melting into yours as your chests press together.

His lips meet yours, and it's like coming home after a long journey.

With every brush of his tongue against yours, you feel the barriers between you crumble, replaced by a need that is both primal and intoxicating.

He moves with a sense of urgency, pushing you backwards towards the bedroom while his hands send a trail of fire across your skin with every touch.

It's possessive and dominant, and your body responds exactly as it always has, surrendering to him entirely.

His mouth moves down your neck, nipping and kissing at your sensitive skin.

He tugs at your dress, moving it aside to gain access to more flesh to mark as his own.

His fingers fumble for a moment before finding the zip of your dress.

He pulls it down, allowing you to pull your arms free from the sleeves.

Then he gently, but urgently, pushes the fabric down over your hips, the material slipping down to pool at your feet.

His eyes trail over your form, appreciation and desire naked in his gaze.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you,” he murmurs.

The admission is raw and honest, and as he traces the outline of your bra with a finger, a shiver races down your spine.

He uses the band of your underwear to tug you closer, pulling you flush against his body.

His eyes darken, fixed on the way your breath stutters as his hand dips lower.

The air between you crackles with tension as he continues his exploration, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure.

He steers you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and then gently pushes you down.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he nudges your knees apart, creating space for him to settle between them.

He plants a kiss on the inside of your knee, his gaze locked onto yours, making sure you're watching him.

“You running again?” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not again,” you whisper, your words carrying an intensity that leaves no doubt in his mind.

You're itching to reach out and touch him, to feel the play of muscles under your fingertips, to map out his body as it moves against yours.

He stands up from the bed, leaving you propped on your elbows, watching with anticipation as he moves away.

He strips off his clothes, leaving only his boxers in place.

The sight of him, familiar yet new, ignites a fire within you, one fueled by the time apart and the knowledge that this time, you're both in it for more than just the physical.

The idea that this time, you're truly committing to each other, is almost more of a turn on than any physical touch.

Your thighs press together in a bid to find any friction that might alleviate the ache that's building. It's an involuntary response, driven by a need to be close to him, to have him fill you up.

He knows the effect he's having on you. And as he takes himself in hand, under the fabric of his boxers, you know it's for your benefit more than his own.

“Thought about you every day,” he confesses.

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a soft hiss. You watch as his thumb brushes over the tip of his cock, his breath coming in short, quick gasps.

“Riverrr,” you whine, the sound of his name on your lips a desperate plea for more.

He opens his eyes at the sound, his gaze locking onto yours as he takes in the sight of you.

“Need something?” He responds with a smirk, his hand moving lazily beneath the fabric.

You nod, your body craving him, now.

You slide to the edge of the bed, your hand reaching out to grip his boxers, tugging at them, silently demanding what you need.

He obliges, removing his hand and giving you free reign.

The air between you crackles with anticipation as you pull his boxers down over his hips, exposing him fully to your gaze.

The sight of him makes your mouth water, your tongue darting out in anticipation as you imagine the taste of him.

You know it so intimately, and yet it's been too long.

You want the weight of him on your tongue, his hands in your hair.

You lean in, your tongue tracing a circle around the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth. He moans at the sensation, his hand tangling into your hair.

There's a pattern to your movements, a rhythm that has been hard-coded into your memory.

Your hand moves in sync with your mouth, drawing sounds from him that you've missed, sounds that have haunted you during the nights when you've been alone, trying to ease the ache that has been building inside you for months.

His fingers tighten in your hair briefly before letting go.

He brushes your hair from your face, gently pushing the strands out of the way, wanting a clear view of what you're doing to him.

“You look so good,” he manages to say, his words coming out through gritted teeth, his self-control slipping slightly as he watches you take him deeper.

Your hand moves up to cup your breast, pinching and teasing at your nipple, mimicking the way you know he'd touch you.

River's eyes darken even more as he watches, his hands clenching into fists again in your hair as he grips a little harder.

The vibration of your moan against him sends a jolt through his body, making his hips jerk instinctively.

“You need to stop,” he grunts, but there's a hint of desperation in his words, a part of him that doesn't actually want you to stop.

You release him with a wet pop, a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his skin, and look up at him

“Really?” you ask.

“Really,” he repeats, his voice hoarse with desire as he pushes you back onto the bed.

“Just evening the score,” you tell him, remembering how he'd already made you come once in the dark restaurant corridor.

“That doesn't count,” he tells you, settling between your thighs, “I need to hear you.”

He brushes his lips against your neck, his words a hot whisper against your skin.

“God, I wanted to fuck you so badly earlier.” He confesses. The honesty of his words, the need that tinges them, makes your breath catch in your throat.

His teeth find the same spot that he marked earlier, but this time he's rougher, leaving a visible mark that can't be hidden.

He's as desperate for you as you are for him.

His hands grip your thigh, hitching your leg up around his hip, and you roll against him, grinding against his length.

He captures your lips in a hungry, demanding kiss before pulling back, his eyes dark and intense.

“No more running,” he tells you, an edge in his tone. “I won't let you run again.”

“I'm done running,” you reply, your voice soft but full of conviction.

The words hold a deeper meaning beyond just the physical, and he senses this.

His hand moves between you, sliding your underwear to the side and guiding himself into place.

He pushes slowly into you, savouring the tightness that makes both of you gasp, the pleasure sharp and electric after months of being apart.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes locked onto yours, breathing raggedly.

“Promise me,” he says, and it sounds almost like a plea.

He feels perfect, stretching you and filling you.

“I promise,” you breathe, and it feels like a commitment, like a bridge being built.

He begins to move, slowly, keeping his forehead pressed up against yours so that you're never too far apart.

“No one else,” he mutters, his voice rough and possessive. “No one else sees you like this.”

Each word is punctuated by a hard thrust, as he stakes his claim on you.

“No one else touches you like this,” he continues, his lips finding your neck, “no one else makes you feel like this.”

The way he's moving, the way he's touching you, it makes you believe him.

“No one else takes you apart like I do. No one else fucks you like I do.”

The words, filthy and needy, drive you wild, and you can't help but feel completely consumed by him.

“No one else,” you agree, the words coming out in a breathless gasp, “god, River.”

His eyes darken further, and he leans in to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss, biting at your lip.

“Mine,” he growls, his fingers gripping your thigh.

“F-fuck, River, only yours,” you cry out, your words a broken, overwhelmed whimper, your body shakes as he fucks you through your orgasm.

It's more than just words; it's a truth that has been simmering between you for months, something that has gone unspoken out of fear. But now, as he works you through the aftershocks, his grip on you never loosening, the words seem to carry a deeper weight to them.

“Only yours,” he repeats, his voice thick. “Only mine,” he growls, his fingers digging into your skin as he picks up the tempo again, pushing you further, wanting to drive you to the edge once more, wanting to hear those words spill from your lips again.

He brings his hand between your bodies, where he's sinking inside you.

His thumb presses firmly against your clit, drawing small, delicious circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

With each stroke, you can feel the pressure building again, the tension rising.

“Want to hear you again,” he says possessively.

With his mouth, he finds your nipple and bites down, the pain mixing with pleasure.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes intense and feral, filled with a desperate need to hear you reach that peak again.

His tongue, his thumb, the movement of him inside you, all compounds and builds until you clench tightly around him, feeling your walls pulse.

“More, River,” you beg.

He obliges, his movements growing rougher, his teeth marking and claiming.

With a gasp, you fall over the edge, free-falling into pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath him.

The intensity of it brings him with you, his hips snapping as he spills inside you.

He collapses onto you, his body covering yours, his breathing harsh against your neck.

The pleasure continues to wash over you in waves, consuming you until you're limp and sated, your body trembling in the aftermath.

You lay, trying to catch your breath, to find your bearings.

Your body feels like it's humming.

His hand lazily moves up to brush the sweaty strands of hair away from your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rough.

You nod.

“Yeah, yeah that was…” you trail off, unable to find the words.

He understands the speechless feeling.

“Yeah,” he agrees, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

A comfortable silence falls over both of you, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing.

“Don't get too comfortable,” he kisses your shoulder.

“Why's that then?” you ask quietly.

“Because I'm not done with you yet,” he tells you, his voice low.

He kisses the soft spot at the crook of your neck, his hands already roaming your body, as if eager to start all over again.

“Want to make sure I don't run away again?” You giggle.

“I want to make sure you can't run away,” his tone is low and gravelly against your ear as he continues, “'m gonna fuck you till you can't walk, let alone run.”

You feel the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the possessive grip of his fingers on your hip, and a shiver runs down your spine in anticipation.

You know he means it, the same way your body already knows what he’s about to do.

He nudges you onto your side and pulls your leg up and behind his, opening you up to him.

His fingers slip inside your ruined underwear and between your legs, through the sticky mess that he's made there, coaxing you back to life.

And for the first time in your life, you're not ready to bolt.

FIN

[dovakiinwitcher]

Batfamily As Interactions With My Own Siblings

- Call and response with quotes or song lyrics. Dick and/or Steph use this most often since most of their siblings are angsty (Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass), so this forces them to acknowledge them. To not respond is of the HIGHEST offense.

- Sometimes Damian, or Cass, will come flying out of nowhere to surprise attack one of their siblings. Frankly, all of them do this, but those two are most common. Poor Duke is always the most caught off guard, in spite of his powers.

- Tim is almost always the last one down for dinner. Sometimes, he doesn’t even come down until after everyone else has eaten. Alfred is always kind enough to leave a plate for him to reheat. One time, he found that plate on the floor beneath a laundry basket that was propped up by a stick, cartoon-trap style. His siblings were hiding around the corner, watching him intently.

- Jason sometimes gets distracted in the bathroom, picking at scabs or old scars on his face in the mirror. His siblings (particularly Damian) get really pissed if they've heard the toilet flush and still have to wait for ten minutes to use the bathroom. (Jason has pointed out that there are other bathrooms. This doesn't prevent him from getting yelled at.)

- Duke has been known to go on fierce literary rants to Jason. Most recently about a certain shitty book he had to read for school.

- Tim started a DnD campaign with Dick, Barbara, and Duke. The party got sidetracked going undercover as an "exterminator" company, and helping a poor milliner jumpstart her hat business (don't ask how those were related). Tim is scared that they may have completely forgotten their original quest.

- Sometimes Steph forgets who she's told something to, and will repeat information to people who've already heard this from her.

- Jason, on the other hand, will forget what he HAS been told by people, and infuriates people with his questions of things he's already "had this conversation about."

- Bruce has repeatedly told Damian that Batcow is not a house pet. Nonetheless, he's found Damian in his room reading a book to his cow several times.

- Dick and Jason have reenacted many YouTube videos on patrols, from quoting back and forth to one another, to performing dangerous parkour stunts.

- Damian once tried to strangle Jason after he won Unstable Unicorns by almost exclusively trolling Damian and preventing him from gaining a final unicorn five times in a row. In one game. Damian has still not forgiven him.

- Jason once offered Tim a hit of his cigarette. Dick later found out and flipped his shit.

- The kitchen is a hazardous place to be. The kids pretend to stab each other a lot.

- Jason communicates primarily through saying either "I'll kill you," or "I'd rather die." Although sometimes, when someone's talking (typically Steph or Dick), he'll randomly interject to say, "you're a [insert obscure twist of their words]."

- For example, Steph was once vacuuming the rug with a very old vacuum and said, "this vacuum would be terrible at cocaine." Jason replied from the couch, not looking up from his book, "you're a terrible cocaine vacuum."

- The siblings binged the Chernobyl HBO series in one night. Right off the bat, Damian went on a rant about how irresponsible the guy committing suicide was for not finding his cat a new home first and just leaving out food. He also had to leave the room during the dog part in later episodes. When Dick was sent to tell him it was over, he was found with his face buried in Titus and/or Ace's fur.

- On a lighter note, Jason commentated over many of the really heavy parts of that documentary, making it way funnier than it was supposed to be. Sometimes he genuinely argued with the TV.

- There is a quote book of obscure things they've said out of context. Here are some excerpts:

"Haha, losers, imagine having parents." - Jason

"And that's why child labor is good and justifiable." - Steph

"They really underestimate my stabbing abilities." - Damian

"This jacket is vegan leather. Which means I skinned a vegan and turned them into a jacket." - Cass

"That's how my brain works; it doesn't." - Tim

"But we're stressful together." - Dick

"As Thomas the Tank Engine once said: chuga chuga choo choo, I'm a sexy dinosaur." - Also Dick

"If you wouldn't have been killed by Nazis, are you even an interesting person?" - Duke

"Alright, shit pisser, let's rumble." - Jason

"Keep your rabid animal away from my crab legs." - Barbara

- Barbara has a tendency to play true crime podcasts while she works. People only ever seem to walk in during the weirdest parts. She doesn't feel the need to explain herself; she finds the looks on their faces hilarious.

- The household Alexa will respond to Dick unprompted, and it genuinely freaks him out. It doesn't do that for anyone else, and he thinks it's out to get him. This is why he has a Google at home in Blüdhaven instead.

- Jason isn't the most hygienic person, which concerns the family sometimes. Dick had learned that when he visits wherever Jason is living at the moment and "oops, forgets" his shampoo or body wash or whatever, Jason will end up using it. Jason has caught on, but will never openly admit that he's grateful for it.

- Dick will ruffle Damian's hair out of affection. Tim will do it to piss him off.

- Tim and Damian often kick each other without any other interaction. Bruce finds it troubling. Dick reminds him that he and Jason used to do the same thing (mainly Jason kicking Dick).

- When Tim and Steph play video games, it's not uncommon for Steph to hijack a car just to try to run Tim over while he tries to do side quests.

- Cass is the Super Smash Bros champion. And the Mario Kart champion. And tends to carry everyone when playing multi-player. Mostly because Steph tries to sabotage them at every corner, and only Cass is able to adapt.

I may do more of these, but I didn't want this to be TOO long.

[stuckinnet]

a few notable stuff:

1. Advice he would give a young Sidney Crosby "Probably to say no a little bit more as far as the off-ice stuff. That's one thing I look back on and it was just, it was pretty hectic. I think it's easier said than done. I think at that point there was just so much going on, coming out of a lockout. There's a lot of expectations on and off the ice as far as doing your part as a young player to try to help the league. I think it's easy to say that now but at the time I think it was the right thing. It's just, it was a bit of a year. It was a lot. You feel that pressure, you feel that expectation."

2. "Do you yet consider your context? Your place in hockey's history? Top five. Stuff like that. And I know you're gonna say you don't, but come on, by now you gotta." "I don't (laughs). Why would I? I mean, that's a debate for other people, not me. I don't really- There's no reason for me to really think about that. Obviously there's a ton of reasons and things you could debate so there's not much point in me even going there." "I'm not asking you to declare yourself the top five but I just wonder if privately you wonder. Not at all, huh?" "No, I don't. It's a compliment when your named with so many great players and you're put in that category. But I love the game and I respect all the players who've played before and what they've accomplished. I don't really need to figure out what that is or have that number in mind. It really doesn't change how I feel about the game or how I feel about what I've done in hockey. It's not really about that."

3. "Do you ever just sit on the couch and watch TV and eat junk food?" "Yeah pretty much Sunday and off days is what it is."

4. "What's it like to go the distance with Malkin and Letang? Now it's apparent you're gonna play the length of your careers together as far as it can go." "To be able to go this long and hopefully be able to go a few more years that would be incredible. It's been a pretty amazing ride to this point. To be able to have those guys around, to go through the experiences we have, to see their drive at this point in their career and what they've accomplished, I think is something that we all push each other and we all have really high expectations. They're driven. They care. They're competitive. And it's really fun to see that after all these years. That hasn't changed.

5. "What would you rather win? A gold medal or another Stanley Cup?" "There's no way I'm answering that one (laughs)".

6. Last movie he watched was, of course, Oppenheimer. "The long one. Really good. They mentioned Halifax, Nova Scotia in it too so that doesn't hurt." "Why not Exorcist? Too scary?" "Yeah, not really a scary movie guy."

7. "Are you engaged, married or is anyone expecting?" "Nope. Nothing to report there."

8. "You are very comfortable with your age, aren't you, at this point in your life and career. 36. Even the grey hair. I don't think it fazes you at all." "Yeah, no. What would faze me about my age?" "You tell me. Cus you and I talked a bit about dyeing your hair which you have no intent to do." "Well I might have to if I everybody comes up to me and chirps at my greys, I just might have to eliminate that conversation starter."

9. "You gonna fight Bedard?" "No, you don't have to worry about that."

[misc-obeyme]

would u consider obey me a dead fandom?

Um. Nope. I sure wouldn't.

If there's anybody out there who thinks Obey Me is a dead fandom, I would say they're probably confused about what a dead fandom actually is.

I think an argument could be made saying that there is no such thing as a dead fandom. But I'm going to assume you mean that fan content is at an all time low.

Friend, I have been in fandoms where the content was like... you get a fic or two every year if you're lucky. This for a media that hadn't put out any new content in decades.

Obey Me? I get an average of five asks per day about Obey Me. I can queue 10 posts per day about Obey Me. I still average over 800 notes a day on this here Obey Me blog. In the past few months, we've had new artists and writers joining the community and posting their Obey Me fan works. The game is still active and updating. There are two apps even.

So no, I personally would not consider the Obey Me fandom to be dead by any means.

It's certainly been more active in the past. I'll never forget the surge of activity that happened when Nightbringer first came out. My Solomon fics seemed to double their notes over night lol.

But we're also in a bit of a lull right now because we aren't getting new chapters. Every time an event happens, there's another burst of activity. And then things die down just a little before they surge again. That's the nature of fandom.

Another common fandom thing is people coming and going. I've been here for almost two years, but there are others who have been here for four. And then there are some people who've only been in the fandom for a couple months. And then there are the people who were here at the beginning, but have since moved on. Maybe they only stayed for a few months before moving on. Maybe they're only casually in the fandom, dipping in now and again. This is also just the nature of fandom. There's no right way to do it. And it doesn't reflect on whether a fandom is alive or dead.

Hell, we even have plenty of discourse and toxic stuff in this here fandom, too. More of that when there's nothing else to do, I think, which is unfortunate, but also kinda... just part of fandom.

And all of this is just how it is on Tumblr. I know there are active Obey Me communities on Twitter/X and Instagram, too. I'm just too old and tired to maintain that many socials. I actually have accounts on both of those apps but I rarely use them.

And lastly, I'm a big proponent of being involved in fandom no matter how active the community is. By this I mean, if I still have an Obey Me hyperfixation in ten years when the apps are closed down and nearly everybody else has moved on, I will still be here posting fic. Because I won't leave a fandom until I am ready to move on from it, dead or not. (Sometimes this can mean you are one of the few people still creating for said fandom, but you might be surprised at how many people will still enjoy what you create.)

[authorhjk1]

December special voting:

Second round

Hi everyone!

We've made it to the second round of voting for the December special. This is the list of the ten fics who are still in the race. I'll open five polls, where you can vote for every fic. Afterwards, I'll count the votes and write the 5 fics, who've won.

1.

A continuation of IU's journey from the "Take what you can" storyline.

IU mentioned how she wants to be the center of attention, how she sometimes wishes she was in a girl group, so she could fool around with her members and have their hands all over her.

You decide to invite her to your place, without her knowing that you invited all five members of Itzy. The six of you make IU's wildest fantasies come true.

2.

Ryujin and Yujin have one thing in common apart from the fact that they're pretty. Both girls are in love with you. And the best way for the two of them to show this to you is sex. The two of them always fight for your attention. But when Yujin decides to go shopping for some additional toys and equipment online, it all blows up in one huge competition. Will you be able to handle both of them for hours without a break? Who will win the title of being your favorite pet?

3.

Seulgi always loved teasing people, who could do nothing about it. She knows she is hot, so she used that. Even in class. Being a teacher means, she can show the boys in her class what they're missing out on, without them ever being able to do anything about it. Around Christmas time, they eventually plan on turning things around. One of them gets in trouble on purpose, so he will be sitting in detention with Seulgi after classes on the last day of school. What do the boys have planned for their naughty teacher?

4.

Karina complaines and tries to fight it, but in the end, she knows she has to do it. She's supposed to entertain one of the company's investors during a dinner. She heard from Irene how the experiences can vary from investor to investor, so she isn't completely surprised when the older man asks her for a sexual favor. Karina hesitates, but knows that this could influence her career. For good or bad. Hoping this will be over, she starts to take off his pants, but soon, she is pleasantly surprised.

5.

Chaewon couldn't stop talking about getting invited to a camping trip by Sana and Miyeon. Your girlfriend was in a good mood for weeks, until the trip finally began. You were surprised when the three of them offered you to tag along, but you happily expected. Along the way, the three of you grow closer. The highlight of the trip includes a game of truth or dare. Which eventually ends in the best foursome of your life.

6.

Since last years adventure with Seulgi, IU has grown even more in popularity. More and more sponsors and investors seem to come in. And it becomes clear that it isn't uncommon for them to ask for something special from time to time. Which is actually perfect for IU, since her and Seulgi still haven't determined an ultimate championof their own little competition. So what happens next? Will the two of them repeat their adventures from last year? Or will they come up with something even better?

7.

After seeing how stressed out Miyeon and Minnie are, Soyeon decides to help them out. She knows a place where idols like them can properly unwind. The two girls are unaware of what kind of establishment Soyeon sent them to, until they meet you.

8.

Irene, Karina, Yujin and Yeji all noticed that IU has gained a lot of popularity throughout the whole year. They see her as too old to still be acting out like this. Wanting to have more for themselves, they decide to convince her manager to drop her off at an hotel. The four of them punish IU for stealing their spotlight. Will IU survive the night?

9.

Yujin always behaves like a bratty little slut. You eventually have enough of her and decide to degrade her as much as possible. The mall's bathroom becomes Yujin's home for a day as hundreds of men walk in and out.

10.

Being Itzy's manager isn't the only thing that is crazy in your life. Somehow, you managed to make Irene your loving girlfriend. Due to pure coincidence, her apartment and Itzy's new dorm are in the same apartment complex on the same floor. Irene lets you know that she has planned something special. When you get there late at night, you almost bump into Ryujin's boyfriend. Because it's dark, the two of you confuse the two apartments. Bot of you find a tied up and blindfolded woman on a bed, just as each of you were promised. But are you in your girlfriend's apartment? And is he in Itzy's dorm?

Link to poll #1

Link to poll #2

Link to poll #3

Link to poll #4

Link to poll #5

[sanguineterrain]

Jason or Dick with a reader with social anxiety? 😊

sure!! dick grayson x gn!reader | tw anxiety, mild panic attack, dick comforts reader. also i know basically nothing about the young justice league so if anything's inaccurate my b

****

"You're gonna love them," Dick says, squeezing your knee, one hand on the steering wheel.

You smile tightly. Luckily, his eyes are on the road.

"I'm sure I will."

You loving them isn't the problem. It's the other way around.

The Young Justice League is so big now, too. You can't remember most of their names.

Okay. Artemis, Wally... Superboy. What's his name? You can't ask Dick, that's embarrassing. Shit. You should've had him text you all the names earlier so you could work on memorizing them.

You're so busy sifting through the members in your head that you don't notice Dick has parked. He hops out, already a ball of energy. You're more sluggish, dragging yourself out of your seat.

Dick quickly tugs you into his side as you walk to the elevator. You feel a little better when he rubs your shoulder, but as soon as he starts talking about his friends, your heartbeat quickens.

"...They've wanted to meet you for a while! I've talked their ears off about you. I think that—"

Ding! The elevator doors slide open.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight before you. Everyone's here. Jesus Christ. You thought you'd get introduced slowly. Especially on a Saturday afternoon—doesn't the world need saving? Why are they all here?

"Dickie!" Wally says, speeding over and yanking Dick into a hug. Dick hugs back, and you'd fawn over how sweet your boyfriend and his best friend are if your chest didn't hurt.

"Hey, Walls. Hi, everybody," Dick says, smiley and relaxed. "This is my partner."

Everybody looks at you.

You've always been jealous of how easily Dick can interact with people. Luckily, he's never tried to rope you into one of Bruce's charity functions ("oh, babe, I love you too much to do that to you!") When you're out and about, you flail in any social situation. But Dick? Dick is a natural. A born charmer. Everybody loves him.

You feel like you're going to throw up.

"So you're the saint who's dealing with Grayson," Artemis says, a hint of a smirk on her face.

Dick rolls his eyes. "You're dating Wally."

"Hey!" Wally squawks, then zooms to Artemis for a consolation kiss.

"You're a civilian," Superboy (damn it, what's his name?!) says, expression stiff.

You nod, unsure. "Um. Yeah, I am."

"How'd you meet?" someone else asks.

"Uh, well-"

"Wait, Dick said you've been dating for six months. How the hell did you hide your relationship for that long?"

"He and I-"

"They are overwhelmed," M'gann says suddenly, squinting at you. "Their heart is beating faster than normal."

You flinch at her knowing gaze. The chest pain has upgraded from moderate to is-this-a-heart-attack?

You turn to Dick. His smile slips as soon as you look at him.

"Baby?" he asks.

Escape. You need to escape.

"I-I need to use the bathroom," you blurt.

You run out of the kitchen before anyone can say anything. Tears form, and you blink them away quickly.

You can't find the bathroom, which is doubly embarrassing, so you end up going into the stairwell and wedging yourself into the corner of the landing, knees to your chest.

Okay. Grounding techniques. Take five slow breaths. Identify five things you can feel. Your jeans. Your shoes. The cool wall against your back. Two more.

The door swings open. You close your eyes. If one of those super-powered people who've probably never had a panic attack in their life finds you huddled pathetically in the stairwell, you'll never live it down.

You'll have to break up with Dick. You can picture the disappointed crinkle of his brow, the pinch of his mouth. He expected more of you, no doubt.

"Oh, baby," a voice says, and then you're being pulled into strong arms.

You wince, not opening your eyes. Your breaths are still too fast.

Of course your detective boyfriend figured out you weren't in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," you say, burying your face into his arm. "This is so stupid, I—"

"It's not stupid," Dick says and coaxes you to look at him. "Anxiety isn't stupid. Was it too much, meeting everyone at once?"

You sniffle miserably. "You literally work with superheroes, Dick. I know I'm such a letdown. Someone learns that Dick Grayson, the Nightwing, is dating someone, and-and you expect alien royalty or a billionaire heir or something. Somebody more than me. And then I fucking freak over meeting some new people."

You scowl. "Some partner I am."

Dick looks heartbroken. He pulls you closer, rubbing your back.

"I didn't know you felt this way," he says quietly. "Some partner I am."

You shake your head. "No, it's not like I tried to tell you. I just—I wanted to be normal, D. I wanted to be a good partner. I didn't want my stupid anxiety to get in the way. And it's clear you love those guys so much, and you were so excited to introduce us..."

"Sweetheart, I love you too. Your feelings and comfort are important. If I'd known it was too much, I wouldn't have dragged you here. We could've waited or introduced you slowly."

Tears well up. "God, Dick, I just wish I could be like you. You're always so good at this stuff."

"Aw, baby." Dick tenderly kisses your cheek. "That's the product of years of media training. I don't like crowds either. I mean, I like people, but I get overwhelmed, too. We all do. Not like my family's much better. Jason doesn't like unfamiliar places. He has to case out a new restaurant at least three days in advance."

"Jason was dead for two years. He has an excuse."

"Okay, point," Dick allows. "But seriously, honey, we're all like that. B despises those parties he goes to. He's always exhausted afterward. It's all smoke and mirrors. The team has their tough moments too. And the way you feel isn't stupid. I'm sorry I wasn't more attentive to it."

You sit like that in silence for a while, Dick hugging you. Slowly, your heart rate returns to normal. You start to feel more regulated.

"Wanna go home?" he asks gently.

You shake your head.

"No, I wanna meet them. But..." You groan into his shoulder. "I totally made a fool of myself."

"No, you didn't. It's okay. I promise they don't think any less of you. They were worried, actually. And I told them to take it easy with the interrogation."

Dick slips his hand into yours and squeezes. You take a deep breath.

"Okay," you say. "Let's do it."

Dick smiles. "Alright. I got you the whole time, love."

[thesiltverses]

I don’t know who types up the ask answers on this blog but to whoever’s reading this: how do you all feel about being alive and sentient? What keeps you going, what purpose propels you through this chaotic void? What do you think (or hope) waits for you after your inevitable end? What do you think constitutes a life well lived?

I'm going to answer this in the most wayward and stupidly overlong manner possible, because the previous ask had me thinking about puppets, and I was already mid-way through writing up a book recommendation that's semi-relevant to your questions.

Everyone (but especially people who've enjoyed The Silt Verses and all the folks on Tumblr who loved Piranesi by Susanna Clarke) ought to seek out Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban.

Riddley Walker is a wild and woolly story set in post-apocalyptic Kent, where human society has (d)evolved into a Bronze Age collective of hunter-gatherer settlements. Dogs, apparently blaming us for our crimes against the world, have become our predators, hunting us through the trees. Labourers kill themselves unearthing ancient machinery that they cannot possibly understand.

A travelling crowd of thugs led by a Pry Mincer collect taxes and attempt to impose themselves upon those around them with a puppet-show - the closest possible approximation of a TV show - that tells a mangled story of the world's destruction, featuring a Prometheus-esque hero called Eusa who is tempted by the Clevver One into creating the atomic bomb.

Riddley himself, a twelve-year-old folk hero in-the-making surrounded by strange portents, ends up sowing the seeds of rebellion and change by becoming a conduit for the anti-tutelary anarchic madness (one apparently buried in our collective unconscious) of Punch 'n' Judy.

It's a book in love with twisted reinterpretation, the subjectivity of interpretation, buried or forbidden truths coming back to light (the opening quote is a curious allegory about reinvention and cyclical change from the extra-canonical Gospel of Thomas, which is a good joke and mission statement on a couple levels at once) and human beings somehow stumbling into forms of wisdom or insight through clumsy and nonsensical attempts to make sense of a world that is simply beyond them.

It rocks.

The book starts like this:

On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he wernt all that big plus he lookit poorly. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and made his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later.'

Riddley's devolved language - a trick which has been nicked/homaged by many other works, most notably Cloud Atlas and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome - is a masterwork choice which may seem offputting or overwhelming at first, but which has its own brutal poetry and cadence to it, and ultimately which makes us slow down as readers and unpick the wit, puns, double-meanings and playful themes buried in line after line.

(Even those first five sentences get us thinking about cyclical change, ritual and myth in opposition to the dissatisfactions of reality, and 'tern' to paradoxically indicate a rebellious change in direction but also an obedient acceptance of inevitable death.)

In one of my favourite passages in literature and a statement of thought that means a lot to me, Riddley has been smoking post-coital weed with Lorna, a 'tel-woman', who unexpectedly declares her belief in a kind of irrational, monstrous Logos that lives in us, wears us like clothes, and drives us onwards for its own purpose:

'You know Riddley theres some thing in us it dont have no name.' I said, 'What thing is that?' She said, 'Its some kynd of thing it aint us but yet its in us. Its lookin out thru our eye hoals...it aint you nor it dont even know your name. Its in us lorn and loan and shelterin how it can.' 'Tremmering it is and feart. It puts us on like we put on our cloes. Some times we dont fit. Some times it cant fynd the arm hoals and it tears us a part. I dont think I took all that much noatis of it when I ben yung. Now Im old I noatise it mor. It dont realy like to put me on no mor. Every morning I can feal how its tiret of me and readying to throw me a way. Iwl tel you some thing Riddley and keap this in memberment. What ever it is we dont come naturel to it.' I said, 'Lorna I dont know what you mean.' She said, 'We aint a naturel part of it. We dint begin when it begun we dint begin where it begun. It ben here befor us nor I dont know what we are to it. May be weare jus only sickness and a feaver to it or boyls on the arse of it I dont know. Now lissen what Im going to tel you Riddley. It thinks us but it dont think like us. It dont think the way we think. Plus like I said befor its afeart.' I said, 'Whats it afeart of?' She said, 'Its afeart of being beartht.'

While Hoban is, I think, deeply humanistic to his bones and even something of a wayward optimist, the notion of human beings as helpless and ignorant vessels, individual carriers - puppets, if you like - for an unknowable and awful inhuman power-in-potentia and life-drive that lacks a true shape or intent beyond its own continued survival (even when that means destroying us or visiting us with agonising atrophy in the process) conjures up the pessimism of Thomas Ligotti, another big influence on our work and a dude who was really into his marionettes-as-metaphor.

Let's go to him now for his opinion on the thing that lives beneath our skin. Thomas?

Through the prophylactic of self-deception, we keep hidden what we do not want to let into our heads, as if we will betray to ourselves a secret too terrible to know… …(that the universe is) a play with no plot and no players that were anything more than portions of a master drive of purposeless self-mutilation. Everything tears away at everything else forever. Nothing knows of its embroilment in a festival of massacres… Nothing can know what is going on.

Curiously, both Ligotti and Riddley Walker have appeared in the music of dark folk band Current 93, whose track In The Heart Of The Wood And What I Found There directly homages the novel and ends with the repeated words,

"All shall be well," she said But not for me

These words, in turn, hearken back to Kafka's* famous reported conversation with Max Brod:

'We are,' he said, 'nihilistic thoughts, suicidal thoughts that rise in God's head.' This reminded me of the worldview of the gnostic: God as an evil demiurge, the world as his original sin. 'Oh no', he said, 'our world is only a bad, fretful whim of God, a bad day.' 'So was there - outside of this world that we know - hope?' He smiled: 'Oh, hope - there is plenty. Infinite hope, just not for us."

So, we walk on.

We carry this thing that's riding on our backs, endlessly bonded to it, feeling its weight more and more with every passing day, unable to turn to look at it. Buried truths come briefly to life, and are hidden from us again. Perhaps they weren't truths at all. We couldn't stand to look the truth directly in the eyes in any case.

If there is hope, it's for the thing that looks out from our eyeholes, which thinks us but cannot think like us. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. There's no hope for it. Perhaps we don't want it to win anyway. It's nothing, and the key to everything.

The Jesus from the Gospel of Thomas says:

'When you see your own likeness, you rejoice. But when you see the visions that formed you and existed before you, which do not perish and which do not become visible - how much then will you be able to bear?'

Kafka, writing to his father, begins by expressing the inexpressibility of his own divine terror:

You asked me why I am afraid of you. I did not know how to answer - partly because of my fear, partly because an explanation would require more than I could make coherent in speech���even in writing, the magnitude of the causes exceeds my memory and my understanding.

Kafka concludes that while he cannot ever truly explain himself, and that the accusations in his letter are neat subjectivities that fail to account for the messiness of reality, perhaps 'something that in my opinion so closely resembles the truth…might comfort us both a little and make it easier for us to live and die.'**

It doesn't bring comfort to Kafka, whose diarised remarks both before and after the 1919 letter make it clear that he views his relationship with the things (people) that birthed him as an endless entrapment that prevents him from attaining any kind of self-actualisation or even comfort, since he cannot escape their influence or remember a time before them:

I was defeated by Father as a small boy and have been prevented since by pride from leaving the battleground, despite enduring defeat over and over again.

It's as if I wasn't fully born yet...as if I was dissolubly bound to these repulsive things (my parents).*** The bond is still attached to my feet, preventing them from walking, from escaping the original formless mush. That's how it is sometimes.

Samuel Beckett returns again and again (aptly) to this pursuit of a state of true humanity and final understanding that is at once fled and unrecoverable, yet to be born, never to be born, never-existed, endlessly to be pursued, pointless to pursue. From the astonishing end sequence of The Unnameable:

alone alone, the others are gone, they have been stilled, their voices stilled, their listening stilled, one by one, at each new-com- ing, another will come, I won’t be the last. I’ll be with the others. I’ll be as gone, in the silence, it won’t be I, it’s not I, I’m not there yet. I’ll go there now. I’ll try and go there now, no use trying, I wait for my turn, my turn to go there, my turn to talk there, my turn to listen there, my turn to wait there for my turn to go, to be as gone, it’s unending, it will be unending, gone where,where do you go from there, you must go somewhere else, wait somewhere else, for your turn to go again

I’m not the first, I won’t be the first, it will best me in the end, it has bested better than me, it will tell me what to do, in order to rise, move, act like a body endowed with despair, that’s how I reason, that’s how I hear myself reasoning, all lies, it’s not me they’re calling, not me they’re talking about, it’s not yet my turn, it’s someone else’s turn, that’s why I can’t stir, that’s why I don’t feel a body on me, I’m not suffering enough yet, it’s not yet my turn, not suffering enough to be able to stir, to have a body, complete with head, to be able to understand, to have eyes to light the way

From Thomas' Jesus:

When you make the two one, and you make the inside as the outside and the outside as the inside and the above as the below, and if male and female become a single unity which lacks 'masculine' and 'feminine' action, when you grow eyes where eyes should be and hands where hands should be and feet where feet should stand and the true image in its proper place, then shall you enter heaven.

Tom's Jesus makes a particularly Gnostic habit of both insisting that the hidden will be revealed and demonstrating the impossibility of attaining a state where the hidden ever can be revealed. Contrary to C.S. Lewis, we will never have faces with which to gaze upon the lost divine and the mysteries that shaped us, and crucially, as Christ puts it, we would not be able to bear the sight of ourselves if we did.

We will never become the thing that's riding on our backs.

Jesus again:

The disciples ask Jesus, 'Tell us how our end shall be.' Jesus says, 'Have you found the beginning yet, you who ask after the end? For at the place where the beginning is, there shall be the end.'

The Unnameable:

I’ll recognise it, in the end I’ll recognise it, the story of the silence that he never left, that I should never have left, that I may never find again, that I may find again, then it will be he, it will be I, it will be the place, the silence, the end, the beginning, the beginning again, how can I say it, that’s all words, they’re all I have, and not many of them, the words fail, the voice fails, so be it

The final passage of The Unnameable, which often is hilariously shorn and misinterpreted as an inspirational quote about how if you don't succeed, try again:

all words, there’s nothing else, you must go on, that’s all I know, they’re going to stop, I know that well, I can feel it, they’re going to abandon me, it will be the silence, for a moment, a good few moments, or it will be mine, the lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts, it will be I, you must go on, I can't go on, you must go on. I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know. I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on. I’ll go on. †

We bear this thing that's riding on our backs. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. If it was born, it'd be too terrible for us to bear. There's nothing riding on our backs.

It will never speak us into being.

We keep on calling out into the silence, we keep trying to explain or understand the thing that's riding on our backs, searching for a way to birth it before we die. Our words about the thing are crucial, and they're meaningless, and they're all we have, and they're nothing at all. We cannot name it and we cannot express it, but we cannot stop trying, and we will keep turning back to our words about the thing, obsessing over them, tearing them to pieces, putting them back together.

I'm fumbling at something I can't think or say, but fumbling is all we're capable of. There could be beauty and meaning and comfort in the fumbling, but it's also vain, and foolish, and pointless, and we're lying to ourselves about the beauty and the meaning and the comfort, and we're indulging ourselves pointlessly by going on and on about the pointlessness of it. Nothing can know what's going on. We will never get close enough to understand without being destroyed.

Thomas' Jesus again, warning those who seek to reveal what's hidden:

He who is near me is near the fire.

Riddley Walker, reflecting on the Punch puppet's inexplicable desire to cook and eat his own child:

Whyis Punch crookit? Why wil he al ways kill the baby if he can? Parbly I wont ever know its jus on me to think on it.

If you got to the end of this, congratulations: but the above is honestly the most appropriate patchwork of what I believe, what propels me, what I feel.

As for what comes after life, I think it's fairly straightforwardly a nothingness we are tragically incapable of fully knowing or accepting - it's Beckett's unimaginable and unattainable silence, a silence that his characters' voices keep on shattering even as they cry out for it.

-Jon‡

*I can't remember if Kafka makes prominent reference to Czech puppets in his work, which is interesting in its own right given the thematic relevance (the protagonist in The Hunger Artist is perhaps a kind of self-directing puppet show?).

However, Gustav Meyrink - who some unsourced Google quotes suggest was pals with Czech puppeteer Richard Teschner - did write a strange little story, The Man On The Bottle, about an audience watching a 'marionette show' who are too wrapped up in performances and masks to interpret the reality that they're actually watching a human being suffocate to death.

**Thomas Ligotti: "Something had happened. They did not know what it was, but they did know it as that which should not be.

Something would have to be done if they were to live with that which should not be.

This would not (be enough); it would only be the best they could do."

***Beckett's Malone Dies actually kicks off with a related sentiment:" I am in my mother’s room. It’s I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there...In any case I have her room. I sleep in her bed. I piss and shit in her pot. I have taken her place. I must resemble her more and more."

† I don't necessarily align myself in humour with Ligotti on a lot of this stuff but I imagine he would recognise both Beckett's writing and Kafka's frustrations re explaining the causes of his hatred for his father as sublimation: finding artistic and philosophical ways of sketching the inexpressible horror and uncertainty of our existence in order to reckon with it at a remove without destroying ourselves. A higher form of self-deception, but self-deception nevertheless.

‡Muna's more of an anarcho-nihilist, I think.

[artgeekz]

Ragatha: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?

Pomni: It was autocorrect.

Ragatha: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me."?

Pomni: Yes.

-

Ragatha: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Pomni!

Pomni: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

-

Ragatha: I feel like doing something stupid.

Pomni: I’m stupid, do me.

-

Ragatha: Bro-

Pomni: No, no, hold up, rewind.

Pomni: My tongue was down in your throat just a second ago and now you're calling me bro??

-

Ragatha: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know!

Pomni: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus.

Ragatha: Stop.

-

Pomni: We should get you to a doctor for a check up immediately. What if it happens again, and there isn’t anyone around to help you? What if it’s congenital? Oh my God! Was it me? Did I hurt you?

Ragatha: …You realize any other person that made their partner pass out on bed would simply feel really proud of themselves, right?

-

Ragatha: Talk dirty to me~

Pomni: Inflation is a serious problem and lumber prices are at a high.

Ragatha: Wha-

Pomni: The economy is in shambles.

-

Ragatha: What are you in the mood for?

Pomni: World domination.

Ragatha: That's a bit ambitious.

Pomni: You are my world.

Ragatha: Aww...

Pomni:

Ragatha:

Pomni:

Ragatha: OH.

-

Pomni: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing.

Ragatha: Are you a software update? because not right now.

-

Ragatha: Wow, Pomni, you want to hold my hand before marriage? How awfully lewd of you.

Pomni: We literally slept together yesterday.

Ragatha: That's NOTHING compared to the lewdness of holding hands.

-

Pomni: Wait, what's going on? Are we all talking about how hot Ragatha is? Because Ragatha is a straight up sexual fox riding a red-hot nuclear bombshell right toward the yowza plaza in the heart of Babe City, Assachusetts, U S A. The last A just stands for more ass.

-

Ragatha: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.

Pomni: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely*

Ragatha: That one. I want that one.

-

Ragatha: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Pomni: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

-

Ragatha: Hey, Pomni, what do you think it would be like if we had kids?

Pomni: What would it be like? Inconvenient, mostly.

Ragatha: No, I mean, what would they be like, the kids? You ever think about it?

Pomni: Can't really say I have.

Ragatha: You know, for someone as eccentric as yourself, you can be boring as fuck sometimes.

Pomni: Sorry, Ragatha. For what it's worth, I'm picturing them now. A boy and a girl. Two perfect little freaks of nature raised by people who've clearly got no business bringin' up anybody.

-

Pomni, sweating: Ragatha, there’s something I need to ask you-

Ragatha: Finally! You’re proposing!

Pomni: How’d you know?

Ragatha: Pomni, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

Ragatha: I even picked it up once.

Seeing how the first quotes I made were good, here is ButtonBlossom now!