#full of shame about every inch of myself + my life

[vigilantejustice]

disordered eating content in the tags skip it if it’s no bueno :-)

[llamagirl28]

A song I really think about when playing BOC is "Never Love an Anchor" by the crane wives. It's SUCH a good song, and it applies well when we look at Arthur as a character, specifically how he views and treats Mordred.

At the beginning of the song, the opening lines "On some level, I think I always understood/That these hands of mine were clumsy, not clever" is such an Arthur thing to feel. Also applies to how Arthur handled the Mordred situation- his absence in Mordred's life, his adherence to Merlin's and Lance's stance on Mordred, his own conflicting feelings over his only child and their twisted conception.

He always claims that it was for the best, evident in the chapter 3 pov where we first meet him. Yet, over the course of the first few chapters, he realizes that he harmed more than he helped. He handled it the best he could given the circumstances (well, the best he thought he could) but ultimately, nothing went right. Arthur realizes, at first subconsciously, and then consciously, with full force. His handling of Mordred (or rather, Merlin's handling of Mordred, since iirc Merlin kind of influenced his thoughts about whatever presence he should have in Mordred's life) was clumsy.

The next few lines "And I tried to do the best that I could/ But try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to hold you" also cements this dynamic. Arthur is torn up inside about his avoidance of Mordred. He desperately wants to be a dad, but at the same time, is deeply ashamed of Mordred. Combined with the unacknowledged trauma of his r*pe..yeah, the line hits. He's trying his best, but he's held back by the shame and guilt of that night. It's present whether you have a good relationship or not, but far more evident if you are no contact with him.

Next stanza. "It's a secret I keep tucked inside my chest/ With this heart of mine that's guilty, not remorseful". Secret referring here to him being the father of Mordred, and up until chapter 4, how morgana r*ped him. Pretty easy to see the connection there. Though the line "with this heart of mine..." doesn't quite easily fit, since he is remorseful over abandoning Mordred, though I think it applies more to villainous mordreds/ those who act more like morgana than arthur. In the patreon side story featuring Alina (uhm, spoiler beware) there are a few options that remind Arthur of Morgana- when you smile like her, act sardonic, etc. He makes a point to say "every inch morgana's child" or something like that. He actively connects Mordred more with Morgana than with him in these instances. With these types of Mordred's, the line applies twofold- he is guilty of abandoning them, and remorseful...yet he sees Morgana so incredibly clearly in them, and he is wary. He remembers the prophecy, and, while not entirely sticking by it, still keeps it at the forefront of his thoughts in a way.

"There is love that doesn't have a place to rest/But it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders" pretty easy to see the connection. The love Arthur has for Mordred is mixed with wariness, shame, and guilt, and mars whatever caring he has for them. Combined with how he rarely sees Mordred, it's hard for him to express that love, especially if you don't have contact with him. (Can you tell my Mordred's relationship with Arthur yet, lol). It's expressed, instead, to Gawain, up until chapter 3 and, probably if you choose not to communicate w him at all, way past chapter 3. He showers Gawain with love because he can't do the same to Mordred, but if he was able to, he would have done it with Mordred as well. He would've been a great dad, if only Morgana hadn't...yeah.

"On some level, I think I always understood /That a ship could never really love an anchor/So, I did the only thing that I could/And severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor" is an interesting lyric. There's a surface level meaning, but also a more conflicting one. If we apply it to Arthur it's him saying "hey, i couldn't be anything you needed me to be when you were growing up, and so i had to separate myself from you for both our sakes." It might not have been the right choice, but according to everyone around him, it was necessary, especially when you factor in the prophecy.

But. Ships need anchors, to ground them and keep them stable. Without an anchor, a ship will float adrift at sea, never to come to shore and go home. "A ship could never really love an anchor" seems more like his own guilt clouding his judgement when you have a bad relationship with him. "Of course Mordred could never truly love me. I'm an anchor and they're a ship." But ships need anchors Arthur. Mordred is bullied ruthlessly, Mordred has to deal with so many terrible things. Arthur could have been of use, could have been their anchor during this dark time. But he wasn't, because of past trauma and a prophecy hanging over his head.

A lyric that I heavily associate with a distant Chapter 4 Arthur is "There are times when I still wonder about you/ You are someone I have loved, but never known". Mordred has expressed a desire to keep Arthur out of their life, and Arthur respects that. He lives with his chosen family in Camelot, and does his everyday routines. But Mordred still invades his mind, especially around their birthday. "There are times when I still wonder about you" can basically go for the whole arthur pov in chapter 4, really, when he's thinking about Mordred's birthday. Also all the times early on in the story when he talks about wondering what Mordred was like. I for the life of me cannot remember since I've only done a route where I had a good relationship with Arthur like, once, but a scene like this doesn't really happen in chapter 4 for those playthroughs. No internal angsting over Mordred's b-day and their distance, no snake carving, no sadness over not being in contact with mordred. In the playthroughs where you have contact with him, he loves and knows you. In the playthroughs where u can barely stand him, he loves you, but he doesn't know you. He's never gotten the chance to know your hobbies, or your favorite colors, or whether you like your lessons or not. Mordred is sort of a question mark for him, an enigma between a nightmare and a dream.

"And you'll never see the reasons I had/ For keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you" goes more for pre-chapter 4 Mordred's, though it can work with Mordred's post chapter 4. Mordred doesn't know why Arthur doesn't speak to them, and as a result doesn't know the truth of their conception. They chalk it up to Arthur being a coward (at least in my run), a man so shackled to a sorcerer's prophecy that he can't look at Mordred truly as a child. Arthur is pretty sure Mordred is unaware of how they were truly made (after all, Morgana will never say she was wrong without any incentive) but he did think Mordred knew the prophecy. Now that he knows Mordred had no idea about it, he realizes Mordred has no base at all for why Arthur has no contact with him.

In some of the earlier asks, there were a few au questions. Two of them live in my brain rent free: an ask about what would have happened to Mordred had Morgana died during childbirth, and how would Arthur reach out to Mordred if he could still have children. Both of them indicate that Arthur would have been kind of a trash dad. In the one where Morgana dies, Arthur is forced to kind of take custody of Mordred, though he gives them over to Merlin to be a sorcerers apprentice. He's just as absent as he is early on in the game, only reaching out in later years, and more in an uncle fashion than in a father fashion. In the ask where he's able to have more kids, he seems to be a good dad to them, but in regards to Mordred, he only waits until they're in Camelot to attempt any type of reconciliation with them, and it seems as though he'd rather not have a relationship.

If Arthur was in Mordred's life in the early years, as a teen dad with sexual trauma, he would not have been good. He would have been distant and hesitant, and probably would have given them more daddy issues than they already can have in game. I think it's something mentioned by Acolon- love must be freely given, not forced.

"I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel/ I am all the things they might have said to you" is peak Arthur Sad Hours. It's also, however, a very apt statement. These are things said to Mordred by well...everybody. They're viewed as a monster, evil through the sole purpose of being born to the wrong woman. The latter line connects what they say about Mordred to Arthur, acknowledging both the blood ties that bond them together, as well as saying that even though everyone thinks he's the hottest thing since sliced bread, he's a person too! He's not some saint whose kind and benevolent to everyone; he makes mistakes, he makes bad choices and can be (unknowingly) cruel to others, and in regards to the prophecy, is selfish under the guise of being selfless. He's not a perfect uwu will never do anything wrong EVER boy...he's just a person.

"Do you ever think of me and my two hands?/And wonder why they never soothed your fevers?/And wonder why they never tied your shoes?/And wonder why they never held you gently?" very easily brings to mind a scene of Arthur watching Kay or Lance play with their kids and wish he could do that with Mordred. Arthur, despite everything, does desperately wish to be a father, but he can't because of a curse and a prophecy, respectively. He can't (pardon my language) bring someone into this world because Morgana got rid of that ability, and he can't reach out to Mordred bc 1)trauma 2)prophecy and 3) he very much conforms to what other people want from him, even if it goes against his own wishes.

"And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?" drives all of these ideas home. He never had the chance to be a proper father early in Mordred's life, and depending on ur playthrough, still doesn't have that chance. It's inhabited by Accolon (for now) and while he thinks that was the better option, he still yearns for that chance. He never had the chance to bond with them, to watch Mordred take their first steps and lose their baby teeth. He never got to read books to Mordred when they were sleepy, and never got to make absolutely horrid dad jokes while they grown in embarrassment. And he will never get to watch Mordred grow old (at least, in this point in the story). He'll never see them through the awkward stages of puberty, watch them rebel and yell at their parents some emo crap before going off to sulk. If you have a bad relationship with him, you only see him once more before you go to Camelot to join the Round Table, at Gareth's wedding. In the bad relationship route, this line is potent because nothing is fixed; their relationship is stilted. He will never get to see them in the Older Years, while in good relationship playthroughs, he can.

Sooo many of the Crane Wives songs are boc coded, tbh. Tongues and Teeth is THE morgana song, and The Moon Will Sing fit remorseful villain mordred's extremely well! I might do another one of these analysis's some time in the future, cause this was pretty fun. I might be off base on some points, so feel free to tell me if I got anything wrong. Now if you'll excuse me it's currently 4am, so I will be off to get some much needed sleep. Have a good one Llama!

It's a very good and thorough analysis! Thank you for sharing 💕 I'd be delighted to hear more, if and whenever you feel like doing another one.

And now I should go listen to the song itself. I only know a couple Crane Wives songs, which I love - Curses and Tongues and Teeth, and I do agree with the latter being very Morgana coded.

[the-blackholeus]

Pt2 of yandere shredder?

(I am so sorry I take so long posting things. It's a mixture of being a lazy ass and the acostumazation to the work life. I will try to better myself, promise. Anyway, hope you enjoy this.) 

"Oh, my dearest [Name]. I finally have you all to myself again."

His deep voice sent shivers down your spine as you trembled in the chair you were chained to, your chest shuddering violently with rapid breaths. You flinched as his fingers, dressed in deadly leather gloves, gently traced over your cheek, running down until he was able to wrap his digits around your chin.

"You have no idea how much I missed you.", he purred as he forced you to lift your head, you e/c eyes meeting his. "How much I yearned to see you, to smell you, to hear you." Gently, he connected his lips with yours. "You have no idea how devastated I was when I heard about your disappearance."

You didn't answer and just yanked your face from his grasp. It hurt, as your neck had become rather stiff in the many hours you were already sitting there, forced to face the most dangerous man on earth that, once again, roamed free. Shredder just chuckled at your reaction, his smug smile turning into a full-blown grin. "Ah, I see that your stubbornness has remained."

"Fuck you!", you spat, glaring at him with all the hate you could muster. "Fuck you and your fucking clan."

He hummed, unfased by your words. "Such vulgar language coming from such a pretty mouth.", he tutted and clicked his tongue, reaching out to let his fingers run through you hair. "It seems that in the time of my absence, you have forgotten your manners."

"I haven't forgotten my fucking manners! I just learned that I don't have to take this shit from you.", you growled, clenching your teeth so harshly it hurt. "You bastard treated me like trash, like a fucking toy! You wrecked me, destroyed me on every way possible........ It took me years to get where I am now, and I will not let you destroy me again!"

Shredder did not answer right away and merely lifted his eyebrow at your outburst, surprised by this sudden aggression. He did not know you like that, and he did not like it. Not. At. All.

"Yes, you have.", he hummed once he regained his composure, his expression souring. He reached out and forced you to look at him again, leaning in close so that his lips hovered just above yours. "And it is such a shame. But...no matter..."

The digits of his other hand gently warped around your neck, daring you to move a single inch. He positioned himself above you, his strong physic claiming the majority if your field of vision. The corners of his lips twitched upwards again, and his pearly teeth flashed in the dim light of the empty room you were brought to earlier this day as he chuckled, stretching his neck so your mouth was not even an inch apart. "I just will have to teach you again."

And with those words, he crashed his lips upon yours, forcing his tongue past your lips.

[dissociationdude]

MEET THE ARTIST - 24TH EDITION

Hi everyone, my name is Milos, and I felt it was time for a new introduction. 

I��m a 24 year old neurodivergent nonbinary queer multimedia expressionist artist. 

Wow, a lot of labels I know! I just feel these are the most important ones for me.

I’m based in Ontario, Canada.

My work is a very personal part of me. I use art for therapeutic reasons most of the time, and the expressionism is a very important aspect of that. Most of the time I do not think of the final product of what I am making, just focus on what I’m feeling while I create and evoking those emotions with my art. I have a lot of work based on traumatic events, but the reason for these creations was never to evoke the feelings of being alone, unwanted, etcetera; they were created to make the viewers who deal with the same emotions to feel less alone in those things. It is for those who have survived trauma to know it’s hard to have that trauma and carry it, and there is safe spaces to put it down. My art is aiming to be a safe place to survivors who are struggling, to provide a place to weep, to provide a place to be seen. Many of my works are graphic, talking about the trauma I went through in ways others find grotesque. And to that I say: Why should I have to carry something so grotesque, alone? Why can’t I put it down somewhere, and put the appropriate context warnings? My work is not to promote the grotesque in a way that is profiting, but to show that this is what some people endure in life. I want to be allowed to show my darkest vulnerabilities with my art, because I shouldn’t have to feel shame for what others have done to me, and nobody else should hold onto shame caused by others harming them, in my eyes. My work is a conversation starter about how trauma manifests in people. I want it to be that way. Other times, my work is very bright, happy, storytelling. It depends on what I’m going for in the respect of the piece being about the trauma events, or the trauma recovery. I basically just make a lot of work based on different trauma. I tend to pull inspiration from musicians I like as well. Many people knew me for my Crywank album series, I did art for almost every song of every album they have made. 

I always want to evoke emotion with colour and narrative, and I do that with various tools. Digitally I work on an iPad Pro 4th gen 12.9 inch and an Apple Pencil that I bought used off a friend. I also have a Wacom bamboo tablet for my computer and when I use adobe products for university. I have a variety of magazines, books, paper, that I use for collage works. I often paint with acrylic paint on canvas for paintings, but sometimes wood boards as well. When I work in sketchbooks they’re usually max size 5x7inches for travel purposes, but my pencil case is huge and loaded with supplies. I always have a bag of words handy for collage poetry.

I am really not into talking about myself in regards to my personality, but I feel like I’m a very anxious but always trying their best kind of guy. I don't have other socials I'm sharing on because I have grown to hate social media. I don’t really do much for work aside from lawn care because my disabilities, but I am in university full time pursuing to be an art therapist, and I’m doing my best to adapt to living in a safe, non traumatizing environment. 

Thanks for enjoying my art in the process of me learning to love myself fully, and accept my trauma. 

Love to everyone,

Milos / Dissociationdude 

[acourtofthought]

BOND versus NO BOND

I had a recent anon bring up a valid concern that I'm sure Anti Elucien's or those on the fence wonder about.

How do we know what Lucien feels for Elain is real or whether it's a product of the bond?

I think SJM does a pretty good job of highlighting when Lucien is experiencing the effects of the bond and when he's in full control of himself.

And I don't think that everything Lucien does is simply because of the bond. That's like someone saying Rhys and Cassian never had a single independent thought on their own about Feyre and Nesta, that each one they had was out of their control because they knew or strongly suspected who their mate was.

BOND:

She slammed Lucien away with a palm to the chest, and his roar shook the halls as Mor grabbed my sisters by the arm and vanished. Lucien’s bellow was still sounding as Rhys lunged

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king. A mate—a mate already going wild to defend what was his.

I steeled myself before saying, “She is engaged, Lucien.” I felt every inch of him go stiff beside me. “To whom.” Flat, cold words. With the threat of violence simmering beneath.

Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate.

Her eyes went frank and cold. “I was to be married in a few days.” He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart.

But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—

“She was deeply in love with him, Lucien.” His russet eye flashed with simmering rage. An uncontrollable instinct—for a mate to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

We know these moments are a result of the bond because SJM includes things like "an uncontrollable instinct", "irrational urge", "threat of violence", "instincts were a running river". Or they're just really out of character for Lucien in general. And many of the times where we have evidence of Lucien being influenced by the bond, we see him actively fighting against it within Elain's presence. He does not seem to want his usual behavior, his preferred actions or words to be overshadowed by those instincts. If the bond was telling him to "touch her, smell her, taste her" yet he remained in his seat and instead asked if she minded if he poured himself tea, I think it's safe to say Lucien still has control over himself and his thoughts.

NO BOND:

(moments where SJM did not include any evidence that the bond is influencing Lucien's behavior)

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly.

“Elain loves this lord’s son.”. “My mate is engaged to a human male.” He spoke more to himself than to me. “I’m sorry if—” “I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” “If she is worth fighting for.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

“What of—Elain?”

I’ll do what I must to protect her from further harm.” “I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn’t yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough.

But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into. She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her. She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him. (I mean, if there ever needs to be proof that Lucien is not some mindless beast to the bond, this is it. He's struggling to understand how the female who wanted him without reservation ended up not being his mate while the female engaged to and in love with someone else who did not choose him is his mate. This paragraph shows that he didn't automatically fall in love with Elain because they share a bond and it also shows the bond doesn't automatically tell him everything about her since he doesn't realize that Elain actually does have similarities to Jesminda, they're just not evident at the moment because of her depression. He needs time to fully know her just as anyone else would, especially when he's not actively reaching out to her through the bond.)

“Do you mind if I help myself to the other?” He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet.

“There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?” He didn’t expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from this chair and leave.

He had not seen her entire face since that day in Hybern. Then, it had been drawn and terrified, then utterly blank and numb, her hair plastered to her head, her lips blue with cold and shock. Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. (<- again, I feel if the bond had complete control over him, he wouldn't have felt guilty thinking he was betraying Jesminda, the bond would only let him focus on Elain. I think that's proven when we then have the following line which says "But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate." It seems a clear divide when the bond kicks in)

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze. “Who are you?” He knew without demanding clarification that she was aware of what he was to her.

For a long moment, Elain’s face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. “Lucien,” she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth

“You betrayed us.” He wished she’d shoved him out the window behind her. “It—it was a mistake.”

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.” She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

Her thumb brushed the iron ring on her finger. Another male’s ring, another marker that she was claimed—

“She needs fresh air.”

“Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

“Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.”

“Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

(I personally do not get the vibe that Lucien's concern for Elain and desire to help is only because of the bond but even if it was.....what exactly is wrong with that? He doesn't seem to be annoyed at trying to help her, he seems more bothered by the others not allowing him to do more. It doesn't seem there's anything else he'd rather be doing or anywhere else he'd rather be. Can something truly be against your will if it's exactly where you want to be? Just because a situation was forced upon you unexpectedly, does that mean it can't end up being the thing you end up wanting the most for the right reasons? Everything he's doing is for her, to help her. Her well being is his priority).

Lucien muttered something about not needing to be monitored, and we all looked at him with raised brows. He just lifted his hands, claimed he wanted to freshen up, and headed down the hall.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.”

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” (I don't think Lucien wants to leave but after staring at Elain as if he's seeing her for the first time I think he realizes that what she needs is time and space to deal with everything and I do think that's meaningful. Because he's putting her needs above his own and he's willing to put himself in danger to do so).

Before that dark wind swept in, Lucien looked back. Not to me, I realized—to someone behind me. Pale and thin, Elain stood atop the stairs. Their gazes locked and held.. Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness. And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go … He did not glance back at Elain. Did not see the half step she took toward the stairs—as if she’d speak to him. Stop him. (you know what I love about this? The first time the word longing is ever used in regards to Lucien for Elain is well after their first meeting and after he tried to connect with her through the bond then blushed when thinking on what he felt. A blush after the healer specifically mentioned the bond is a bridge between souls which indicates Lucien was able to feel some aspect of who Elain is. And also after he "stared and stared as if seeing her for the first time". When he arrived in Velaris, I think he instinctively knew what she needed for her mental health (fresh air, getting outside) but didn't really know her. But since then, I think he slowly began learning some of who she is. Not everything because Elain is still dealing with extreme trauma but I do think his sadness at leaving her is not a product of the bond driving his emotions but because he's truly upset. I feel he'd like to continue spending time with her (which means he obviously found her worth fighting for) however he realized what he wants doesn't matter because what she needs is time to heal on her own and figure out what she wants to do about Graysen).

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands. “I’m fine,” Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, “Are you—” “Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips

“I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

“He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”

He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.” He saw all of it, but nodded graciously. “It would be my pleasure.”

Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side as she and my sister silently kept against the wall by the intact bay of windows.

As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle.

Lucien warmed his hands in the glow of the birch fire, the light casting his face in reds and golds—golds that matched his mechanical eye. “You as well.” A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. “Both of you.”

Lucien slumped into his armchair and blew out a long breath. “How is she?”

“Good. But is she still …” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Does she still mourn him?”

“But remember that they were engaged. Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?”

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.”

And as for here …” He shook off my grip and headed for the door. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

"Where’s Elain?” “I am not always in this city to see my mate.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

I don't think it can be argued that the bond is what drew Lucien to Elain, the reason he first wanted to get to know her. But from everything I've seen, he remains because of Elain as a person, at least the glimpses of what he's seen so far. Lucien said he wanted to meet her once to know if she was worth fighting for (when he knew she was in love with Graysen and realized he'd be trying to take her away from the one she had chosen). He was initially prepared to let her go despite their bond if he felt it was the right decision after meeting her. Yet nearly two years later he still comes around and still thinks of her in the gifts he brings. He's still looking at her with longing.

Even after all that, some will continue to argue that none of Lucien's feelings are his own but if that's the case, neither were Rhys's. Neither were Cassian's. They were all targets of what were essentially arranged marriages by the Cauldron / Mother but if that were as bad as some try to make it out to be, Cassian and Az wouldn't have been jealous of Rhys’s "arranged marriage". Az wouldn't have become jealous of Rhys and Cassian's "arranged marriages".

Arguing that the mating bond takes away a characters choice is a valid opinion but I don't believe it's an opinion the author who is writing these book shares. And really, her opinion is going to be the only one that matters in the end.

[svartalfhild]

.

My dad's been back at it again with the "I want grandkids" bullshit.

We were watching some 50's film (Picnic, I think it was called) and there's this scene where these two people start dancing and making eyes at each other like inches from this pool or pond or whatever. I started to comment about how I wouldn't want to get interesting with somebody that close to a pond, especially one full of leaves and stuff. And you know what my dad said? "Now I know why I don't have any grandkids." That has fucking layers, folks, and all of them are offensive, so I said quite seriously "Excuse me?" and glared at him, but apparently he thought he was being funny and I was playing along, because he laughed. I just kept glaring, but to my great frustration, he didn't seem to notice or care that I was offended.

I swear I can't go a month these days without hearing some kind of grandkids talk from my dad. He must be looking at my biological clock and going "ticktock bitch, the window is closing on my legacy and you're slacking off".

How the fuck do I get him to understand that I will not be pushing any small humans out of my body??? Straight up telling him I don't want to have kids multiple times hasn't worked. Do I need to finally out myself as asexual to get him to even begin to grasp this reality? Of course, it's equally likely that he'll go deeper in denial and tell me to get tested for a disorder. Do I need to throw all decorum and respect out the window and just tell my father to shut the fuck up the next time he makes one of these comments? That'll go over well.

I'm just...I'm at a loss, and I'm hurt and angry at being treated like this. And I also hate how every time it comes up, it reminds me of how improbable it is that I'll ever have a relationship. I hate being reminded of how much I'm not getting any of the big things I want out of life by way of being told I'm failing to provide for someone else's life goal. AS IF IT'S NOT MY FUCKING BODY AND MY FUCKING LIFE. I'M NOT A GODDAMN BROOD MARE. I'M A WHOLE PERSON WITH WANTS AND AMBITIONS THAT DO NOT INCLUDE BABIES AND THE RESPONSE SHOULD BE "THAT'S A VALID LIFE CHOICE AND I SUPPORT YOU" NOT "OKAY, WELL I'M GOING TO TRY TO SHAME YOU INTO CHANGING YOUR MIND, BECAUSE IT'S WHAT I WANT, AND I THINK BABIES ARE GREAT SO YOU SHOULD TOO."

I just

I want him to fucking stop.

[slowlyhardgoatee]

 Well, well. Look what we’ve got here.Y’know, I was just thinking to myself earlier that I really need to get a new breed pig, and now I stumble across you. You’re trying to find the cruising ground that’s in these woods, ain’t’cha boy? Don’t act the innocent with me, son. Look at yourself. Those skin-tight jeans, a mesh tank top with the word MEAT on it, and - wait, is that a harness under that top? Yes it is. Yeah, you’re looking to get good and fucked. Well, it’s your lucky day, faggot. Like I said, I’m looking for a new full-time breed pig, and I think you’ll do just fine. You over eighteen? Yeah? How about some I.D.? Hmmm, turned eighteen just a few days ago. Excellent. Yeah, I’ll take you up to the cruising ground. I’m 65 years old, boy, and I don’t mind telling you I’ve popped a good few fags’ cherries up there, and there is nothing that turns me on more than being balls deep up a boy’s hole knowing I’m old enough to be his fucking granddad. Especially if he’s just been begging me to fuck him. So here’s what’s gonna happen, faggot. We’ll go up the cruising ground, where I’ll have you face down on the floor with your back arched and arse up, begging for my cock in front of everyone there. Then I’m gonna have you screaming ‘Thank you, Granddad’ every time I thrust up your faggot cunt. After I’ve finished breeding you, I’ll let you lick your own cherry off my cock before you beg me to pass you around. Sound good, boy? Yeah, course it fucking does, you slut. First things first, though. I’m already good and hard. I think I need a blow job before we go anywhere. There. That’s the cock that’s gonna be running your fucking life for the foreseeable future. Well go on then, faggot. Eat it. That’s it, boy, deep throat. Yeah, fucking gag on it, cunt. Oh, gooood booooy. Fuck yeah, faggot, you’ve been wanting to do that for a while, ain’t’cha? Yeah. Well, here comes your reward, boy - my cum. Here it comes… FUCK. Yeah, fucking swallow it, boy. Good pig. Get really used to the taste of my spunk, boy, because it’s all you’ll be eating for a good while. Ah - don’t pull off just yet. Here. Consider this part two of your reward - it’s a collar. It goes around your neck, just like… that. And locks in place like… that. Good boy. Now you can pull off from my cock. Look up at me. This is the key for your collar. As long as you’re wearing that collar, you’re my property. My breed pig. My slave. It only comes off when I release you, and can only be unlocked with this key. There are no copies. Understand? Good boy. And - there. Oops. Looks like I snapped the key. Heh. Oh well. What a shame. Welcome to your new life as a slave. Clean my cock off for me, and don’t you fucking dare touch your own, pig. Then we’ll go up the cruising ground and see about me and any other fat old men there taking your fucking virginity for you. Get you good and barebacked by some granddads, boy. That’s right. No condoms or lube will be used at any time. I want you to feel every inch of every fucking granddad cock that gets shoved up your cunt, and know that this is your life from now on - as a bareback fuck slave for fat old bears. Come on. Off we go. Good pig. 

[real-hot-grl-shi]

Fuck.

Tw!!!: Sexual thoughts, depressive episodes, my ex. (a whole ass warning.), sex, mentions of sh, wet dreams, mentions of breakdowns, mentions of going non verbal, depression, hypersexuality, the word fuck is used alot, mentions of fainting(??), mentions of kinks (degration), humiliation (you need to squint to see it.), real life events (fuck my life) 

I feel nasty. 

My dreams are always subtle, never violent or sexual in any regard, until last night. And even worse, it wasn’t somebody I wanted to remember. Now now, and not ever. Heavy breathing, soft moaning of each others names, whatever. Its not that im upset about the dream. Dreams like those come every once in a while, but the person who was in it. My ex. The one who built me up and broke me down like a jenga tower. It wasn’t just sex though. It would never be just sex. It was love. Something both beautiful but a curse. Something that made me who I am today. A sloppy, helpless, hopeless romantic. In that six seven hour dream, it went like it was reality. He took me out, we watched movies, we geeked out about shows, etcetera. But the last thing he said to me in that dream, us breathing heavy, skin to skin, sweating like hogs, was “I love you.” 

Lies.

I woke up, shaking, soaking, and mentally shaming myself of my dream. The memories of it hit me like a train, focing me to be in a state of shock. I couldn’t even move. And what was worse is that all of those damn memories of him. Hit me once again. His name played in my head like a broken record. And all I can feel is the puddle of my release coating a margin of my sheets, and covering the majority of my thighs. My body was coated with a layer of sweat and I could. Not. Stop. Shaking. I felt like a hog. And I smelt like sex. Despite me being a virgin. I was never obligated to any type of sexual actions, well, most. I haven’t felt like this in a while. And I never wanted to feel like this again. My head was ringing, and all I could make out was the loud babbles of my little sister in the other room I couldnt even talk. This is exactly what I was scared of the moment that I fell for that idiot. The moment that I gave my heart to that idiot. The moent what I gave my body to that idiot. That idiot. Eventually, I did muster the strength to get up and drag my trembling body to the bathroom. I didnt want to touch a inch of my body. It felt like I was inprisoned in my own desires and fanasties. The right side of my head was pounding and my eyes were lidded, trying to block out all the light that poured into my retnas. My body, still covered in sweat was now squeezed together, my tlighs especially. I wonder how he would feel if he saw me like this, no clothes on, soaking wet, sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, and whimpering, not in pleasure, but shame. Nothing but shame was what I found. How dare I feel this amount of pleasure to the person who left me to rot. How dare I get turned on when he degraded me. How dare I still love him deep deep down after all these months. How dare i. 

It had to be 15 minutes before I stood up again, all I was wanting to do was get my hands on him, and on myself. But I would’nt. I could’nt. Hell, I didnt even have the energy to speak a full sentence. It was tourture. Nothing but tourture. If we were still together, I would’ve been calling him right now and getting ready all giddy and joyful, like I used to be. But now its different. Instead of giggling with me he would be laughing at me. And how im so desprate for any type of romantic affection, I would get it from my ex if I had to. Nasty. Disqusting.  All i could do was look at myself. Past scars that were now healed and now visible to the eye still were shown in my vision. My brown eyes had this dark glint that I can’t even explain, and my mouth was open, panting like a dog. All I could say was one thing.

“You look nasty.” I hissed to myself, my voice cracky but quiet, like a kittens mew in the dead of night. I let out a small weep, closing my eyes and letting my upper half of my body drop to the rim of the sink, my arms covering my head and hair in shame of what i have done. What have I done? It was evident that it was’nt a good doing, but was it intentional? Absolutely not. I just wanted to be loved and appreciated. But I couldn’t even have that from the person that I loved, from the person who I love. Someone get me a nerd that is tall and slender before i have a breakdown. Pretty please?? I thought to myself, letting out a small snicker, and holding my head up. I miss my father. Where did that come from? He left three years ago! Whatever. Back to being sad I guess. I walked out of the bathroom, only to find myself slumping back on the bed without a inch of energy left in my body. It felt like all my body shut down, but im still conscious. Is this another episode? 

Right. My mom doesn’t give a shit enough to take me to the doctor. But she of course take my sister to the doctor for a stye that only gotten bigger because she waited long enough. Its not like i hate my sister, in fact im happy to see her in a better state, but it feels like im just some rando in this house ever since she turned one year old. It felt like i was paralyzed, more and more thoughts just jamming into my brain, more and more reasons to end it all, I thought. 

My alarm clock went off, songs by Summer Walker and Brent Faiyaz filling the room. Not a good time for slow music. I closed my eyes, too awake to go back to sleep but too asleep to open them again. Of course, the song was about sex. I let out a heavy breath beginning to shake as the lyrics flowed into my mind like a damn cartoon, clear as day. Fuck was the only word i could think about, different meanings, same word. I felt like a mindless zombie but instead of wanting brains, i wanted some dick instead. Fucking whore. I abuptly thought as the song “Body” By Summer Walker ended. Body. Nice title. Nice song. Nice meaning. Especially when you listen closely to it, instead of listening to it when you fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I want to fuc- *click.*  

My train of thought ended when the door opened, my mother seeing my sweaty dazed state but not paying it any attention, telling me that shes about to leave to drop my little sister off. I hope she has fun at daycare, unlike how im getting flooded with dirty thoughts of how i could be fucking like bunnies with someone if i had a better body, a better personality, a better attitude, a better closet which i would’ve had if my mom let me live a little. Fuck this. Fuck me. I thought at once, the right side of my head hurting, still soaking wet, looking like i went though hell and back, and  getting up to pick out my clothes for school against my will. Fuck.

[e-n-t-perfect]

ENTP and guilt

I know, the two things in one sentence seems a bit weird together, but bear with me.

ENTPs don’t often feel guilty when it comes to saying things out loud that might hurt some people. The thought that comes after is always “the truth is rough but you have to accept it”.

But there are some times when you DO something that really hurts someone you love. When the one you care about and want to protect from everything - gets trapped and stung by you.

The worst thing is that even if you try everything to hide that you did or thought about something you know you shouldn’t have, if the person you love is someone with a dominating F and N, they will just know. They look at you, either your over-compensating smile or your out-of-character silence that you try to bury from the surface of your face. One look at you and they know that you are not okay, they will know you did something that you shouldn’t, and that you feel, well, guilty.

Feeling guilty as an ENTP is one of the most depressing feelings this type can have. Your Si inferior is on play again and again and again, reliving the thoughts and feelings you had; it blocks out your dominating Ne of thinking of the solution and poisons your auxiliary Ti in trying to analyze and understand the emotions of yours, but it brings you so close to the border of your tertiary Fe that you will eventually feel the guilt - and you do everything to shove it deep inside, which just makes you disorganized, depressed, desperate, it literally drunkens you to the point of your head feeling empty and full of darkness at the same time and your rational thinking is just blurred. So you just write out your thoughts to make them a thing you can have a grasp on or read about others’ experiences so it makes it seem just like an interesting topic.

Even if I didn’t exactly do anything, I still feel like I shouldn’t have think about the thoughts I had. My life is in a stuck position right now which makes me think about any opportunities I can have to escape - even from the things I do not want to escape from. And when I realize the thought I just had, I feel so much shame and hate towards myself and I overthink it while still trying to push it down, making me think that it’s a problem that had already happened and misunderstanding my feelings (which I already can’t really understand).

I want to tear up all the time but I force every inch of my body not to, cause that will show people that you’re not okay, that something can weaken you, and they will ask about how do you feel and what’s the problem and it’s the worst question you can ask about me cause for 1) I don’t even know and 2) please don’t make me think about it cause it’s already using all my energies up trying to hide it.

Damn I don’t even know if any of these I’m saying makes sense cause I hide behind my words just to forget but I can’t even articulate my thoughts in this state. I want to just curl up in an empty room, someone texting me that I’m alright, I’m not guilty, just to prove it to my Ti-Fe, and literally cut out my inferior Si so it can shut up already. I want to sleep cause all of this makes me feel exhausted and while sleeping I can’t overthink consciously, forget about my duties which already weakens me cause those are the things I already wanted to run away from, and both having that person next to me and the furthest away from me - cause they are the one who can calm me down when I’m troubled in my head but they are also the topic of my shame and if I see them I just can’t think about anything else and the worst thing is that they just know it and I can’t even hide it.

And I don’t want to cry because it will make the feelings real.

After a while you don’t even know what you felt guilty for, it doesn’t even sound like a problem anymore, but the wound it had on you makes you relive the shame over and over again everytime you look in the mirror cause it made you hate yourself for a while - and this feeling comes out everytime your Si acts up and brings out the mess.

But hey, just like always - you will forget about it after some time, after something caught your attention and can distract you, won’t you? It will all make things better, right?

[jameswilsonsupremacy]

the 2023 trans kid’s spelling bee

(**originally written in April of 2023, can be watched here.)

first contestant.

your word is… eradication.

definition: to do away with as completely, as if pulling up by the roots. eradication.

eradication. E-R-A-D-I-C… I see…

…increased death rates for transgender people all across this country.

I see my entire community go into a unified state of pure panic.

I see a group of people doing whatever we can to calm each other down because we are terrified.

terrified of how we are silenced despite our screaming,

of the deconstruction of the very little rights we have,

of becoming the next dead kid in the news.

but who are we kidding, it won’t be our names to identify us.

only our gender.

because the people marked in red cheer on the spoken words

transgenderism must be eradicated from public life entirely.

and the people marked in blue are not doing enough.

yet it isn’t about red or blue or any of the other colors that honestly seem to replace the blood of american citizens,

because political parties seem to be much more important of an identifier instead of the human lives at risk of unimaginable loss.

still… it IS imaginable.

because we are seeing the start of mass destruction of an entire human race.

i watch people debate what step of genocide we are at because everything is moving so quickly;

so quickly that i am afraid that i could have missed the important news deciding my safety in this country.

i witness the hope drain from the eyes of my siblings all over the country

and i pray that my own ambition continues to stay alive.

because i honestly don’t know how much longer i can fight this;

i don’t know how much longer i can fight to find more reasons to survive.

they claim that it is to ‘protect the children’,

but what about the countless children who now watch in fear of the horrific outcomes?

what about the children just like me who never really got to be a kid

and now i’ll be eighteen in October with a childhood full of fighting to prove the fact that i am allowed to be alive.

it‘s not my traumas that made me trans;

i fear the person who helped me grow into who i am today.

the first girl i ever told took advantage of me to the point that i am still stuck

picking up the shattered pieces of myself that she selfishly demolished.

i cannot truthfully respond to the question of who first knew i was trans other than myself

because i know she supported me endlessly as i figured myself out.

and while i sometimes wish i could have hidden myself in the closet to hide it from her,

i know her toxic leechings of my confidence cannot shake who i am.

pressuring someone back into the closet does not erase their identity.

taking away our rights and our freedoms will not erase our identities.

forcibly outing trans people to try and ‘shame’ us socially will not stop us from being ourselves.

i try to find the radiant examples of trans joy but i am struggling.

i am struggling to smile at the progression in the world because there is far too much regression for it to be okay.

i would never wish a fraction of my distress on anyone.

but i’m in a safe state, Michigan, so i shouldn’t worry, right?

no.

this is not an individual state issue,

this is a human rights issue and i will scream it until my throat is red and raw and feels as if there is blood coating

every inch of it.

because i will not stop begging for people to realize that we are under attack

and i am scared.

i cannot just ignore that fear but i will pretend that i am confident in my safety

because my cis friends and my cis family will never understand what it feels like to see people cheer over the extermination of your own kind.

sorry.

the eradication of my kind.

so let me spell it out for you… eradication.

the–mass–GENOCIDE–of an entire population.

eradication.

-L.R.K.

[ajathings]

Mixed Feelings

I fuckin’ hate you, you know that right? You and your authentic Timbs from yesteryear that still haven’t fallen out of style simply because they are on your feet. I hate how they compliment your outfits while you stop into my job just to say “hello.” I hate that you even know where my gallery even is–who even fuckin’ told you? 

I hate how you stepped out of my college hoe days and into my present day, somehow looking sexier than before. Dark skin, white teeth; I hate the contrast on your perfect face because I compare it to the chiaroscuro technique that the Renaissance made popular, and if there is anyone unworthy of the comparison, I’ll be damned if it ain’t you. I wish you’d take your magazine-billboard-black man on Vogue–million dollar smile somewhere else. Stop haunting me with it, with you, with your presence. 

I hate how you like my coffee. I hate how you know my gallery is struggling. You use those two tidbits of knowledge against me, knowing I need a pick me up at the end of the day because by closing, the only person to walk into the gallery is you, with the comfort I need You and your weaponized sympathies, your sharpened cadences and well-wishes, and your poisonous pick-me-ups at the end of another disappointing day. You tell me that things will improve and that one day, I won't need the Met Museum anymore. You fill my head with fantasies about this gallery being my full-time job.

Fuckin’ opportunist asshole preying on weak women. Fuck you for ever making me label myself as a weak woman in the first place; I never had to face the truth of the matter until you came back into my life and declared with your actions that you never lost hold of me. Fuck you for remembering that your fingertips, calloused and precise, still sing me lullabies that I adore. Fuck you for realizing that my need for a sense of release was your way back into my life. That’s the ticket! you probably said. That thing with her chin that she used to like! Pair that with my golden eyes and she’ll dance to any tune I play her.

Fuck you. I hate you even as you corner me in my gallery’s door frame, eye fucking me with sparkling irises that God should have never blessed you with. I hope you taste my hate on my lips. I hope you swallow it and it goes down like acid. I hope it settles in the pit of your stomach like rat poion. I hope there is anything on my face that portrays just how much your presence irks me, even if my body welcomes you like it used to.

What I really hate is how soft the ground is wherever I happen to be kneeling. I hate how your wife probably knows that her husband’s dick was carefully and lovingly polished by another woman’s lips, all because the word no tends to drop out of my vocabulary when you call me “babygirl.” I hate that I still know that trick you like, and I hate the myriad of wildcats I compare you to in the moment when I make you groan with it. I hate that you have no regard for my closet. I wear nice things to both my jobs and not everything I wear I pair with a pair of fuck-me-drawers. So fuck you in particular for helping yourself to my skirt on Tuesday, and my slacks on Friday. I liked those panties. I loved those pants. They weren’t yours to tear/break the zipper off of, so you best believe that as good as your fingering game is, I will be sending you the invoice for those. As soon as I figure out how to quit you.

I hate how your fingers find their homes on my hips, your manhood between my thighs. I hate that you're well-blessed and still considerate to remember that I don’t need all your inches, just a few. You find your rhythm and respect my limits and for that, I particularly despise you, because for once, someone isn’t thinking they're the shit just because of size. And that someone is a filthy cheater, home breaker, treading familiar ground just because he married a safe woman who loved him just as much as I used to, but not enough to satisfy him. 

You bring shame to all of us with every thrust and I bring shame to all of us by letting this happen.

I hate that my coffee’s half-drunken and cold by the end of it. I hate that I’ll probably see you again in a couple of weeks. I hate that I’m down a couple of items of clothing. I hate that your presence is twice as hollow as your absence, and I am somehow more full, more comforted as a woman when you’ve finally disappeared into Manhattan.

I hate that I stole your wife’s number when you weren’t looking. I hate how she isn’t even saved in your phone so that when it rings, I can memorize it, even in the middle of sex. I hate with a burning passion how you can talk to her and fuck me at the same time. 

I hate that when I call her, she immediately agrees to coffee at the small local shop not far from where I work. I hate how when I tell her that I’m the other woman, she doesn’t slap the shit out of me. She smiles, shakes her head, and fights tears but never blames me. She blames a man who believes he’s entitled to every woman he wants.

We talk and we talk. The sun sets. There’s a lot of remorse floatin across the table My coffee’s half-drunken and cold by the end of it. We actually get along nicely. I’m an art historian, and she dropped out of a political science program for financial reasons. I point her to a few resources to help get her back into college, and when she says her time has passed, I remind her that it's never too late to chase passion.

I’d try to hold onto the hate that you’ve inspired, but she sucks the hate out of any room. The last thing I remember hating was the fact that you married a woman you didn’t deserve. A beam of light caught in the sucking, black abyss that is you and your sexual ego. When I told her how you pulled me back in with your fingers, she didn’t seem surprised. That’s how she got trapped in you too. Rough, calloused, cracked, indicative of a strong, working man. We both understand the appeal.

But only when we shake hands do we understand. Soft, gentle, kind, understanding, worth exploring further. When she sobs into my lips, she says she hates you. Not me: you. And I reply “Yea, me too.” And for the first time, our skin matches what we’re thinking.

I love how you probably hate me as much as I hate you now. I love how she offered to host me, and when I told her my apartment has a lovely view of the sunrise, she didn’t hesitate to stay the night with me just to see it. I love that I woke to her and that she said “You’re right. It’s lovely.” I love that she curled up in my embrace, not all that eager to just to up and leave when the fun is over. To us, this was part the fun. I love how we’ve both been missing the same thing.

I love hearing you shout over her phone when you call her, asking where she’s been. I love how you choke on your bravado when she says she can’t do “this” anymore. I love how she lets me be nosy; how she allows me come up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist and listen to you beg and plead. When I tell you it’s music to my ears…

I love how she lingers with me, her brown skin glistening in the sun pouring in through the window. I look at her and I see beauty I appreciate. It’s not wasted on her like it is on you. I love how she thanks me for the evening, for the chat, for the coffee, for teaching her that the trick you like works better on women anyway. And I tell her that even if this never happens again, but I’d love to be friends. She’s traditional, and so she initially believed that people who had sex could never be friends. But I get dressed, and I reintroduce myself as the remorseful other woman and she laughs. We shake hands and decide to give friends a try. A couple of years later, I’m glad we did.

I love you for bringing me to her. Seeing her smile down the aisle earlier this year was among my greatest joys, along with wearing the dress she picked out for me to wear as her maid of honor. I love how we transcended our beginnings. I love how our relationship is transparent, real, and nourishing. I love that we can acknowledge the elephant in the room, forgive each other, move on, and grow. I love how we both escaped you.

I would say that I hate that I cost you your wife, but I’d be lying. She’s happier than she’s ever been. I’m happy that, in my own misguided way, I freed her from you. And I love that I’ll leave you where you stand without being tempted by you. I guess she and I both did some growing.

It’s your turn to do the growing. I hate that you’ve probably learned nothing from this. I hate that you’ll probably hate me, blame me, but never examine yourself. I hate that you’ll leave here, call some other woman from your past and fuck her just to feel better about yourself. In truth, I could find many reasons to continue hating you, but I refuse to. Maintaining that malice is kinda like maintaining any relationship with you…

I’d tell you what that means but hate is exhausting. 

Anyway, I apologize, but I don’t need your forgiveness. I’m in the process of letting go of hate and coming clean to you was all I needed to do. What you do with any of this is your business. I’m late for my friend’s babyshower. 

I’ll Cash App you for the coffee.

[thirtyflirtytrying]

Day 2: Surrender

What in my body longs for radical permission?

Every inch of me longs for radical permission. The weight of my people-pleasing soul hangs in my chest, desperate and clanging against the shell of my iron skin. It's embarrassing. Desperately wanting to be a helpful person is like wearing a corny ass cowbell. I can't typically move through social settings quietly.

To love so deeply and laugh so fully is to disrupt the social silence we've settled on instead of peace. I've always been this way. I've always clung to joy in the moments that I could and I've always sought to be the most authentic version of myself. I've given myself radical permission in a lot of ways in my youth.

In high school, I was a high-energy, enthusiastic (annoying) person. People let me know how annoying I was, for better or worse. And I refused to dim my shine. I recognized early on that my enthusiasm was not going to be perceived as "cool" and still chose to express it because it was partially who I was and partially who I believed I should be in an increasingly cynical society.

I'm proud of myself for this, but I'm beginning to recognize, ironically, just how much authenticity requires intentionality.

High school wasn't just me being my true self. I would frequently doubt myself and feel ashamed for being "too much." I longed to be a cooler, more muted, more elusive girl. I would blog and journal myself out of holes where I would actually put words to the shame that weighed on me. I would free myself after, remembering that a lot of the shame and doubt I felt so deeply was based on values I didn't agree with.

Being my authentic self in high school required me to take time to recognize what inauthentic parts I thought I needed to present. I needed to get intentional about seeking what was authentic to me, my soul, my essence. I needed to mute the crowd and zone in on myself.

I need so badly to do that again. I've been trudging through life and I've learned so much but I haven't taken the time to check in with myself again. I want to give myself radical permission to live my full life again. I want to allow myself to take up space, share my truest feelings, be vulnerable, and live.

I want to live so fucking hard.

[my-luck-wit-yo-girl]

People don’t know how fucking rare this statement is. Why?

Some people don’t know who they are, not just in the moments of good. If it gets too real they’ll make it feel unreal, & less! When it’s all they can think about in times of silence some choose to replace it with distractions.

Some can’t take accountability & responsibility for their actions, when their words don’t match, when their energy isn’t so settling… it’ll be every excuse but not ever saying with the words “ I Myself” example: I myself take full accountability & responsibility for the pain I’ve caused in my past contributions of any & all parts that were mine. I myself know there is & always will be consequences for and to my actions. I’m willing to take on such to unlearn mistakes I’ve made, & learn from them to continue growth and guide me to becoming a better version of myself & to those around me. I myself am working on correcting my wrongs, coming up with healthier solutions to better the outcome, I myself will never lessen your feelings by making your feelings, concerns, boundaries not valid or limit to. I myself am not afraid of tackling the ground root of my own problematic issues to better understand why I may have deflected, projected, etc… on to you or others by my own shame of not wanting to self reflect.

The most heart breaking many try to find ways to escape their true self. They’ll tell you what they love about themselves, what you like to hear hoping you’d adhere to them. But when it comes to what they don’t most aren’t so brutally honest with themselves. And when they are they can’t find ways to love every inch of it but also learning lessons, unlearning habits that is within them. Most want to run & cannot escape. Some will never learn to embrace these special parts of themselves even more so. To give themselves self care enough to want to understand the parts they can’t run from. Because with better understanding comes better knowledge that “can” be applied for a better relationship with themselves and others around them. In life we should go out to do more, be more to live the fullest, healthiest, happiest and not only accept the bare minimum we think we possess in life. Where you are diving you have a choice to be driving in order to thrive later. Don’t like something about yourself? Learn to embrace it, learn to make it better, learn to live with it. Only you, it’s up to you as you’ll be the person that has to sit with it; no matter how much you try to put it on someone else’s shoulders. You’ll answer to it regardless & sometimes you won’t like the answers from yourself or others.

[rozrae7030]

[Image description: A series of posts from Mark Hulmes @sherlock_hulmes dated July 19, 2023, reading:

Welp, #Criticalrole fam. I couldn't help myself, after thinking about Calianna a lot last few days, I went and did a Levelled-Up version of her and planned my own head cannon for what has happened to her. I'm a Very Amateur Artist so please don't judge me too harshly. (ROFL Emoji) (Sparkling Heart Emoji)

(There is an image of Calianna Mordsson, Mark's half-elven Draconic Sorcerer. He drew it himself. She is graced with several draconic features such as patches of black scales on her right leg, a tail, a fully draconic right arm, scales on the right side of her face surrounding a yellow right eye, and large wings. She has shouler-length black hair and her non-draconic eye is light green-blue. She is wearing a green dress with one white sleeve and a leather corset, confidently cut to show off her draconic features rather than hiding them like she used to. She also wears a red brooch and gold bracelet.)

High Level Calianna Calianna continues to oppose the Cults of Tiamat after meeting the Mighty Nein and generally goes Adventuring. Finds other people taken by the Cults who have draconic lineage. Tries to help them, but some are drawn to Tiamat's power and must be fought. Is nearly caught by the Cult but saved by allies (see Wildemount Campaign Setting) who continue to help her on her journey. Learns thst Serrissa (Cali's adopted mother-figure &cult leader of Caustic Heart) plans to sacrifice a Young Gold Dragon to Tiamat. Cali and allies go to rescue her. As battle ensues, Cali Falters but feels the presence of Bahamut who helps encourage her and overcome her fear & shame of Draconic nature (Gift of Metallic Dragon feat). Cali & Friends save the Gold Dragon, named Goldheart who stays with Cali for a time. They become close and begin a relationship. At some point they "wed" and have kids (how, dragon magic), twin half-dragons with black and gold scales. The boy is named Jest and the girl Calea. Cali now embraces her draconic look and is more confident and joyful with her life in Port Damali.

For the outfit, the idea is the it keeps many of the elements @ornerine did for her official art, but now it's the non-dragon part of her that's more obscured as Cali embraces her dragon lineage. She's more confident & happier and it also reflects my own discovery of femme confidence As the two of us are interlinked, I wanted to add a little touch of my own discovery of embracing sexy, femme, empowerment, and outfits. Also, Dragon Mommy. Enough said. OH and the little bit of written Lore is a VERY short summary version. I actually wrote a full page of stuff and then filled out the new character sheet with more details. But too much to cover in a few tweets! Maybe a fun video idea?

Had a quick go at sketching what Cali's Dragon Wife, Goldheart, would look like in humanoid form. Not sure I can be bothered to finish it, but gives you an idea of what I was envisioning. (ROFL emoji)(Cool Sunglasses emoji)(Thumbs-Up emoji)

(There is an image of Goldheart the gold dragon as a humanoid. She has shoulder-length blonde hair with long bangs parted and pushed back behind her long pointed ears. She has a green orb earring in her right earlobe. She has two gently curved golden horns pointing upwards at maybe a thirty degree angle; they are about 8 inches long with one metal ring on each and a gold cap on the end of the left one. She has large golden eyes decorated with green eyeshadow, a small amount of bright pink lipstick, and faint golden runework surrounding her eyes and on her chin. She is blushingly smiling, showing off her fangs. All in all she is gorgeous. Below her head is a sketch of the rest of her body, standing with left hand grasping her right elbow, like a lesbian marveling at how lucky she is to have married her wife [source: me every time I see my wife]. She is wearing an elegant gown with off-the-shoulder sleeves.)

Twitter user @Gabriellowena replied: "The sons name is JEST cries I was just thinking about her the other day I'm glad you gave us an update (Happy Cry emoj)" Mark Replied: "Jest and Calea, names inspired by two of her first friends and people that changed her life. (Big Smile emoji)"

/end image description]

So Mark Hulmes posted some thoughts on post-campaign Calianna on Twitter the other day and I for one am emotional

Calianna naming her children after Jester and Caleb may just be one of my favorite things now 🥺 Also dragon wives beloved

Hulmes considers this headcanon because it didn’t happen in game and Matt hasn’t approved it, technically, but it’s very sweet and Calianna is his soooooo. Canon. Yeah.

(I attempted to add alt text for all images but tumblr started replacing every image with the first one so… text transcripts would be greatly appreciated! 🥲)

[thebibliosphere]

I don't know how or why, but YouTube has been putting a lot of “day in the life”/ASMR type videos in my recommendations lately. One is a lady from South Korea who makes productivity videos showing what she does in a day starting at 5 am, where she cooks full three-course meals for her husband’s lunch box where everything is aesthetic and beautiful; all movements are practiced and graceful and calm and every inch of her beautiful home is pristine. And I’m just over here feeling like a gremlin because you can bet your ass if I’m awake and cooking short ribs at 5 am; it’s because I took my meds at the wrong time; I haven’t slept yet, and chances are something is on fire or about to be.

Watching this morning’s recommended video made me realize I have a love/hate relationship with these kind of videos. They’re basically catnip for my ADHD because yeah, they're meant to make you want to feel productive! They’re meant to be chill and aesthetically pleasing! And I’m sure some people can just enjoy them at face value. But they also make me feel wholly inadequate and a deep sense of shame over who I am and how I live that veers into the whole, “if you just tried harder” rhetoric that many of us with ADHD have been familiar with our whole lives. Where no one believes we already are trying our hardest. So much so that sometimes we even doubt it ourselves.

And I have to remind myself it’s not real life we’re being shown. It's the Instagram effect. It’s a daily routine filtered down into 15 minutes replete with ad breaks. Everything is staged. Each shot probably takes three or four takes to get. And we certainly don't see the outtakes. And I’m probably not the only one who needs to be reminded of that.

So just in case you need it:

Id: an image of Carrie Fisher holding her phone up, implied to be looking on/recording whatever you’re doing with a look of approval and the caption “you’re doing amazing sweetie” underneath.

[earthling55]

An Unexpected Reunion

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Hi! So, this is my first Daemon Targeryen fic. I don't actually know the storyline that well, so if I make some kind of mistake, please let me know (politely). Aka, also why there is no synopsis here.

Warnings: implied physical abuse

I taste the blood before I even realize I’ve been hit. It leaves it’s awful coppery taste in my mouth, a bitter reminder of what my life has become.

I curse the day my father married me off.

I curse him.

It’s a shame he’s already dead.

A door slams somewhere in the distance, but I am yet to move from where I’m standing frozen in place, the effects of the slap still fresh on me. My body stuck in an uncomfortable position, head pushed away from the force of his fist.

The air feels dead.

Sometimes I wish I was.

……………………..

I do my best to cover the bruises. Thankfully, after all this time my dear husband has learned where not to hit me and so my face and arms are relatively clear.

There are far less questions that way.

Taking my place next to the others, I wring my hands out and avoid the ever growing glare of my husband from across the room as Daemon walks in.

I can hear the spiteful whispers of the other ladies over my high necked gown and gloves, so out of place next to their low cut, sleeveless gowns.

My eyes betray me, constantly straying to where he is.

Absently, I wonder what it would have been like if I would have said yes.

If I would have let him whirl me away on Caraxes years ago when he asked.

If I would still be covered in bruises then.

The wine flows freely at the feast that night. The joyful merrymaking drowning out my unlawful thoughts.

I watch him as he talks to his brother. Eyes taking in every inch of his face, from his violet eyes to his starkingly white hair.

Memories flash through my mind.

My hands fondling through those soft locks. Scorching looks given over rooms packed full of people. Hot breath ghosting over bare skin.

He meets my eye from across the room. Just a fraction of a second and then it’s gone, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.

I down the rest of my wine in one gulp. Steadfastly ignoring the way my hand shakes as I set it down and leave the room.

I clutch my dress with an iron grip, hands hidden neatly in the many ruffles of the blood red gown as I rush forward.

Heavy footsteps thunder behind me, and my heart jumps to my throat as I hurry along.

They get louder, and before I know it, a strong hand is gripping my arm and I’m struck back against the cold stone wall.

I flinch at the cold contact, a bit too harsh as is evident by the concern that flashes through Daemon’s light purple eyes. But then it’s gone, and again, I tell myself I just imagined it.

‘Y/n,’ he whispers, mouth a hairs breath away from mine as he shamelessly looks me up and down.

I pray he doesn’t comment on my high collared dress, or, God forbid, lower it to expose the mirage of colors that lie underneath.

It feels as if he’s sucking up all the air around us. My throat constricts, and just as I feel I’m gasping for air, he backs off.

I’m about to question if he’s okay when a loud clang sounds from down the hallway.

I take the opportunity to escape, but before I can the same strong hand grips my elbow.

‘Midnight. Our spot.’

I don’t even have to think twice to know what he’s talking about.

His voice is stern, commanding. Leaving me no room to argue. I nod minutely, just enough to give my confirmation and make him let me go.

He releases my sleeve with an audible sigh and turns around.

I stay there, frozen in the hallway and wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.

////////////////////////

Short part 1, but there will be a part 2!